The Demon Lover

The Streets of Paris

I loved Paris from the moment I entered the city, and I promised myself that I would see as much of it as I possibly could during my stay there.

First we saw my father off at the Gare du Nord and then Bertrand, who had accompanied us on the train to Paris, said he would take me to the house in the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore which was the Paris home of the Princesse de Crespigny and where I was to paint the miniature.

I was received by a dignified manservant who begged me to come in, so I said goodbye to Bertrand, who promised to see me within a few days, while the manservant summoned a maid and told her to take me to the room which had been prepared for me.

It was a magnificent house, and I was impressed by the wonderful staircase which wound upwards from the reception area. It was indeed a small palace and from the moment I entered it I was struck by the rather subdued but what, in my opinion, seemed the faultless taste of the decor. There was a great deal of white-the faintest touch of red and a certain amount of gold. It gave an impression of unobtrusive richness.

We went quite a long way up and I had an opportunity of examining the intricate ironwork of the staircase.

“Madame la Princesse will see you tomorrow,” I was told.

“We have instructions to make you comfortable and supply what you need. Madame la Gouvernante will see you later. She thought you would wish to settle in after the journey.”

It was as well that I had improved my French lately for she spoke in an accent of the south which was not easy to follow.

We came to a landing and a door was opened. I was in a rather large, pleasant room. The double bed had white lacy curtains about it held back by gold-coloured bands. The oriental carpets were subdued in colour pinks, blues and pastel shades; there were several pieces of furniture in the Louis Quatorze or Quinze period highly polished and extremely elegant.

The maid asked if I would like hot water with which to wash and I said gratefully that I would While I was waiting I went round the room examining its contents. How different from the castle at Centeville! I wondered if this elegant house reflected the personality of the Princesse as the castle certainly did that of its owner. Even at this moment my thoughts went back to him. What impudence to attempt to pass off his discarded mistress to Bertrand. I was glad Bertrand had stood up to him so fiercely. It had just taken that to turn me impulsively towards him.

When he became so angry he seemed to become a man I could admire strong, determined. Previously perhaps I had wondered whether he were not too much in awe of the Baron, which had indicated to me a certain weakness and made me wonder whether the protective kind of love he inspired in me was the right sort one should have for a husband.

It was too bad to let that odious Baron intrude into this charming house. But of course he must intrude. He was the reason I was here. It was good of him to have acknowledged the quality of my work. No, I thought fiercely, it was not. It was just plain honesty. The biggest rogue on earth could be honest about art and dispense with the ridiculous prejudices which prevailed against women.

I wondered if the miniature of the Princesse would excite me as much as painting the Baron had done. It was hardly likely. There would not be the same intrigue and subterfuge,

which although it had been frightening at times had in fact been very stimulating.

I washed and changed into a black skirt and white blouse and unpacked the rest of my things while I awaited the arrival of Madame la Gouvernante.

She came at length-a middle-aged woman wearing a black dress, very simply but elegantly cut. At her throat was a small diamond brooch, her only jewellery.

“Welcome,” she said.

“I trust you had a good journey. The Baron sent word that you would be arriving today but was unsure of the time.”

“It was good of him,” I said.

“We saw my father off and came straight here. My father is returning to England.”

“I am glad you speak French. Language can provide such difficulties.

If there is anything you lack, you must ring. ” She indicated the white rope hanging near the bed.

“I thought you would like your dinner sent up this evening. You must be weary after your journey. That will be in an hour’s time.”

“That will be splendid,” I told her.

“The Princesse … eris she eager to be painted?”

She smiled.

“The Princesse has been painted many times. She thinks little of it. You might find her an impatient sitter and I would advise you not to keep her too long at a time.”

“Thank you. I gather she is very young.”

“She is seventeen years old.”

“She should make a good subject.”

“I am sure. Mademoiselle Collison, you will see to that. Madame la Comtesse tells me that the Baron de Centeville has highly praised your talents.”

“It is kind of him.”

“He would not do so unless he meant it, Mademoiselle.” She was smiling at me.

“I suppose you are accustomed to going into people’s houses.”

“Well, I have just come from the Chateau de Centeville, where I have been for nearly three weeks.”

“This is a change from the chateau, is it not? Those old castles are so draughty. But perhaps you do not mind.”

“This seems very comfortable certainly.”

“Madame la Comtesse likes her comforts.”

“Forgive me, but I am unaware of the household arrangements. Who is Madame la Comtesse?”

“She is a distant connection of the Princesse and is her guardian, as it were. The Comtesse is launching the Princesse into society and making the arrangements for her marriage. The Princesse is an orphan.

Her family suffered greatly in the past troubles. “

“And you are her governess?”

“Oh no, Mademoiselle. I am the gouvernante, which means the femme de charge… of the household, you see.”

“Oh, I understand. In English we should say housekeeper.”

She repeated the word slowly, smiling as she did so.

“Now I know,” I said.

“It is good of you to take such care for my comfort.”

“I shall have food sent up to you … for tonight. Then we shall see.

No doubt the Comtesse will say how things are to be done. You can see the Princesse in the morning. I will have petit dejeuner brought to you with hot water at eight o’clock. Would that be convenient? “

I said it would be very convenient and she went out, leaving me alone.

A feeling of intense loneliness swept over me. I missed my father. I wondered where he was now. Possibly preparing to cross the sea. I wondered where Bertrand was. On the way home, probably, to tell his family that he was planning to marry me and that he had had a quarrel with the all-powerful Baron whom he had vowed never to see again.

How different this was from arriving at the castle. I tried to recapture the feeling of excitement and apprehension, that determination to succeed in the most difficult project I had ever undertaken, and then the mingled feelings of exhilaration and revulsion which had resulted in attempting to know the face of that wicked man who was capable of such outrageous conduct.

But what a subject he had been! I was beginning to think that in painting him I had achieved my masterpiece. He had aroused such strong feelings; he had had such an interesting face. When should I ever find such a complicated person wicked, ruthless . in fact one only had to think of the worst qualities in human nature and they seemed to apply to him. And yet he loved beautiful things and he had made an honest assessment of my work, and because he found it good he had defied the conventional belief of his sex that women should play an inferior role because it was all they were capable of. He had had the courage to stand up and say what he meant. Courage! It was no courage. He needed no courage to do and say whatever he pleased. He was all-powerful in his little world. He made the rules.

Ah, I thought, but there are times, Baron, when you find people who are not ready to obey you. Dear Bertrand! He was a fine young man, not to be dictated to by the worldly cynical Baron. I laughed aloud and said: “Now, Baron, you will have to find another husband for the mistress you no longer want.”

Stop thinking of him, I commanded myself. This is a new assignment.

You will never see the Baron again. Why let him intrude into this elegant atmosphere where everything is going to be so different from what it was in the Norman castle?

I had come here in a blaze of glory acknowledged as a painter of merit. I was going to paint a seventeen-year-old girl innocent, unmarked by life. A lovely subject for a portrait which did not demand too deep an assessment of character. The skin would be smooth and unmarked by time; no secrets in the eyes; no lines on the brow. A pretty picture that was what I was going to do now. An innocent virgin, I thought, who was going to be handed over for that monster legally to deflower.

Poor child. I was sorry for her.

Then I said aloud: “Stop thinking of the Baron. You have done your work for him superbly and he has rewarded you adequately. Be suitably grateful and forget him.”

My tray was brought in. It contained cold chicken with a little salad covered in an unfamiliar dressing, but very pleasant. There was a fruit tart and a carafe of white wine. It was all very palatable.

