Catholic
priest had defended the homeliness of an Italian congregation by saying
that it was right for them to be at home in their Father's House. It
was almost as if Julie were at home, yet he shrank from the inference.

She was entirely ignorant of everything, except perhaps, of a little
biblical history, but she made a most interested audience. Once he
thought she was perhaps egging him on for his own pleasure, but when he
grew more silent she urged him to explain. "It's ripping going round with
somebody who knows something," she said. "Most of the men one meets know
absolutely nothing. They're very jolly, but one gets tired. I could
listen to you for ages."

Peter assured her that he was almost as ignorant as they, but she was
shrewdly insistent. "You read more, and you understand what you read,"
she said. "Most people don't. I know."

They bought picture post-cards off a queer old woman in a peasant
head-dress, and then came back to the river and sat under the shade of
a line of great trees to wait for the tea the hotel had guaranteed them.
Julie now did all the talking--of South Africa, of gay adventures in
France and on the voyage, and of the men she had met. She was as frank
as possible, but Peter wondered how far he was getting to know the real
girl.

Tea was an unusual success for France. It was real tea, but then there
was reason for that, for Julie had insisted on going into the big
kitchen, to madame's amusement and monsieur's open admiration, and making
it herself. But the chocolate cakes, the white bread and proper butter,
and the cream, were a miracle. Peter wondered if you could get such
things in England now, and Julie gaily told him that the French made laws
only to break them, with several instances thereof. She declared that if
a food-ration officer existed in Caudebec he must be in love with the
landlady's daughter and that she only wished she could get to know such
an official in Havre. The daughter in question waited on them, and Julie
and she chummed up immensely. Finally she was despatched to produce a
collection of Army badges and buttons--scalps Julie called them. When
they came they turned them over. All ranks were represented, or nearly
so, and most regiments that either could remember. There were Canadian,
Australian, and South African badges, and at last Julie declared that
only one was wanting.

"What will you give for this officer's badge?" she demanded, seizing hold
of one of Pe