"You have made her a poor little girl who has to work. If she lived in the lovely apartment house with her grandmother, she could play and play and play."
Suzanne clapped her hands over her ears to stop the voice. But Conscience came from her heart and did not need her ears to hear him.
He went right on, "What would that soldier say? What would the old man say? What would the grandmother say? And Major d'Artrot?"
"Oh, Major d'Artrot, my good, my honest friend!" sobbed Suzanne.
She thought of her only friend in all the world. She would never dare to confess to him what she had done!
She opened her drawer and looked at the picture in the locket. She read again the name and address which had been pinned to the baby's skirt so many years ago: "Madame Villard. Avenue Champs Elysées."
The face of Jeanne's father looked back at her. It seemed to her that his eyes were accusing her.