Madame Bastide sat at the head of the table and her

son opposite her. I was on Madame Bastide’s right hand, Genevieve on that of her son. We were the guests of honour and here as in the chateau etiquette was observed.

The children chatted all the time and I was glad to see that Genevieve was listening intently and occasionally joining in. Yves would not allow her to be shy. I was certain that it was company such as this that she needed, for she seemed happier than I had ever seen her before. About her neck was her pendant. I guessed she would never want to take it off and would perhaps sleep in it.

Madame Bastide carved the turkey, which was stuffed with chestnuts and served with a puree of mushrooms. It was quite delicious, but the great moment was when a large cake was brought in to the delighted shrieks of the children.

“Who will get it? Who will get it?” chanted Yves.

“Who’ll be King for the day?”

“It might be a Queen,” Margot reminded him.

“It’ll be a King. What’s the good of a Queen?”

“If a Queen has the crown she can rule.”

“Be silent, children,” scolded Madame Bastide.

“Does Mademoiselle Lawson know of this old custom?”

Jean Pierre was smiling at me across the table.

“You see that cake,” he said.

“Of course she sees it,” cried Yves.

“It’s big enough,” added Gabrielle.

“Well,” went on Jean Pierre, ‘inside it is a crown a tiny crown. Now the cake is going to be cut into ten pieces one for each and all the cake must be eaten . and with care . “

“You might have the crown,” shrieked Yves.

“With care,” went on Jean Pierre, ‘for someone round this table is going to find the crown in the cake. “

“And when it is found?”

“King for the day,” shouted Yves.

“Or Queen for the day,” added Margot.

“They wear the crown?” I asked.

“It’s too little,” Gabrielle told me.

“But…”

“Better than that. The one who gets the crown is King or as Margot says Queen for the day,” explained Jean Pierre.

“It means that he or she … rules the household. What he …” he smiled at Margot ‘or she . says is law. “

“For the whole of the day!” cried Margot.

“If I get it,” said Yves, ‘you can’t think what I’ll do! “

“What?” demanded Margot.

But he was too overcome by mirth to tell, and everyone was impatient for the cutting of the cake.

There was a tense silence while Madame Bastide plunged in the knife; the cake was cut and Gabrielle stood up to take the plate and hand it round. I was watching Genevieve, delighted to see how she could join in the simple fun.

There was no sound as we started to eat only the ticking of the clock and the crackle of logs in the fireplace.

Then suddenly there was a shout and Jean Pierre was holding up the little gold-coloured crown.

“Jean Pierre has it! Jean Pierre has it!” sang out the children.

“Call me Your Majesty when you address me,” retorted Jean Pierre with mock dignity.

“I order my coronation to take place without delay.”

Gabrielle went out of the room and returned carrying, on a cushion, a metal crown, decorated with tinsel. The children wiggled on the seats with delight, and Genevieve watched round-eyed.

“Who does Your Majesty command should crown you?” asked Gabrielle.

Jean Pierre pretended to survey us all regally; then his eyes fell on me. I glanced towards Genevieve and he took the message at once.

“Mademoiselle Genevieve de la Talle step forward,” he said.

Genevieve leapt to her feet, her cheeks pink, her eyes shining.

“You have to put the crown on his head,” Yves told her.

So Genevieve walked solemnly to the cushion which Gabrielle held and, taking the crown, put it on Jean Pierre’s head.

“Now you kneel and kiss his hand,” commanded Yves, ‘and swear to serve the King. “

I was watching Jean Pierre sitting back in his chair, the crown on his head, while Genevieve kneeled at his feet on the cushion on which Gabrielle had carried the crown. His expression was one of complete triumph. He certainly played the part well.

Yves broke up the solemn proceedings by demanding what was His Majesty’s first command. Jean Pierre thought for a while and then he looked at Genevieve and me and said: “That we dispense with formality.

Everyone here is commanded to call everyone else by their Christian names. “

I saw Gabrielle look at me apprehensively so I smiled and said: “Mine is Dallas. I hope you can all say it.”

They all repeated it with the accent on the last syllable and there was laughter from the children as I corrected each one in turn.

“Is it a well-known English name?” asked Jacques.

“Like Jean Pierre and Yves in France?” asked Yves.

“By no means. It’s entirely my own and there’s a reason for it. My father was Daniel, my mother Alice. Before I was born he wanted a girl; she wanted a boy; he wanted it named after my mother, she after him. Then I appeared … and they merged their names and made Dallas.”

This delighted the children, who started a game of linking names to see who could get the most amusing.

And immediately we were on Christian-name terms and it was extraordinary how that broke down all formality.

Jean Pierre sat back, his crown on his head like a benevolent monarch, and yet now and then I thought I could see a trace of arrogance which reminded me of the Comte.

He caught me watching him and laughed.

He said to me: “It is good of you, Dallas, to join in our games.”

And for some absurd reason I was relieved to find he referred to this as a game.

When the Bastides’ maid came to put up the shutters I was reminded how time was flying. It had been such a pleasant afternoon; we had played games, miming and guessing all under the command of Jean Pierre; we had danced, for Armand Bastide’s contribution to the jollity had been to play the violin.

There was only one time as good as Christmas, Margot confided in me as she taught me how to dance the Sautiere Charentaise, and that was grape harvest. but she didn’t think even that was quite as good for there weren’t the presents and the tree and King-fora-day.