In due course a maid appeared to take away the tray and I thought I might as well retire for the night. It had not been exactly an exuberant welcome, but I must remember that I was really employed here. This was the real French aristocracy who, I understood, were more formal than any in the world. I should see more tomorrow, and in any case, within a short time I should be on my way home. I had decided that I would go back before coming out again for the two definite commissions I had-one with Madame Dupont and the other with Monsieur Villefranche -accepted on that night when the Baron had shown my miniature of himself.

My father had been all in favour of this arrangement. He had said I must definitely accept these commissions for they would help to establish me in France where, with the backing of someone as influential as the Baron, I was likely to get more standing than I should in Victorian England.

“Once you have a name,” he said, ‘you can dictate what you will do.

But get the name first. The name is everything. “

If I married Bertrand . when I married Bertrand . I should insist that I carried on with my painting. He would readily understand. He had made that clear already. Bertrand would be a very understanding man.

I was very fortunate to be loved by him. How different I was from the girl who had come out to France such a short while ago!

I took off my dress and put on a dressing-gown. Then I let down my hair and sat at the mirror on the dressing-table, brushing it. My thoughts went back to the night when Nicole had sent her maid to dress my hair. Poor Nicole! To be bandied about. I suppose people would say she should never have become his mistress in the first place. Her fate now was the wages of sin.

There was a gentle tap on my door.

“Come in,” I said.

A young girl entered. She wore a black dress with a white apron over it.

“I have come to see if you have everything you want.”

“Yes, thank you. Did Madame la Gouvernante send you?”

“No … I came because I wanted to.”

She had a small face with a pointed chin, a rather long nose and darting mischievous eyes.

She shut the door.

“Are you settling in?”

“I have only just arrived.”

“You’re going to paint a picture of the Princesse, aren’t you?”

“That’s what I’m here for.”

“You’ve got to do something very nice.”

“I hope to.”

“You’ll have to. She’s not very pretty.”

“Beauty is often a matter of opinion. Are you a housemaid?”

She sat on my bed. I thought she was rather impertinent and was on the point of telling her to leave me. On the other hand I did not want to turn away any possibility of learning something about the Princesse who was to be my subject.

“What do you mean, a matter of opinion?” she asked.

“Exactly what I say.”

“You mean that she could look pretty to you though no one else thought so. So you’re going to paint her pretty.”

“I shall paint what I see.”

“You have just painted the Baron de Centeville. How did you paint him?”

“The Princesse has the miniature now. Perhaps she will show it to you.

Do you work near her? “

She nodded.

“Then perhaps you’ll see it.”

“I have.”

“Then you know.”

“I think he looks rather … frightening.”

“Really. Now … I was just going to bed.”

“But I’d like to talk.”

“But I as I said am about to go to bed.”

“Don’t you want to know about the people here?”

“I shall find out in due course.”

“Do you have to know a lot about the people you paint?”

“It helps.”

“You’re a sort of sorceress.”

“I hadn’t thought of myself as that.”

“I don’t think the Princesse will like it if you pry.”

“Really, I must ask you to leave now.”

She sat up.

“Tell me about the Baron,” she said.

“He has twenty mistresses, they say … like Solomon or something like that.”

“I believe Solomon had more than twenty.”

“You don’t tell anything, do you? That’s because I’m just a housemaid of no importance.”

“You go off to bed,” I said.

“Are you going to ring and have me removed?”

“Not if you go quietly.”

“All right,” she said.

“I could have told you a lot,” she added ominously . ‘a lot you ought to know. “

“I am sure you could. But another time, eh?”

I pushed her out and shut the door.

What an extraordinary maid! I wondered what she could have told me about the Princesse.

I locked the door and got into bed, but it was a long time before I slept.

My tray came promptly in the morning and by nine o’clock I was ready.

I did not have to wait long before Madame la Gouvernante was knocking at my door. She said “Good morning’ very civilly and expressed the wish that I had passed a good night.

Madame la Comtesse was ready to receive me and if I would follow her she would take me to her . We descended the beautiful staircase to a lower floor and I was conducted to a salon furnished in white and gold with those rare touches of red. The furniture was exquisite and of the sixteenth and seventeenth century I guessed. But my attention was immediately focused on the Comtesse.

She was rather short and a little plump but carefully dressed to minimize this. Her hair was worn piled high to give her height; she was soignee and fitted the surroundings perfectly.

I must admit to feeling a little gauche, for clearly I did not pay the same attention to my appearance as she did to hers.

“Mademoiselle Collison!” she cried, advancing and holding out her hand.

She took mine in a limp handshake.

“I am pleased to welcome you here. Monsieur Ie Baron is so eager for you to do this miniature of the Princesse de Crespigny. He has such a high opinion of your work. I know the name, of course. It is well known here… but he says you are the first lady in that great line of painters.”

“I am eager to meet the Princesse and to start the work,” I said.

“I was wondering if there is a room where we can get the maximum light. ”

“Yes, yes. All that has been considered. The Baron has told us what will be needed. But the Princesse has made it clear that she will not want to sit too long at a time.”

“Sittings are necessary,” I said.

“I think I must be allowed to decide the length of them. A painter may have discovered something exciting. and then if the sitter goes away before the discovery can be made use of… You understand?”

“Oh, you will have to work that out with the Princesse. She is very young.”

“Seventeen, I believe.”

The Comtesse nodded.

“She has been brought up quietly until a few months ago when I took her into my care and brought her to Court. It is necessary for me to keep”

She paused and I said: “A firm hand?”

“Exactly. It is something of a responsibility. However, I have sent someone to tell her we are waiting for her. She should be along at any moment.”

“Thank you.”

“Pray be seated, Mademoiselle Collison.”

I sat, looking uneasily at the door.

“You have come straight from the Chateau de Centeville?”

She was making conversation for she knew that I had.

“Yes, Madame.”

“You must have… er… spent a long time with the Baron … at your sittings, I mean.”

“Yes. He was a good sitter. He is a man who is greatly interested in art.”

“Let us hope that the Princesse will be equally good.”

She went to the bell rope and pulled it. There was silence until a maid appeared. She wore a black dress and white apron similar to that of last night’s visitor, but it was not the same girl.

“Will you please go at once to the Princesse and tell her that Mademoiselle Collison and I are waiting for her in the salon.”

“Yes, Madame.” The girl bobbed a curtsey and was off.

The Comtesse sat down and made uneasy desultory and rather disjointed conversation.

“She knew that you had arrived last night,” she said.

“I cannot imagine …” She bit her lip as though trying to curb her annoyance.

“I suppose she wants this miniature done?” I asked.

“The Baron wants it. Oh I have great responsibilities, Mademoiselle, great difficulties.”

At that moment we heard the sound of horses’ hoofs and the Comtesse went quickly to the window.

She turned back to me.

“It’s the Princesse,” she said.

“She is going riding.”

I went to the window. I saw the back of a trim, slight figure surrounded by a party of horsemen and women.

The Comtesse looked at me helplessly.

I lilted my shoulders.

“It’s a pity. I wanted to get a start. If you will show me the room where I am to do the portrait I will prepare my materials, and then I thought I might take a walk.”

“Do you know Paris?”

“This is my first visit.”

“I should perhaps get someone to accompany you.”

“I prefer to be on my own.”

She hesitated.

“You wish to explore, I see. Do you find your way about well?”

“I think so.”

“Don’t stray too far from this area. You could wander down the Champs-Elysee to the Tuileries. That should be very pleasant. I would not cross the river if I were you. There are many bridges across the Seine. Stay on this side and if you get lost then … take a fiacre a cab … and you will be brought back to the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore.”

