WHERE are novels a few which give the reader the same feeling of deep and unalloyed satisfaction that comes from the soft green of perfect turf or the outline of trees finely etched against a primrose sky. Such a novel is this one by Anne Douglas Sedgwick "The Little French Girl." One does not want to shout over it nor to proclaim its merits with a flourish of trumpets rather one closes it with a sigh of profound contentment over a beautiful thing...