were dimpled, their faces round and sweet-smelling, and he could still easily fit a daughter in the crook of each arm.
Sometimes Thomas thought about the first child born to him and Aimée. Justin would have been deep into his sixth year now. There were moments when he imagined how his son might look and act had he lived. St. Briac could picture him laughing, running in the sunlight with a puppy, and then he'd force the thoughts away. Justin's death, after a year of life, had been a tragedy, but it had brought Thomas and Aimée closer together than ever. And time had brought these two rosy-cheeked little fairy princesses. The pain of Justin's loss made Thomas appreciate his daughters all the more. Aimée still longed ardently for another son, but Thomas felt no void. His heart was full.
"Papa," Juliette implored, "promise not to leave us ever again! We missed you frightfully!"
Ninon nodded solemn agreement, her chin quivering as if she might cry. "Promise, Papa!"
"We'll be together for a long time," he said, smiling. "And if I do have to go away again, for a bit, you know I will always come home to you and your maman."
"Where is Maman?" Juliette demanded.
St. Briac turned his head to gaze out the tall gallery windows. "I wish I knew," he murmured in response.
* * *
Out in the woods, Micheline and Aimée tramped over a carpet of rusty leaves, each lost in thought.
"Thomas is due to return soon, isn't he?" Micheline queried, reading her friend's mind. "You must be missing him terribly."
"Well, yes, of course...." Aimée was very conscious of Micheline's continued grief, and although she had missed Thomas desperately, part of her had been glad to devote all her attention to her friend. Surely the sight of Thomas, who could not conceal his love for his wife, would have daily sprinkled salt over Micheline's wound. Two months had passed since Bernard's death and only lately had Aimée seen Micheline smile, and even laugh, with any sign of true pleasure... and now Thomas was coming home. What effect would that have on Micheline's progress?
"My dear friend," Micheline said, stopping to take Aimée's hand, "please do not hide your feelings on my account. I'm very happy for you and Thomas."
"Cherie, it is so unfair that you should have to bear such terrible grief!" Aimée exclaimed, hugging her near. "I wish that I could take away your sadness."
"I fear that only time, and God, can do that. I know you understand my meaning after losing your little Justin. And you have helped, Aimée, by bringing me here to be with you." She paused, then continued gently. "But your husband is coming home. You must return your attention to him and your children... and I should go back to Angouleme before winter."
"No!" Aimée exclaimed. "You must not even think of that yet!" Seeing that Micheline would not be so easily dissuaded, she took her friend's arm. "Let us talk of this another time. The girls will be waking from naps, and you promised to teach the cook your recipe for braised wild boar with red wine. Tante Fanchette has been anticipating it so—she'll scold us terribly if we're late!"
Micheline smiled and yielded. Emerging from the forest, the two friends paused to appreciate the beauty that lay below them. The autumn sun danced over the vine-covered hillocks, down to the peaked towers of Chateau du Soleil and the luminous Loire River that swirled lazily in the distance.
For a moment Micheline forgot her heartache. The beauty of the day and the love of her friend warmed her heart. Life seemed sweet.
As they approached the chateau, Aimée's step quickened. "This may sound silly, but I've learned to trust my instincts. I think Thomas may be home!"
Micheline felt a queer mixture of emotions when they entered the chateau's great hall and discovered St. Briac sitting in a carved chair near the window, a daughter on each knee. The three of them were engaged in private conversation, heads bent. Juliette held fast to her father's big hand and kissed it repeatedly.
Aimée watched in silence, glowing, then spoke up at last. "Poor Maman! No kisses for her! No one even cares that she's here!"
"Oh, Maman!" cried Ninon, instantly sympathetic.
Laughing, St. Briac crossed the room carrying his daughters and Aimée met them halfway. The little family hugged while Micheline stood in the doorway, her own heart swelling with bittersweet emotions.
At length she called, "Ninon! Juliette! I'm going to cook a wild boar. Won't