rmany were
victorious or agreed to a compromise peace, her mother's shares in
Belgian companies might be unsaleable. Better to secure now a lump
sum of four thousand pounds in bank notes that would be legal
currency, at any rate as long as the German occupation lasted. And
as one never knew what might happen, it was safer still to have all
this money (equivalent to a hundred thousand francs), in their own
keeping. They could live even in war time, on such a sum as this
for four, perhaps five years, as they would be very economical and
Vivie would try to earn all she could by teaching. It was useless to
hope they would be able to return to Villa Beau-sejour so long as
the German occupation lasted, or during that time receive a penny in
compensation for the sequestration of the property.

The notes for the hundred thousand francs therefore were carefully
concealed in Mrs. Warren's bedroom at the Hotel Imperial and Vivie
for a few months afterwards felt slightly easier in her mind as to
the immediate future; for, as a further resource, there were also
the jewels and plate at the bank.

They dared hope for nothing from Villa Beau-sejour. Von Giesselin,
after more entreaty than Vivie cared to make, had allowed them with
a special pass and his orderly as escort to go in a military motor
to the Villa in the month of April in order that they might bring
away the rest of their clothes and personal effects of an easily
transportable nature. But the visit was a heart-breaking
disappointment. Their reception was surly; the place was little else
than a barrack of disorderly soldiers and insolent officers. Any
search for clothes or books was a mockery. Nothing was to be found
in the chests of drawers that belonged to them; only stale food and
unnameable horrors or military equipment articles. The garden was
trampled out of recognition. There had been a beautiful vine in the
greenhouse. It was still there, but the first foliage of spring hung
withered and russet coloured. The soldiers, grinning when Vivie
noticed this, pointed to the base of the far spreading branches. It
had been sawn through, and much of the glass of the greenhouse
deliberately smashed.

On their way back, Mrs. Warren, who was constantly in tears,
descried waiting by the side of the road the widow of their
farmer-neighbour, Madame Oudekens. She asked the orderly that they
might stop and greet her. She approached. Mrs. Warren got out of the
car so that she might