Then Madame would leave them, and to the near-by cemetery she would go. She would visit it, before starting the journey homeward to Paris and to her little Margot. Usually these visits of Madame Villard occurred after a tour of the country. Those tours took her into very many villages of France, and always for the same purpose—always for a possible sign, a tiny clue of her lost grandchild.
"Madame is here," called the Major's youngest. "The big bright car is outside. See! Madame is coming in."
A flock of eager youngsters gathered about the little lady. She kissed them all and then sat down in the coolness of the Major's hallway.
"I have traveled far," she told the Major, after they were settled comfortably. The Major's children were outside in their arbor opening wonderful packages.
The Major's children were not starved for play. True, Madame Villard was the only one who gave them shop toys. But their playthings were the brooks of the forest, the little farm animals, and sticks and stones.
Happy little d'Artrots! The Major did not worry because they were so poor. They had plenty of time for play.
"Through Verdun (vĕr-dŭn´) and Reims (rēmz) and the valley of the Meuse (mūz) I have traveled, dear Major d'Artrot," said Madame Villard. "My travels have now become a habit. There is surely no more hope. But on and on I go."
Major d'Artrot took her hand. "You must not say that, dear Madame," he answered. "There is always hope. And remember what joy you bring with your visits to us. We are always so glad to see you."