“Thank you so much. I shall do that.”

“I apologize for the Princesse’s behaviour.” She shrugged her shoulders.

“She has been used to having her own way. You know how it can be.”

“I understand,” I said, ‘and I shall look forward to meeting her later. ”

I went to my room and collected what I should need. Then I was shown the room where I should work. It was a kind of attic. Ideal, I thought, for there was plenty of light. I set out my paints, brushes and little palette. I prepared my supports and went back to my room.

I thought: Our little Princesse has high spirits and bad manners -but perhaps she thinks such behaviour is acceptable from a Princesse.

I am already learning something about her without seeing her.

Now there was the excitement of Paris-and how that enchanted me! I loved the wide boulevards, the beautiful bridges and the old Palace of the Louvre. Best of all I loved the noise of the streets, the incessant chatter, the cafes outside which tables were set up under coloured sunshades, and gay music floated out. I did not need that vehicle to take me back. I found my own way. I was rather good at it.

I had enjoyed my morning and was grateful to my ill-mannered little Princesse who had made it possible.

Dejeuner was served in my room, again on a tray, and I wondered whether this was how I should take all my meals. It was clear that these people did not know how they should treat me. I expect they must have regarded me as a kind of servant. How different it had been at the chateau, where artists were considered to be of some account.

It was not important. I should complete my portrait and then go home before returning to France to carry out the other commissions.

Madame la Gouvernante came to my room after I had finished my food and told me that the Princesse and her party had not yet returned. She had learned that they were visiting a house on the way to St. Cloud. They would probably be back soon and I should remain in so that I should be available if the Princesse needed me.

I accepted this, but it was not until past four o’clock when a summons came to me to tell me that the Princesse was in the attic waiting to receive me.

I went straight up. She was standing by the window looking out and did not turn as I entered. She was dressed in a very bright red ball gown; her shoulders were bare and her long dark hair loose. From the back she looked like a child.

I said: “Princesse …”

“Come in, Mademoiselle Collison,” she said.

“You may start now.”

“That is quite impossible,” I replied.

“The light is not good enough.”

“What do you mean?” She swung round. Her face was vaguely familiar.

Then it downed on me. I should have recognized her at once but for the red ball dress and loose hair which made her look rather different from the girl who had worn the black dress and apron on the previous night.

So, I thought, she plays tricks. And I knew then that she was going to make my stay difficult.

I went towards her and inclined my head. I was not going to curtsey to such a child; after all, royalty did not mean the same in France as it had before the Revolution.

“You see, Princesse,” I explained, “I need the best possible light for such fine work. The morning is the only time I care to work … unless it is a very bright afternoon … certainly not on an overcast one like this.”

“Perhaps we should get an artist who can work at any time,” she said haughtily.

“That is for you to decide. I will merely say this: There will be no sitting this afternoon. If you are not riding tomorrow morning, I should like to start then … at, say, ten o’clock.”

“I am not sure,” she replied.

“I cannot stay here indefinitely,” I told her.

“Well perhaps ..” she said grudgingly.

“Perhaps you would allow me to stay now and chat for a while. I must know something of my subjects before I attempt to paint them. May I sit down?”

She nodded.

I regarded her steadily. She had the thick Valois nose which, while it might proclaim her ancestry, did not fit in with modem notions of beauty. Her eyes were small but they were bright; her mouth was rather petulant but perhaps that changed with her moods. It should not be impossible to make a charming picture. She had the glow of youth; her skin was good, so were her teeth. if she could be prevailed upon to smile. The colour of the dress was quite wrong for her.

She said: “You will have to give me a better nose.”

I laughed.

“I want to paint^oa,” I said.

“That means you’re going to make me ugly ” Indeed it does not. I see possibilities. “

“What do you mean … possibilities?”

“Do you ever smile?”

“Certainly I do … when I’m pleased.”

“Well, we’ll have you pleased. You have very beautiful teeth. What is the point of hiding them? A lovely smile would take off the length of the nose; and if you opened your eyes wide and looked interested they would brighten and look bigger. Also the dress is wrong.”

“I like the dress.”

“Well, that is good enough. We must paint the red dress because you like it.”

“But you say you don’t.”

“No. Red is not your colour … nor is the black you wore last night.”

She flushed pink and started to laugh. She looked almost pretty.

“That’s better,” I said.

“If I could catch that…”

“You pretended you didn’t recognize me.”

“I recognized you immediately.”

“Not last night.”

“How could I? I had never met the Princesse …”

“And when you saw me here …”

“I knew at once.”

“And what did you think last night? Was I a good maid?”

“No. An impertinent one.”

She laughed again and I laughed too.

“I don’t want this picture done, you know,” she said.

“I do realize that.”

“I hate having it done.” Her face crumpled suddenly and she looked like a frightened child.

“I hate it all …”

I understood. Moreover my attitude towards her had changed completely.

I was sorry for her. Poor innocent child to go to that man!

“Was that why you were so ill-mannered this morning?”

“Ill-mannered?”

“In going riding when it was arranged that there was to be a sitting.”

“I don’t think of it as being ill-mannered. We don’t have to worry about…”

“Servants?” I said.

“Or artists … but perhaps artists are servants.”

“They come here to work for us … and are paid for it.”

“Do you know what one of your greatest kings once said?”

“Oh … history!”

“It is pertinent to the occasion.

“Men make kings but only God can make an artist.”

“What does that mean? I thought God was supposed to have made us all.”

“It means that God gives the art of creation to a few chosen people and great ones are more important than kings.”

“That’s the sort of thing they said during the revolution.”

“On the contrary, it was said by one of your most autocratic kings -Francois Premier.”

“I suppose you are very clever.”

“I’m good at my job.”

“The Baron said you were good, didn’t he?”

“He appreciated my work.”

“You did a picture of him. He sat for you.”

“He did and I am glad to say that he was a very good sitter.”

“I suppose I shall have to sit for you.”

“It is the reason why I’m here. I should like to see you in blue. I think that would suit you. It would bring out the glow of your skin.”

She touched her face. I thought how young she was and I forgave her everything-her silly little masquerade of the night before and her rudeness in breaking her appointment. I saw her as a frightened child.

“Would you like me to see what you have to wear?” I asked.

“We could perhaps find a favourite dress of yours. I myself prefer blue, but it may be that you have something else which would be equally good.”

“I have a great many dresses,” she said.

“I have been presented to the Empress. I thought I should have some fun perhaps, but when the Baron decided to marry me that put an end to that.”

“When are you to marry?”

“Very soon. Next month … on my eighteenth birthday. ”

She looked at me suddenly and stopped and it occurred to J me that she would very easily share confidences. Poor child! I had discovered a good deal about her in a short time and I knew that she was lonely and frightened.

“How would it be if we decided on the dress now,” I said,| ‘and we could start the miniature tomorrow morning. I| should like to be early soon after nine o’clock. The light! should be good then. The miniature, I understand, is to be mounted in the same way as the one I did of the Baron. It isn't gold with diamonds and sapphires. It is absolutely magnificent, as you know. That is one of the reasons why I thought blue for the dress. “

“All right. Come on … now.”

She led the way down from the attic. Her bedroom was very grand -white and gold with rich carpets and beautiful tapestries on the walls.

“This house was damaged during the Revolution,” she told me, ‘but the Emperor was very insistent that Paris should be beautiful again. They say Paris was like a phoenix rising out of the ruins. “

“It is very beautiful,” I replied.

“How fortunate you are to live in such a place.”

“Some people are happy without beautiful houses. I saw a girl in a modiste’s shop when I was riding past the other day. A young man was with her and she was trying on a hat. He looked at her and kissed her.

