Anne Douglas Sedgwick

“ Giles, from his place on the steps, could see that madame Vervier, beside the lamp, had her embroidery and that she spoke to monsieur de Maubert in low tones.
Alix brought out a saucer of milk for a stray kitten that she and Annette had found. “I shall take it to Paris with me,” she said, stroking the back of the little creature, while it drank, half choked with purrs and lapping.
“It is not a pretty kitten, mademoiselle Alix,” said André, who sat beside Giles smoking.
“No; it is not pretty; except as all kittens are pretty—the delicate little paws; the beautiful movements. ”

“ Too soon, alas, it will be a mother itself!”
“No; for it is a male cat, Maman,” said Alix with austere realism. “You need fear nothing on that score. There will be no more kittens to trouble you.”
“A la bonne heure!” laughed madame Vervier.
“But she returns to you, after her holiday with us here, the charming young creature,” André, when Alix had carried away her kitten, observed to Giles. It was remarkable, the sense they all gave Giles, that Alix was permanently his responsibility, and André's voice had almost the geniality of family affection. If not he, then another English husband. ”

“ Alix herself, meanwhile, remained in ignorance of her destiny.
“Rather a shame she shouldn't know it yet,” said Giles. “She thinks she's going back to Paris, you see.”
“Shame? Oh, no,” said André in gentle surprise. “It is much better that she should have her holiday unspoiled. We are to say nothing of it to her—as madame Vervier will tell you.—It would grieve her too much to hear it now. By degrees, as the time draws near, her mother will prepare her mind and bring her to see the wisdom of the decision.” ”