“Thank you,” he said.

“I have not answered yet.”

“But you have. You wanted time to find a tactful answer. I did not ask for tact. I wanted truth.”

“You must allow me to speak, having asked my opinion.”

“Well?”

“I do not believe for one moment that you gave your wife a dose of poison, but…”

“But…”

“Perhaps you … disappointed her … perhaps you did not make her happy. I mean perhaps she was unhappy being married to you and rather than continue so she took her life.”

He was looking at me with the twisted smile on his lips. I sensed in him then a deep unhappiness and there came to me an overwhelming desire to make him happy. It was absurd, but it was there, and I could not deny it. I believed that I had seen a little of the man beneath that exterior of arrogance and indifference to others.

It was almost as though he read my thoughts, for his expression hardened as he replied: “Now you see, Mademoiselle Lawson, why I have no desire to marry; you think I am obliquely guilty, and you being such a wise young woman are no doubt right.”

“You are thinking me foolish, tactless, gauche … everything that you most dislike.”

“I find you … refreshing, Mademoiselle Lawson. You know that. But I believe you have a saying in your country.

“Give a dog a bad name and hang him.” Is that so? ” I nodded.

“Well, here you see that dog with his bad name. A bad name is one of the easiest things to live up to.

There! In exchange for the lesson you gave me on restoring pictures I have given you one on family history. What I set out to tell you was that, as soon as Easter is over, my cousin and I will leave for Paris.

There is no reason why Philippe’s marriage should be delayed. He and I will attend the diner-contrat at the bride’s house and after that there will be ceremonies. The honeymoon will follow and when they return to the chateau we shall do a little more entertaining. “

How could he talk so calmly of this matter? When I considered his part in it, I felt angry with him for behaving so and with myself for so easily forgetting his faults and being ready to accept him on his own terms, one might say, every time he presented himself to me in a new light.

He went on: “We shall give a ball as soon as they return. The new Madame de la Talle will expect it. Then two nights later we shall have a ball for everyone connected with the chateau … the vine-workers, the servants, everyone. It is an old custom when the heir to the chateau marries. I hope you will attend both these ceremonies.”

“I shall be delighted to join in with the workers, but I am not sure that Madame de la Talle would wish me to be a guest at her ball.”

“I wish it and if I invite you she will welcome you. You are not sure of that? My dear Miss Lawson, I am the master of the house. Only my death can alter that.”

“I am sure of it,” I answered, ‘but I came here to work and am not prepared for grand functions. “

“But I am sure you will adjust yourself to the unexpected. I must not detain you further. I see you are waiting to return to your work.”

With that he left me bewildered, excited, and with the faint warning that I was sinking lower into a quicksand from which every day it was becoming more difficult to escape. Did he know this? Was his conversation meant to convey a warning?

The Comte and Philippe left for Paris the day after Good Friday; and on Monday I went to call on the Bastides, where I found Yves and Margot playing in the garden. They called out to me to come and see the Easter eggs which they had found on Sunday some in the house, some in the out-houses; there were as many as they found last year.

“Perhaps you don’t know, miss,” said Margot, ‘that the bells all go to Rome for the benediction and on the way they drop eggs for the children to End. “

I admitted that I had never heard that before.

“Then don’t you have Easter eggs in England?” asked Yves.

“Yes … but just as presents.”

“These are presents, too,” he told me.

“The bells don’t really drop them. But we find them, you see. Would you like one?”

I said I would like to take one for Genevieve, who would be pleased to hear that they had found it.

The egg was carefully wrapped up and solemnly presented to me, and I told them I had come to see their mother.

Glances were exchanged and Yves said: “She’s gone out…”

“With Gabrielle,” added Margot.

“Then I’ll see her some other day. Is anything wrong?”

They lifted their shoulders to indicate ignorance, so I said goodbye and continued my walk.

This took me to the river and there I saw their maidservant Jeanne with a brouette of clothes. She was beating them with a piece of wood as she washed them in the river.

“Good afternoon, Jeanne,” I said.

“Good afternoon, miss.”

“I’ve been to the house. But I’ve missed Madame Bastide.”

“She has gone into the town.”

“It’s so rarely that she is out at this time of day.”

Jeanne nodded and grimaced at her stick.

“I hope all is well, miss.”

“Have you reason to think it isn’t?”

“I have a daughter of my own.”

I was puzzled and wondered whether I had been mistaken in the patois.

“You mean Mademoiselle Gabrielle …”

“Madame is most distressed and I know that she has taken Mademoiselle Gabrielle to the doctor.” She spread her hands.

“I pray to the saints that there is nothing wrong, but when the blood is hot, mademoiselle, these things will happen.”

I could not believe what she was hinting, so I said: “I hope Mademoiselle Gabrielle has nothing contagious.”

I left her smiling to herself at what she thought was my innocence. I felt very anxious, though, on behalf of the Bastides, and on my way back I called at the house.

Madame Bastide was at home; she received me, her face stony with bewilderment and grief.

“Perhaps I’ve called at the wrong time,” I said.

“I’ll go, unless there is anything I can do.”

“No,” she said.

“Don’t go. This is not a matter which can be kept secret for long … and I know you are discreet. Sit down, Dallas.”