She looked so happy and I thought: She’s happier than I am. And I wondered if she was going to marry the young man who kissed her. He would be someone she had chosen for herself. “

I said: “You never know what is going on in other people’s lives. I was once envious of a girl in a pastry cook shop. She was serving the cakes and she looked so beautiful among all the loaves of freshly baked bread and fancy cakes. I had a governess then and I could not get my sums right. I hated arithmetic and when I saw that girl serving the cakes I said to myself: She never has to do horrid sums. How I wish I could change places with her. A few weeks later that shop was burned down and I heard that the beautiful girl had been burned to death.”

The Princesse was staring at me incredulously.

“So,” I went on, ‘you should never envy anyone. You should never really want to change places for something you really don’t know very much about. If you don’t like what’s happening to you, find a way out of it or accept it . whichever you think best. “

“I suppose you are very clever.”

“I’m good at my job.”

“The Baron said you were good, didn’t he?”

“He appreciated my work.”

“You did a picture of him. He sat for you.”

“He did and I am glad to say that he was a very good sitter.”

“I suppose I shall have to sit for you.”

“It is the reason why I’m here. I should like to see you in blue. I think that would suit you. It would bring out the glow of your skin.”

She touched her face. I thought how young she was and I forgave her everything-her silly little masquerade of the night before and her rudeness in breaking her appointment. I saw her as a frightened child.

“Would you like me to see what you have to wear?” I asked.

“We could perhaps find a favourite dress of yours. I myself prefer blue, but it may be that you have something else which would be equally good.”

“I have a great many dresses,” she said.

“I have been presented to the Empress. I thought I should have some fun perhaps, but when the Baron decided to marry me that put an end to that.”

“When are you to marry?”

“Very soon. Next month … on my eighteenth birthday.”

She looked at me suddenly and stopped and it occurred to me that she would very easily share confidences. Poor child! I had discovered a good deal about her in a short time and I knew that she was lonely and frightened.

“How would it be if we decided on the dress now,” I said, ‘and we could start the miniature tomorrow morning. I should like to be early . soon after nine o’clock. The light should be good then. The miniature, I understand, is to be mounted in the same way as the one I did of the Baron. It is in gold with diamonds and sapphires. It is absolutely magnificent, as you know. That is one of the reasons why I thought blue for the dress. “

“All right. Come on … now.”

She led the way down from the attic. Her bedroom was very grand white and gold with rich carpets and beautiful tapestries on the walls.

“This house was damaged during the Revolution,” she told me, ‘but the Emperor was very insistent that Paris should be beautiful again. They say Paris was like a phoenix rising out of the ruins. “

“It is very beautiful,” I replied.

“How fortunate you are to live in such a place.”

“Some people are happy without beautiful houses. I saw a girl in a modiste’s shop when I was riding past the other day. A young man was with her and she was trying on a hat. He looked at her and kissed her.

She looked so happy and I thought: She’s happier than I am. And I wondered if she was going to marry the young man who kissed her. He would be someone she had chosen for herself I said: “You never know what is going on in other people’s lives. I was once envious of a girl in a pastry cook shop. She was serving the cakes and she looked so beautiful among all the loaves of freshly baked bread and fancy cakes. I had a governess then and I could not get my sums right. I hated arithmetic and when I saw that girl serving the cakes I said to myself: She never has to do horrid sums. How I wish I could change places with her. A few weeks later that shop was burned down and I heard that the beautiful girl had been burned to death.”

The Princesse was staring at me incredulously.

“So,” I went on, ‘you should never envy anyone. You should never really want to change places for something you really don’t know very much about. If you don’t like what’s happening to you, find a way out of it or accept it . whichever you think best. “

“Why … was the girl burned to death? Why did the shop catch fire?”

“Something went wrong with her father’s ovens, I suppose. But it taught me a lesson which I’m passing on to you. Now. shall we look at the dresses?”

There were rows of them. I found a peacock blue silk which I thought would tone in well with the sapphires. I asked if she would try it on so that I could see her in it.

She was only too ready to, and when she had done so I decided it was just right.

“That’s settled then. Tomorrow morning. Is nine too early?”

“Nine-thirty,” she said; and I knew that she would be there.

So began my acquaintance with the Princesse Marie Claude de Crespigny.

It flourished quickly. She apparently liked my attitude to her moods.

I neither complained nor was I subservient; I just maintained a cool indifference. I was there to paint a picture and I wanted to do it as well as I could. Over the first sitting we became quite friendly. She talked a great deal, which was what I wanted. There was something very appealing and feminine about her. I would bring that out in the portrait . a complement to the overpowering bully of a man who was to be her husband. I would make the miniatures a study in contrasts -the overwhelmingly masculine man and the decidedly feminine woman.

They would be an exquisite pair in their diamond and sapphire settings both in blue that lovely shade of blue. No wonder people called it heavenly.

I was enjoying this now. To sit in that room and paint and not to have to do it surreptitiously as I had at Centeville. Ah, Centeville, there could never be another experience such as that! I laughed to think of all the precautions we had taken when all the time the Baron knew.

“You’re smiling, Mademoiselle Collison. I know why. You are thinking of’ Bertrand de Mortemer.”

“Bertrand de Mortemer,” I murmured, flushing. She was delighted to see me momentarily embarrassed.

“Oh yes. I heard that he brought you here. And he said he would call on you. He is very good-looking. I suppose you like him a great deal.”

“I like him.”

“Shall you marry him, Mademoiselle Collison?”

I hesitated and she cried: “Oh, you will. That will be so nice too.

You’ll become French. People do change their nationality when they marry, don’t they? They take that of their husbands. Why shouldn’t men take the nationality of their wives? “

“This is a weighty subject,” I said.

“Women are reckoned not to be as good at anything as men. But that is changing. See, here am I … an artist in my own right, though a woman.”

“I heard at first that you just helped your father and that he was the great artist.”

“The Baron changed that. He recognized fine art when he saw it-and rightly, he doesn’t care who painted it.”

“Tell me what you think about the Baron?” Her mood had changed. It was sullen almost. I did not want that expression to creep in.

“He is a very artistic man.”

“I don’t mean that.” She looked at me steadily and then she said: “I don’t want to marry him. I don’t want to go to his castle. Sometimes I think I’d do anything .. just anything to stop it.”

“Why do you feel thus about him? Do you know him well?”

“I have seen him three times. The first was at Court when I was presented to him. He didn’t take much notice of me then. But my cousin the Comtesse said that he wanted to marry me. It was a good match and we were in difficulties over the estates. Money … it is always money. People never worried about it so they say before the Revolution. Now most people have to … people like us, that is. The Baron is rich. It would be a good thing if we got some money into the family. I am a princess and he likes that. My grandmother managed to escape the guillotine. She went to England for a while and had a baby there. That was my father. He was a prince, so when I was born I became a princess … without fortune, of course, but our family was a very noble one. You see, the Baron boasts about being Norman, but that does not stop his wanting to marry into the royal blood. It’s something to do with children. I shall have to have a lot of children. The Baron thinks it is time he married and produced them, and because I’m a princess, I am the one chosen to bear them.”

“It’s a familiar story,” I said.

“This sort of thing has been happening to people for generations. Very often it turns out well.

Some of these marriages of convenience are very happy. “

“How would you like to marry the Baron?”

I was not in time to hide the look of revulsion which spread across my face.

