Before the march was over, little Jeanne was the only child Suzanne had ever kissed.

For a long time after reaching Paris, Suzanne Moreau's only thought was to tend this baby for whom she had promised to care.

She expected to take the baby to the home where it belonged. But her first thought was to give the child a few days' good care and food before giving her up.

It was a thought which Suzanne would never have admitted was selfish.

But the truth was that little Jeanne's baby fingers had so tenderly wound themselves about the heart of Suzanne Moreau that already the thought of parting with her was unbearable. A few days pa.s.sed. Then a week, and then more days.

"I should. I should," sighed Suzanne, as she watched the little girl sucking contentedly on her bottle.

Then when the bottle was emptied, Baby Jeanne lifted her two pink hands.

In her arms Suzanne rocked the baby back and forth and murmured, "No, no, my little one, ma cherie (ma sher-e', which means "my dear" in French), I cannot give you up. Not yet."

This went on for some time. At last one night Suzanne determined to go to that address on the Avenue Champs Elysees. She went alone. She left the child in the care of a woman with whom she boarded.

Before the tall stone building, Suzanne stood and marveled. It seemed a palace to the little village dressmaker. How could she keep this child from a home like that? To-morrow, yes, to-morrow, she would take Jeanne to her rightful home.

As she turned to leave, a big motor car drew up at the curb, and a black figure stepped out. Madame Villard had returned from another unsuccessful search. She was returning to her daughter and to little Margot, discouraged, disappointed, and heart-sick.

Little did she know that the slight figure turning the corner was Suzanne Moreau. Little did she dream that this woman turning the corner was hurrying back to her own grandchild, who slept in a poor little Paris boarding house.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MARIE ANTOINETTE COTTAGE NEAR VERSAILLES PALACE]

Suzanne began to arrange the few little clothes she had bought for Jeanne. She made a bundle. Then she took from her drawer the locket which the child had worn about her neck. She opened it.

Paul's face seemed to be smiling at her. Often before she had opened this locket, but never had the soldier face seemed so happy as now.

Suzanne knew why. It was because she was going to take Jeanne to her place--her rightful home.

Her heart was fluttering and her hands were shaking as she put the locket about the child's neck. Then she sat by the little cradle. Before she knew it, the tears were falling down her cheeks.

Why did she care this way? Suzanne asked herself. She had lived alone for many years. For many years she had had nothing to love. Why could she not go on?

Why must this tiny bit of life, sleeping so sweetly before her, make all this difference and make her cry?

Jeanne stirred. The little pink hands went up. It was a gesture Suzanne had come to love, to wait for, to thrill at. Slowly she raised Jeanne from the cradle and held her.

The baby's hands gently touched her cheeks. One little hand was patting a wet, wet cheek.

Then it stopped, and a soft head slowly sank upon Suzanne's breast.

Jeanne was asleep.

Suzanne sat staring ahead of her. The baby had made a decision for Suzanne.

Cruelly and unfairly, in her mind Suzanne blamed little Jeanne for the decision she made that night. But her torn heart could not have stood the blame. She knew and felt only one thing.

To the sleeping child she cried, "I cannot, cannot give you up, my little Jeanne. Never, never!"

The locket with the soldier's picture was put away under lock and key.

And Madame Villard continued to wait for her grandchild.

CHAPTER VI

JEANNE

Jeanne grew under the loving and tender care of Suzanne. Never once did Suzanne approach the stately apartment house on the Avenue Champs Elysees. Never once did she allow Jeanne to go in that direction.

[Ill.u.s.tration: JEANNE]

Several years pa.s.sed. Jeanne was now a tall girl. But still Auntie Sue had a terrible feeling about that apartment house.

Suzanne was still known as Auntie Sue. And between the poor little dressmaker and Jeanne, Auntie Sue's Shop had grown up in Paris.

Paris, you know, is the place from which your mother's or auntie's or grandmother's most fashionable clothes come. Nearly everyone who visits Paris buys a Parisian gown.

The French are well dressed. The French dressmakers know well how to cut and fit and sew.

Then, too, when little ones go to Paris with their mothers, they, too, are fitted with dresses and hats and coats made by the Parisian dressmakers.

Auntie Sue fitted many, many children. She fitted children who lived in Paris, also children who came from America and Spain and Italy and Germany and from other parts of the world.

For Auntie Sue's Shop was well known. It was known because, for one thing, Auntie Sue was clever and could make beautiful children's clothes.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WINDOW OF AUNTIE SUE'S SHOP IN PARIS]

It was known for another reason, and perhaps a better one. That reason was Jeanne!

Jeanne put on all of Auntie's little models. She showed them to the people who came to buy clothes for their children.

Jeanne walked about the pretty little room, with its dainty show-cases and Parisian dolls and model coats and hats. She walked about the room and wore the clothes that Auntie Sue had made.

And when the children's mothers came to buy, they said, "Isn't that a beautiful little coat?" or, "Doesn't she look sweet in that little dress?"

Jeanne always looked sweet and pretty in everything she wore. Jeanne walked very straight and held her head high and smiled at all the people. She seemed to belong in those clothes.

So every mother thought that her child would look as well as Jeanne looked. Of course some of them did, but not all. Jeanne was known throughout Paris--throughout "child-and-mother-Paris"--as the "Little Model."

You may think that she became haughty and proud because so many people knew about her and came to watch her. But this was not the case at all.

Jeanne never thought of things like that. She was too busy ever to think of such things. While she loved to help Auntie Sue, it was hard work, and often Auntie Sue worried.

"Ma cherie," she would say to Jeanne as she stroked her silky brown curls, "you are happy; are you not? You do not mind the work--the hard, hard work? Ah, Jeanne, it is not pleasant sometimes, I know."

And this was true. For when many, many mothers and children came, Jeanne had to walk back and forth, back and forth, through the room. She had to show the silken dresses, the velvet coats, the little fluffy bonnets and hats. And she always had to smile and answer people's questions to the tune of that smile.