“Grape harvest is really for the grownups,” added Yves sagely.

“Christmas is ours.”

I was delighted to see Genevieve throw herself so wholeheartedly into the playing of games. I could see that she wanted the afternoon to go on and on; but I knew that we should return to the chateau. Even now our absence would have been noticed and I did not know what reaction there would be.

I told Madame Bastide that we must most regretfully be leaving and she signed to Jean Pierre.

“My subjects wish to speak with me?” he said, his warm brown eyes twinkling first at me, then at Genevieve.

“We have to go,” I explained.

“We’ll slip away … quietly. Then they won’t notice that we’ve gone.”

“Impossible! They’ll all be desolate. I don’t know whether I shan’t have to exercise my royal prerogative …”

“We’ll go now. I hate taking Genevieve away. She has had such a wonderful time.”

“I will accompany you to the chateau.”

“Oh, there is no need …”

“No need … when it’s growing dark! I shall insist. You know I can.” His eyes were a little wistful.

“Only for today, it is true, but I must make the most of my hour of power.”

We were all rather silent during the walk back to the chateau, and when we reached the drawbridge Jean Pierre halted and said: “There!

You are safely home. “

He took my hand in one of his and Genevieve’s in the other. He kissed them both; and still held them. Then to my surprise he drew me towards him and kissed my cheek; and immediately did the same to Genevieve.

We were startled, both of us, but he was smiling.

“The King can do no wrong,” he reminded us.

“Tomorrow I shall be plain Jean Pierre Bastide, but today I am King of my little castle.”

I laughed, and taking Genevieve’s arm said: “Well, thank you, and good day.”

He bowed and we went across the drawbridge into the castle.

Nounou was waiting for us, a little anxious.

“Monsieur Ie Comte came to the schoolroom. He asked where you were, and I had to tell him.”

“Of course,” I said, my heart beginning to beat fast.

“You see you were not here for dejeuner.”

“There is no need to keep anything secret,” I replied.

“He wishes to see you when you return.”

“Both of us?” said Genevieve and I thought how she had changed from the excited girl who had joined the Bastides’ games.

“No, only Mademoiselle Lawson. He will be in the library until six o’clock. You would just catch him, miss.”

“I will go to him at once,” I said; and I went out leaving Nounou and Genevieve together.

He was there reading, and when I entered he languidly, almost reluctantly, laid aside his book.

“You wished to see me?” I asked.

“Please sit down. Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“I must thank you for the miniature. It is quite lovely.”

He bowed his head.

“I thought you would appreciate it. You recognized her, of course.”

“Yes. The likeness is there. I feel you have been too generous.”

“Can one be too generous?”

“It was kind of you to put the gifts in the shoes.”

“You had made my duty plain to me.” He smiled and looked down at his hands.

“You have had a pleasant visit?”

“We have been at the Maison Bastide. I think it excellent for Genevieve to be with young people.” I spoke defiantly.

“I am sure you are right.”

“She enjoyed the games … the Christmas festivities … the simplicity of it all. I hope you do not disapprove.”

He lifted his shoulders and spread his hands in a gesture which might have meant anything.

“Genevieve should join us for dinner tonight,” he said.

“I am sure she will enjoy that.”

“I don’t suppose we can vie with the bonhomie, the camaraderie, you enjoyed earlier in the day, but you too must join us … if you wish, Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“Thank you.”

He inclined his head to indicate that the interview was over; I rose and he followed me to the door, which he held open for me.

“Genevieve was delighted with your gift,” I told him.

“I wish you could have seen her face when she took off the wrapping.”

He smiled and I was very happy. I had expected a reprimand and instead had been given an invitation.

This was a wonderful Christmas.

It was my first opportunity to wear the new dress. As I put it on I felt excited strangely expectant as though the fact that I was wearing a dress he had chosen for me made a different woman of me.

But of course he hadn’t chosen it. He had merely asked the Paris house to send a dress to fit a woman who had worn the black velvet. Yet the colour was the most becoming I could have worn. Was that chance? Or had he suggested it? My eyes looked brilliantly green and my hair was the colour of polished chestnuts. I believed I was almost attractive in that dress.

It was in a mood of exhilaration that I started down the stairs, and as I did so I came face to face with Mademoiselle de la Monelle. She looked enchanting in a gown of lavender chiffon trimmed with green satin bows; her fair hair was worn in curls held high with a clip of pearls and some glistening coils falling over her long slender neck.

She looked at me in some bewilderment as though she were trying to remember where we had met before. I imagined I looked very different in this gown from how I looked in my shabby riding-habit.

“I’m Dallas Lawson,” I said.

“I’m restoring the pictures.”

“You are joining us?” There was a cold surprise in her voice which I found offensive.

“On the Comte’s invitation,” I replied as coolly.

“Is that so?”

“Indeed, yes.”

Her eyes were taking in the details of my dress, assessing its cost; it seemed to surprise her as much as the Comte’s invitation.

She turned and went on ahead of me. The gesture seemed to imply that even if the Comte was so eccentric as to invite someone who was working for him to mingle with his friends, she did not wish to know me.

The guests were gathered in one of the smaller rooms near the banqueting hall. The Comte had already become deep in conversation with Mademoiselle de la Monelle and was unaware of my entrance, but Philippe made his way towards me. I fancied he knew that I might be feeling a little uneasy and had been waiting for me. Another example of his kindness.