“There. You have spoken … although you have said no word. You have seen him, you have spent some time painting his picture, you know what he is like. I dream of him sometimes. I am lying in the middle of a big bed and he is coming towards me. Then he’s there … smothering me and I hate it… hate it…”

I said: “It would not be like that at all. Whatever his faults, the Baron would have good manners … er in the bedchamber.”

“What do you know about his manners in the bedchamber?”

I quickly admitted that I knew nothing.

“Then how can you talk of them? I am so frightened of this marriage.

Even if I got used to him, it would be terrible having all those children . all that discomfort and pain as well as the way of getting them. “

“My dear Princesse, I believe you have been listening to lurid gossip.”

“I know how babies are conceived. I know how they are born. Perhaps it is all right with someone you love. But when you hate … and you know he doesn’t really like you … and you have to go on doing that for years and years …”

“This is an extraordinary conversation.”

“I thought you wanted to get to know me.”

“I do, and I understand how you feel. I wish there were something I could do to help you.”

She was smiling at me, sweetly, pathetically, and I thought: If I could capture that smile it would be beautiful.

“You might,” she was saying.

“Who knows? At least I can talk to you.”

That was the nature of our conversation. It meant that our friendship was growing, and I thought she was beginning to like me.

She certainly came punctually to her sittings and wanted to go on talking after I had laid down my brushes.

I now had meals with the Princesse and the Comtesse. I had heard the Princesse telling the Comtesse that artists must be treated with respect. God made them and men made kings.

She was a serious girl. I think she had probably had a sad upbringing and as an orphan had been passed from one member of the family to another her great asset being her title.

After each sitting she would look at the portrait. I was pleased that she liked it.

“My nose looks inches shorter,” she commented.

“If that were true it would not be there at all. On a tiny picture like that a fraction of an inch can decide whether your nose is hooked or retrousse.”

How clever you are! You have made me look much prettier than I am. ”

“That is how I see you. You are prettier when you smile.”

“That’s why you want to make me smile all the time, is it?”

“I like a smile for the portrait, but I like it anyway, and if I were not painting your portrait I should still want to make you smile.”

She did not say that she enjoyed the sittings, but it was obvious that she did. There were no more broken appointments and once she said:

“Don’t finish it too soon, will you, Mademoiselle Collison?”

She wanted to know what I was going to do when I finished here. I told her that first I should go home. I described Collison House to her and the neighbourhood as well. She listened avidly.

“But you will come back to France,” she said.

“I have several commissions.”

“And you will marry Bertrand de Mortemer.”

“That’s for the future.”

“You are lucky. I wish I were going to marry Bertrand de Mortemer.”

“You don’t know him.”

“I do. I’ve met him at several houses. He is handsome and charming .. and kind. I suppose you’re in love with each other.”

“That would seem a very good reason for marrying.”

“Not a marriage of convenience for you.”

“I have no grand titles and I don’t think he has vast wealth.”

“Lucky people!” She sighed and was sad again.

The next day she came to her sitting in a mood of excitement.

“I’ll tell you right away. We are invited to a.Jete champetre. Do you know what that is?”

“My knowledge of the French language makes it perfectly clear to me.”

“What do you call it in English?”

“Oh … an al fresco party … a picnic.”

“A picnic. I like that. Picnic.” She repeated the word laughing.

“But a. fete champetre sounds far more beautiful.”

“It does indeed. But tell me about this party to which you and the Comtesse are invited.”

“It is at the house and gardens of the family L’Estrange. Evette L’Estrange invites us. The house near St. Cloud is very charming. The fete is an annual event with them. We have … what is it … a picnic? … in the gardens and fields. And there is the river and little boats and swans. It is very charming. Evette L’Estrange engages the best musicians to play for us.”

“You will enjoy it.”

“And so will you.”

“I?”

“When I said we, I did not mean the Comtesse. I meant you and me. They are anxious to meet the famous artist. They have heard of your fame.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Do you tell me I lie, Mademoiselle? Let me tell you that the Baron is so pleased with the picture you did of him that he is telling everyone about it. It seems as though a great many people want to meet you.”

I was overwhelmed. I did not know whether I was pleased or not. I did not want too much to be expected of me until I had proved myself. I had had my success with the Baron’s picture, but first I wanted to make sure that I could repeat it. I wanted to build up gradually. At the same time all this appreciation was very sweet.

“What shall you wear?” demanded the Princesse.

“You haven’t &nyfite champetre clothes have you?”

I agreed that that was very likely, and she said that she thought her seamstress could make a dress for me in an afternoon. It had to be rather simple . it was that sort of occasion.

“Rather like Marie Antoinette playing at being a country girl at the Hameau.”

“You seem to know a great deal about our history. More than I do.”

“You would find it interesting to know more perhaps.”

“What I do know is the sort of dress you must have. Muslin with sprigs of flowers on it… green for you … and a white straw hat trimmed with green ribbons.”

She was as good as her word and the next day the dress was made. The material was not muslin but fine cotton and the decoration little green bells not sprigs of flowers. It didn’t matter. It was charming to see the Princesse so pleased and determined to make me look right for thejete champetre.

She and I went off together in the carriage. There was a certain air of recklessness about her which puzzled me. I thought how childish she was since the prospect of an entertainment like this could drive all thoughts of her marriage from her mind; she certainly knew how to live in the moment, which was perhaps just as well.

It was a very pleasant afternoon. I was warmly received by Evette L’Estrange a young woman with a much older husband. There was a stepson, Armand, who must have been about twenty years old.

Several people came up to tell me that they had heard of the wonderful portrait I had done of the Baron de Centeville, and they hoped they might be allowed to see the one I was painting now.

It was all very enjoyable.

And then I had my surprise. The food was about to be served and tables had been set up in the large field. Flunkeys were running about in all directions and the white tablecloths looked very pretty fluttering in the light breeze. They were undoing the hampers and taking out cutlets, cold venison, chicken and pies with a variety of sweetmeats. Wine was sparkling in the glasses.

Someone from behind me said: “Shall we find a place and sit together.”

I swung round. Bertrand was smiling at me.

He took my hands and held them tightly; then he kissed me on either cheek.

“Kate,” he said, ‘it’s wonderful to see you. “

“Did you …”

“Did I know you would be here?” He nodded.

“Evette L’Estrange is a great friend of my mother. My mother is here. She is with my father and sister. They wish to meet you. They are delighted and are wondering what such a famous lady can possibly see in me.”

I gasped.

“Famous!” I cried.

“But it is only since the …”

I stopped, not wanting to mention his name on such a day. This was a day for happiness.

The weather was perfect. The sun warm but not too hot. Elegant men and women . they all seemed beautiful and they were all charming and kind to me. It was indeed a wonderful day.

I was warmly accepted by the Mortemer family. I knew then that I wanted this marriage. It was the first time I had felt so sure.

Previously I had thought that I had been carried along too fast and too many new impressions had come too quickly. Bertrand had seemed delightful because he was such a contrast to the Baron. Everything had been so different from what I had known before. I had been bemused, bedazzled by different customs and people who seemed so far apart from the mundane life at Farringdon. But now I felt at home here, and it was Bertrand’s people who had made me feel that.

I had a long talk with his mother, who said she quite understood that I should want to wait a little time before marrying. She had explained this to the impatient Bertrand. She said:

“It has all been so quick, my dear. You have been rushed off your feet. Go home and tell them all about it… and then you will see that it is right for you.”

I thought she was charming and I liked his father and sister. Elegant as they were, there was a homely charm about them-and by that I meant a naturalness. And I was happy with them.

“You must bring your father out to visit us,” they said.

“The families must get to know each other.”

That seemed an excellent idea, I replied. I had some commissions to do and should have to come back to France very soon. I wanted to go home first, though, because I was a little anxious about my father.