She herself sat heavily and leaning her arm on the table covered her face with one hand.

I waited in embarrassment, and after a few minutes when I believed she was contemplating how much to tell me she lowered her hand and said, “That this should have happened in our family!”

“Is it Gabrielle?” I asked.

She nodded.

“Where is she?”

She jerked her head to the ceiling.

“In her room. She’s stubborn. She won’t say a word.”

“She’s ill?”

‘ll. I’d rather she were. I’d rather anything . but this. “

“Can nothing be done?”

“She won’t tell us. She won’t say who it is. I never believed this could be. She was never a girl to go gadding about. She’s always been so quiet.”

“Perhaps it can all be worked out.”

“I hope so. I dread what Jean Pierre will say when he hears. He’s so proud. He’ll be so angry with her.”

“Poor Gabrielle!” I murmured.

“Poor Gabrielle! I wouldn’t have believed it. And not a word until I found out, and then … I saw how frightened she was, so I guessed I was right. I thought she’d been looking pea ky lately; worried … never joining in with the family; and then we were getting the washing ready this morning, and she fainted. I was pretty certain then, so down to the doctor we went and he confirmed what I feared.”

“And she refused to tell you the name of her lover?”

Madame Bastide nodded.

“That’s what worries me. If it was one of the young men … well, we’d not like it but we could put it to rights.

But as she won’t say, I’m afraid. Why should she be afraid to tell us if it could all be put right? That’s what I want to know. It looks as if it’s someone who can’t do the right thing. “

I asked if I could make some coffee, and to my surprise she allowed me to. She sat at the table staring blankly before her and when I had made it I said could I take a cup up to Gabrielle.

Permission given I carried the cup upstairs and when I knocked at the door Gabrielle said: “It’s no use, Gran’mere.” So I opened the door and went in holding the cup of steaming coffee.

“You … Dallas!”

“I’ve brought you this. I thought you might like it.”

She lay and looked at me with leaden eyes.

I pressed her hand. Poor Gabrielle, her position was that of thousands of girls and to each it is a new and personal tragedy.

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“You can’t marry and …”

She shook her head more violently and turned it away so that I could not see her face.

“Is he … married already?”

She closed her lips tightly and refused to answer.

“Well, in that case, he can’t marry you and you’ll just have to try and be as brave as possible.”

“They’re going to hate me,” she said.

“All of them…. It won’t be the same again.”

“That’s not true,” I said.

“They’re shocked … they’re hurt… but they’ll grow away from that, and when the child comes they’ll love it.”

She smiled at me wanly.

“You always want to make things right, Dallas, people as well as pictures. There’s nothing you can do, though. I’ve made my bed, as they say, and I’m the one that’s got to lie on it.”

“Someone else should be with you in this trouble.”

But she was stubborn and would not tell anything.

I went sadly back to the chateau remembering that happy table on Christmas Day and thinking how suddenly, how alarmingly, life could change. There was no security in happiness.

The Comte did not return to the chateau immediately after the wedding.

Philippe and his bride had gone to Italy for their honeymoon and I wondered whether the Comte had found someone with whom to amuse himself now that he had so cynically handed Claude to Philippe.

That, I told myself angrily, was the most reasonable explanation of his absence.

He did not return until it was almost time for Claude and Philippe to come home and even then he made no attempt to see me alone. I asked myself whether he sensed my disapproval. As if he would care for that!

Still, he might decide that I was being even more presumptuous than usual.

I was very disappointed, for I had been hoping to talk to him again and I was dreading the time when Philippe and his wife returned. I was certain that Claude already disliked me and I imagined she was the sort of woman who would make no secret of her dislike.

Perhaps it would be necessary to take up Philippe’s offer to find me other employment. In spite of my growing apprehension, the thought of leaving the chateau was distinctly depressing.

After the three weeks’ honeymoon they returned, and on the very day following her arrival I had an encounter with Claude and discovered how deeply she disliked me.

I was coming from the gallery when we met.

“I should have thought you would have finished the work by now,” she said.

“I remember how well advanced you were at Christmas time.”

“Restoring pictures is a very exacting task. And the col lection in the gallery has been sadly neglected.”

“But I thought it would present little difficulty to such an expert.”

“There are always difficulties and a great deal of patience is required.”

“Which is why you need such concentration and cannot work all day?”

So she had noticed my method! And was she hinting that I was wasting time in order to prolong my stay at the castle?

I said warmly: “You can be assured, Madame de la Talle, that I shall finish the pictures as quickly as possible.”

She bowed her head.

“It is a pity that they could not have been completed in time for the ball which we are giving to our friends. I expect you, like the rest of the household, are looking forward to the second ball.”

She swept past me before I had time to answer. She was clearly indicating that she would not expect to see me at the first. I wanted to cry out: “But the Comte has already invited me. And he is still the master of the house!”

I went to my room and looked at the green velvet dress.

Why shouldn’t I go? He had asked me and he would expect me. What a triumph to be welcomed by him under the haughty nose of the new Madame de la Talle.

But by the night of the ball I had changed my mind. He had not found an opportunity of being with me. Did I really think that he would take my side against hers?