She understood perfectly.

That was a cloudless afternoon and one which filled me with delight-almost-because I felt I knew which way I was going. But two things did happen in the late afternoon which caused me a prick or two of anxiety.

Bertrand and I had left the rest of his family and taken one of the boats to row down the river.

I sat back under my sunshade while Bertrand rowed. He sat there smiling contentedly, talking of our marriage.

“We shall not be rich,” he said, and added smiling: “But you will have to earn a lot of money for us with your painting.”

“I should like to do that.”

“Not for the money … for the love of art, eh? I want you to be happy, Kate, and you never would be without your painting. We will turn one of the rooms at Mortemer into a studio for you.”

“That would be lovely.”

Oh, it was a perfect day.

“You will plan how you would like it when you come to stay with us. My mother said you have promised to come … you and your father. Perhaps then we can make all the necessary arrangements.”

“For the room?”

“For our marriage. For both.”

“I should like a room similar to the one at Centeville.”

It was tactless. I had brought a shadow into the perfect day. I should never have mentioned Centeville.

He was silent and I saw the anger in his face. He clenched his fist and said: “I could murder him.”

“Don’t think of him … on a day like this.”

But Bertrand could not stop thinking of him.

“If you could have seen him …” he went on.

“He sat there … smiling.

“I want her settled,” he said.

“I’m fond of Nicole You like her, too. You won’t suffer for it…” I could not believe my ears. “

“Never mind,” I said soothingly.

“It’s over. You told him clearly what you thought of such a suggestion.”

“He looked at me as though he could have killed me when I shouted at him. It’s not often people shout at him. I said:

“Keep your castoff mistress. I wouldn’t touch any woman of yours. It would make me sick every time I went near her. I’d think of you with her … all the time.”

“Forget it,” I pleaded.

“It’s over.”

But Bertrand could not stop. He went on: “He said:

“You’re going to marry my mistress and not be a fool. It’ll be the making of you.” I went mad then. I shouted at him. I told him: “Never, never, never …” And then I came away. I don’t suppose anyone has ever spoken to him like that before. “

“You made your feelings very clear to him. Now, do let’s forget him.

You need never see him again. He might try to harm you. But how could he? Financially? Never mind. We don’t want money that comes through him. I’ll paint. It will be a wonderful life. “

He smiled at me and went back to his rowing in silence But the magic had gone from the day.

The other incident concerned the Princesse.

I saw her come out from the woods along the river bank, hand in hand with Armand L’Estrange. She looked flushed and very happy and there was about her an air of. what I can only describe as proud defiance.

For a moment I was startled; and then I thought: She is only a child.

We were silent as we rode back to Paris. I thought how beautiful the city looked in the fading light as we came through the Bois de Boulogne past the Arc de Triomphe and into the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore.

At length the Princesse spoke.

“What an exciting day! For both of us, I think. So it is now definite. You are going to be Madame de Mortemer. As for me … who knows?”

She was so happy. I was not going to make the mistake of mentioning the Baron’s name for the second time that day.

The day after thejete champetre the Princesse was not well. She was pale, listless and depressed. Poor child, I thought. Her coming marriage alarms her so much and she can’t forget that it is coming nearer and nearer every day. She did not look in the least like the pretty young girl who was beginning to emerge in the miniature.

Marie-Claude was no beauty; her features were irregular and the lower part other face too heavy; she had to be happy to be attractive. She was effervescent by nature, and when I thought of the happy girl at thereto champetre she seemed to bear little relationship to this pale-faced girl in the bed.

She did not leave her room and sittings were cancelled. She did ask me to sit with her, which I was glad to do. At times I thought she was on the point of confiding in me but I did not encourage this because I knew it was going to be about her fears for her coming marriage, and there was little I could say to comfort her about that. To tell her that marriages of convenience often turned out happily was banal really. I tried to put myself in her place. I was sure I should have done something about it. But how could I preach rebellion to my poor helpless little Princesse?

I tried to talk of other things of my home and the life we led in Farringdon; and sometimes I made her smile a little.

I took a walk every afternoon. Each day the spell of Paris wove itself more tightly about me. I was enchanted by this beautiful city and I thoroughly enjoyed exploring it. Marie Claude thought I was very adventurous, for she was naturally not allowed to go out without a chaperone. I felt free independent of everyone. After all, here I was executing a commission for a nobleman of France. When I came to think of it, the Baron had done a good deal for me. Not only had he given me acknowledgement of my art but he had made a person of me in my own right. I suppose I should be grateful for that.

I must stop thinking of the man. He had even intruded into the wonderful afternoon ofthejete champetre and brought an ugly cloud.

Because of him poor Marie-Claude was suffering at this moment for I was sure her illness was nothing more than an attack of nervous apprehension. Meanwhile her indisposition gave me free time to explore during an extended stay in Paris. I was not sorry, because I was a little troubled by the miniature. I did want to get something as good as the one I had done of the Baron but at the same time I was eager to make the Princesse appear at her most attractive. Oddly enough, the Baron had been an easier subject.

I would go out every afternoon at two o’clock precisely and I covered a great deal of ground, for I was a good walker. I wandered through the streets down the Avenue du Bois de Boulogne to the Louvre and found my way to the Gardens of the Luxembourg. Most impressive of all was the great Cathedral of Notre Dame. From the moment I entered it I felt a tremendous excitement. It was gloomy inside and a scent of incense hung in the air. I explored a little, but I knew this was not the way to see the cathedral and that I should come back and back again for as long as that were possible. All that I had ever heard about the place came flooding back to me. I remembered that our own Henry the Sixth had been crowned King of France here more than four hundred years ago. Later Henri of Navarre had married Marguerite de Valois-in the porch because as a Huguenot he was not allowed inside-and that marriage had been followed by the terrible massacre ofSt. Bartholomew; and twenty years later when he had taken possession of the city, the same Henri, having agreed to become a Catholic, had said it was worth a mass.

I was fascinated by the hideous gargoyles, and I stood for a long time gazing from one to another wondering why it had been thought necessary to adorn but perhaps that was hardly the word-such a holy place with such demoniacal figures. The expressions in the faces were something one would see in nightmares. Indeed I wondered whether I should ever forget them. What did they mean to convey? Cunning . yes, that was there . cruelty, lust, greed . all the seven deadly sins. And above all, I think, a certain cynicism.

As I stood there looking at them, one of these-the most saturnine of them all-seemed to move and the features slide into a different shape. For a moment I thought it was the Baron who was looking at me.

He looked like a demon. What had he called himself? The Demon Lover?

Lover! It was hardly likely that he would ever love anyone but himself. I stared. The stone had set back into that cruel face and it could have been laughing at me.

I must get that man out of my mind.

I had stayed longer than I realized and decided I would take a cab.

There was one waiting by the cathedral and I hailed it, gave the cocker instructions. He touched his white hat and we set off.

After that I made a habit of using cabs. I found that I could wander where I liked, stay longer and then simply hail a cab and be back at the house at the time I set myself.

The Princesse was always interested to hear where I had been and I liked to talk about my little trips. I think she was beginning to see Paris through new eyes.

I told her that I had been to the cathedral and how enthralling I had found it. I intended to go back the following day.

“It’s quite a long way.”

“I’m a good walker and I can take a cab back.”

“You are lucky, Mademoiselle Kate. How wonderful it must be to be free.”

I looked at her sadly. I knew that this illness of hers was just a desire to hold back time. She did not want the miniature to be finished; here in her bed she found a small refuge against the encroaching future.

The following morning when I was preparing to go out after dejeuner at the usual hour of two o’clock she asked if I was going to Notre Dame and if so would I call in at the little modiste’s shop close by. She wanted me to take a note there. It was about a hat she wanted made.

I went to the cathedral. I had taken a sketch-book this time and I sat inside and made a few sketches, but all the time what I really wanted to sketch was the gargoyles. I did some from memory, but I thought I invented expressions and in all of them there was something which reminded me of the Baron.

I came out of the cathedral and found my way to the modiste’s shop. I delivered the message and took a cab back to the house.

When I went in to tell Marie-Claude that I had given in the note she seemed better.

“I want you to go again tomorrow,” she said, ‘and make sure the modiste can carry out the order. “

The next day I did the same. They were still waiting for delivery of the material, they told me.

I went back in a cab. I really enjoyed these trips across the City, and I was beginning to know the streets through which we passed. I had a good sense of location and when I returned to the house and talked to Marie-Glaude I felt a great desire for this to go on. Like her, I did not want time to pass too quickly; like her, perhaps I was apprehensive about the future and that was what made the present so desirable. I was still unsure about my marriage. Wasn’t I marrying into a foreign country and to a man whom I had known for a very short time? Had Marie-Claude made me realize the pitfalls one could find in marriage? Had I plunged into this relationship too impulsively? Was I caught up in the excitement of so much that was new? Would I do better to go home and think about it all for a while?

Each day I said: “Do you feel ready to resume the sitting?”

“Another day,” she would insist.

But the next day it would be “Not just yet .. perhaps tomorrow.”

I had paid several visits to the modiste’s shop.

“I am so eager to hear that she has what I want,” said Marie Claude

“It is so important that it should be exactly right. So you still go to Notre Dame?”

“I am interested in the surrounding district. But… I can always go wherever you want me to.”

“Thank you. Don’t wander into any of those narrow winding streets which I believe are somewhere near the cathedral. There is a district where they used to make the dyes … and there are streets where women live … the Street of Prostitutes. Oh dear. Mademoiselle Kate, take care and do not go there. There are thieves who have all sorts of ways of robbing you. You can’t imagine how wicked they can be.”

I assured her that I could.

“So avoid the narrow streets. The Emperor has widened a great many of the roads, but there are still some of those wicked ones remaining.”

“Never fear. When in doubt I take a cab.”

“Are the cockers polite?”

“Moderately. Some of them pretend they cannot understand me. It’s my accent, I suppose. They make me repeat Faubourg Saint-Honore sometimes, and for the life of me I cannot see the difference in the way in which I say it and the way they do.”

“It’s because they know you’re a foreigner and they probably guess that you’re English at that.”

“A double fault,” I said lightly.

“Oh, I have no fear of the cockers.

I like them. In fact they all look alike in their blue coats and white hats. “

“Don’t forget to call at the modiste’s.”

I did call there and it was after that when the strange thing happened and I was plunged into terror.

I went to the shop. Yes, there was good news. The materials had arrived and Madame would give me a note to take to the Princesse describing in detail what they had. They would go ahead with the work as soon as she gave them permission.

I came out of the shop. It was a rather hazy afternoon-hot but not sunny. I looked for a cab. Sometimes I had to walk a little way before I found one, but on this afternoon one was just cruising past as I emerged. The cocker slowed down. I stepped towards him and told him where I wanted to go. There was no pretence this time of not understanding.

I settled down, delighted that my mission to the modiste had at last proved successful. I wondered vaguely why the Princesse did not send for the modiste. Why did she send those messages back and forth? She must be buying lots of hats and gloves for her wedding. I would ask her. I had been so immersed in my own daily adventures, and because of my love of exploration and complete fascination with the Cathedral I had not given much thought to the matter until now. Mane-Claude was a strange girl and was capable of making an adventure out of buying hats.

I looked up. I did not know the street we were in. Perhaps in a moment we would break into one of the familiar boulevards.

We did not. I thought the driver was driving rather fast.

I called out: “Did you hear me correctly? I want to go to the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore.”

He turned his head slightly and shouted: “A short cut.”

I sat back. A short cut! But where were we?

Five minutes later I started to get seriously alarmed. I called out:

“You are not taking me to the Saint-Honore.”

He did not look round but merely nodded.

Then I thought of Marie-Claude’s warnings. They did like to play tricks on foreigners. He was going to pretend he had not understood my accent and taking me out of my way would demand a large fare.

“Stop!” I cried.

“I want to talk to you.”

But he did not stop. He whipped up the horses and we were now travelling at a great speed and I was getting really frightened. Where was he taking me . and for what purpose?

I looked out of the window. I had never seen this district of Paris before. I believed he was taking me away from the centre of the City.

The palms of my hands were clammy. What did it mean? What could his motive be? Was he going to attack me? I imagined him driving his cab into some dark coach-house. Perhaps he would kill me. What for? I had little jewellery. I did not look exactly rich.

I must do something. We were still in a built-up area and were passing through streets with shops on either side. I must try to attract someone’s attention. I must not allow myself to be driven out of the built-up area.

I knocked on the window. No one looked my way. I supposed I could not be heard above the noise of the street.

We had rounded a bend in the road. Ahead of us cabs and carriages were close together. My mysterious cocker had slackened speed. He had to.

There was no help for it.

Now, I said to myself. Now. It could be my only chance.

I opened the door and jumped down into the “oad. Someone shouted at me. It must have been the driver of an oncoming cab. I was quick. I dashed almost under the horse’s nose and I was on the pavement. I started to run and I did not stop running for fully five minutes.

Then I paused and looked about me. I was in a street I did not know, but it was comfortingly crowded with shoppers. Outside a cafe people were sipping coffee or aperitifs. Men and women strolled by and young girls with bandboxes on their arms hurried past me. I looked about for a cab. I should be terrified to get into one again; but I had to. It was absurd to be afraid. They had always been all right before.

People looked at me curiously and looked away, dismissing me no doubt as a tourist, gazing about as she explored the town.

I started to walk and it seemed that I walked for miles, but ‘my sense of direction was good and I knew I was going the right way. I must have walked for nearly an hour when the familiar towers of Notre Dame loomed up in the distance.

I knew where I was then.

I had to take a cab. I could not possibly walk all the way back. There were plenty about now. Would I know my co cher again? What if he had followed me and was waiting to pick me up?

I had to take a chance.

I hailed a cab. My relief was intense. The cocker was a middle-aged man with a big moustache. I asked if he would take me to the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore.

“But certainly, Mademoiselle,” he said with a smile, and soon we were rattling along the familiar streets.

With great relief I entered the house. I had emerged from a terrifying adventure . unharmed.

As soon as I was in the house I remembered the note which I had carried for the Princesse. I took off my cloak and went immediately to her room.

“Have you got…” she began. She stopped. Then she went on:

“Mademoiselle Collison … Kate … what has happened? You look as if you have seen a ghost.”

I said: “I have just had a terrifying adventure.”

She clutched the letter in her hand and was already opening it.

“What?” she cried.

She glanced at the letter and her lips curled up at the corners. Then she looked at me waiting.

I said: “I went into the modiste’s shop and when I came out I got into a cab. There seemed nothing unusual about it. The cocker looked like all other cockers in his blue coat and white hat. Then I noticed we weren’t going the right way. I spoke to him. He said it was a short cut. But soon … I knew he was taking me somewhere else …”

“Kate! What for?”

“I’ve no idea. He drove me across the City, and when he knew that I’d realized something was wrong, he started to drive very fast. I knew then that he had been waiting for me … with his cab … It was just outside the modiste’s. He wasn’t going to stop. Thank God we got into a huddle of traffic and I was able to jump out. Otherwise …”

“Otherwise? Oh… what can it mean?”

“I can only think that he was going to rob me … perhaps murder me.”

Oh no! “

“But surely if it was robbery, he would have chosen someone else. There was nothing I had that was worth taking all that trouble for.”

She was looking at the letter in her hand. Then she said slowly: “You had this. That was what it was. It was the Baron. He knows. It is one of his men. He has spies everywhere. He knew. He wanted the letter.”

“Tell me what you mean,” I commanded.

“This letter is nothing about hats. I use the modiste as a sort of paste rest ante

“Who was the letter from?”

She hesitated and then said: “Armand L’Estrange.”

“So you have been carrying on a correspondence with him and I have been your courier?”

She nodded.

“I knew the modiste would help so I arranged with her to take letters from me to him and for him to leave his there to be collected.”

“I see,” I said slowly.

“You don’t see half of it. I’m in love with Armand. That’s what makes everything so much worse. We’re lovers, Kate. Real lovers. I mean we have been with each other as married people.”

“Oh!”

“You’re shocked. You pretend to be so advanced, but you’re shocked. I love Armand and he loves me.”

“Perhaps a marriage can be arranged. It is not too late.”

“The Baron has decided to marry me!”

“It takes two to make a decision.”

“No one would ever let it happen. Armand wouldn’t either. The Baron could ruin him. But that doesn’t prevent our … being together .. when we can arrange it.”

“But you are so young.”

“I’m old enough. I am seventeen. It started before my seventeenth birthday. Don’t think the first time was at the fete champetre.”

I was trying hard to take in what this meant. It was following too closely on that other shock for me to think clearly. I was so sorry for the poor girl lying in the bed. She was truly terrified.

She said, her voice shrill with fear: “He knows. He has discovered. He knew you went to the modiste’s shop to collect the notes and deliver them, so he had you waylaid. You would have been driven somewhere and the note taken from you.”

“It is too wild a scheme.”

“Not for him. Nothing is too wild for him. He would have a watch on me. Perhaps he had heard rumours about me and Armand. People talk and he would have ways of making them talk. He has heard rumours and tracked me down to the modiste’s. That was why you were waylaid. Thank God you escaped. If this letter had fallen into his hands …”

For a while I believed her because I was so shaken by my own experience. I thought of her experimenting with love, for I was sure that was what it was. She was so young; she had lived in such a sheltered fashion; it was cruel to force her into marriage with such a man.

I tried to comfort her, and as I did so I began to see how absurd her conjectures were.

“My dear Princesse,” I said, ‘if he had known there was a note at the modiste’s shop all he had to do was go in and demand it. She wouldn’t have dared hold out against him. “

“No, this is like him. He would abduct you and get the note from you and pretend it was normal robbery. He wouldn’t want me to know he knew. He would be thinking of some terrible revenge for me. He is determined to marry me for my royal blood. That’s what he wants me for the continual childbearing.”

She looked down at the note and kissed it romantically.

“If he knew we had been lovers, think of how furious he would be.”

“That might be said to be a natural emotion.”

“I’m no virgin.”

“He is hardly that himself. Why don’t you tell him everything that has happened? Tell him you love Armand. Ask him to release you.”

“Are you mad? What would happen to us all? There’d be ruin. The L’Estranges would go crazy. He knows how to take his revenge.”

“Can any man be as bad as we all seem to think he is?”

“One man could. And they want me to marry him!”

“I don’t think you are right about the cab,” I said.

“I think it was probably intended robbery. On the other hand, it might just have been an attempt to get a big fare out of me. The fact that I’m a foreigner would make it so easy for him to say he misunderstood.”

“It was the Baron,” said the Princesse.

“I know.” I went back to my room. I was horribly shaken not only by my experience but by what the Princesse had told me.

Before the next week was out I had finished the portrait. It had been a busy week for me. I took short walks, never going so far that I was not prepared to walk back. I had taken a deep aversion to cabs.

The Princesse brightened up considerably on the days after her confession. She seemed rather pleased with herself, and there was an air of defiance about her. I could detect the loss of innocence which I had come to realize is sometimes apparent in very young girls who have had sexual experience.

I wondered what her future life would be like if she were actually going through with the marriage; and what his reaction would be if he discovered she had taken a lover before marriage.

I did not like to contemplate too deeply. I saw a far from felicitous union. But that was no concern of mine. I was merely the artist who had painted the miniatures of the betrothed pair.

I was recovering from my experience, which seemed less terrifying on contemplation. I certainly did not believe the story of the Baron’s spy and was growing more and more certain that it had been a plan of robbery or mischief. Had I gone on in the cab, I might have been robbed of my possessions and left to find my way back or else paid an excessive fare. Unpleasant, but not so very sinister.

The finished portrait was exquisite. Not such a clever piece of work as that of the Baron, but very charming in appearance. The miniature was to be taken back to Centeville so that the Baron’s jeweller would fit it into its frame.

A letter arrived from the Baron to me. It was written in perfect English, and I wondered if he had written it himself or whether it was the work of his secretary.

My dear Mademoiselle Collison, I am very eager to see the miniature. Madame la Comtesse tells me that it is beautiful. the sort of work I should expect from you. I could send someone down to collect it. I would, however, be so pleased if you would bring it yourself. First I should like to give you my opinion of it, and there is the matter of the account to be settled.

Moreover, I do not like the idea of this precious picture being in any hands that do not understand its value.

You have been so good in the execution of this commission and your work has given me a great deal of pleasure. May I encroach on your goodness to oblige me with this other small service?

Your servant, Rollo de Centeville.

I let the letter fall from my hands. I had planned to leave for the coast within a few days and then cross the Channel for home.

I had heard from my father that he had arrived home safely and that he was delighted with my success. The enterprise could not have turned out more satisfactorily, he pointed out. He believed that soon mine would be a name to be reckoned with in the Paris salons . and acclaim in England would naturally follow.

If I went to Centeville my return home would be delayed and I told myself that I was annoyed by this request, but that was not exactly the truth. I should really like to go to Centeville once more; I should even like to see the Baron, for I did want to watch his face as he saw the miniature for the first time. That he would give a frank opinion, I knew; and if he were indeed pleased with it, I should feel very happy indeed because whatever else he was there was no doubt that he was a practised connoisseur.

There would be a delay of a week, but I decided I must go. He had done so much for me. I had to do this small service.

I wrote to my father and told him that my return would be delayed. I mentioned that I had finished the picture of the Princesse and was pleased with it. I now hoped the Baron would be. I explained that he wanted me to take it to him and that this was what I was doing.

“He has promised to pay me,” I wrote, ‘and that is important. Some people think it is a little bourgeois to pay their bills promptly and sometimes never do, as you know well. It will be nice to have the money and if he likes the portrait I shall feel I really am on my way. ”

The Princesse had been delighted with the picture.

“It flatters me,” she said.

“No,” I told her.

“I just painted you at your best.”

She silently kissed me then.

“I’m sorry we have to say goodbye to each other,” she said sincerely.

“I have liked your being here. And now you know my secrets.”

“They will be safe with me.”

“Pray for me, Kate. Pray for me on my wedding night.”

I laid my hands on her shoulders and said: “Don’t be afraid. If you have done something which is not right, remember that he has too … much worse, I imagine.”

“You are a comfort. I hope we meet again.” Then I left the Rue du Faubourg Saint-Honore and Paris, which I had grown to love.

It was late afternoon when I took the train to Rouen.