He laid his hand on my shoulder.

“I am very grateful to you.”

“Perhaps now you are not sorry you decided to trust your pictures to a woman.”

“I quickly learned that you are a woman to whom I would trust a great deal.”

The pressure of his hand on my shoulder; the brilliance of those hooded eyes, the joy of discovery, were intoxicating. I thought recklessly: This is the happiest moment of my life.

“Lothair!” It was Claude standing there frowning at us.

“What on earth has happened? You were there … and then you suddenly disappeared.”

He dropped his hand and turned to her.

“I had a mess age,” he said.

“An urgent message. Mademoiselle Lawson has made a miraculous discovery.”

“What?” She came towards us and looked from him to me.

“A most miraculous discovery!” he repeated, looking at me.

“What is this all about?”

“Look!” said the Comte.

“She has exposed a painting … a valuable one, apparently.”

“That! It looks like a smudge of paint.”

“You say that, Claude, because you do not see it with the artist’s eye. Now Mademoiselle Lawson tells me that it is part of a portrait by an artist of great talent because of the way the paint is put on.”

“You have forgotten that we are riding this morning.”

“Such a discovery make my forgetfulness excusable, I don’t you agree, Mademoiselle Lawson?” ^ “It is very rarely that such discoveries are made,” I replied.

“We are late already,” said Claude, without looking at me.

“You must tell me more some other time. Mademoiselle Lawson,” said the Comte, as he followed her to the door; but as he reached it, he turned to smile at me. Claude saw the look which passed between us and I was aware of the intensity of her dislike.

That thought was almost more intoxicating than anything else that had happened.

I worked with an intensity during the next few days which I knew to be dangerous; but by the end of three days I had uncovered more of the figure and as each inch was exposed I grew more and more certain that I was right in thinking that the painting was valuable.

One morning, however, I had a shock, for when I was working on one part of the lime-wash I uncovered something I could not understand. A letter emerged. There was writing on the wall. Something which might confirm the date of the painting? My hand was trembling. Perhaps I should have stopped work until I felt more calm, but that would be asking too much. I had uncovered the letters BLI. I worked carefully round them and I had “oubliez.” I could not give up. Before the morning was over, by working with great care I had the words “Ne m’oubliez pas,”

“Forget me not.” I was certain too that they had been painted at a much later date than the portrait which was now half-exposed.

It was something to show the Comte. He came to the room and we examined it together. He shared my excitement, or made a good pretence of doing so.

The door opened behind me. I was smiling as I carefully pressed the edge of the knife to the border of the lime-wash. He is growing as excited by this discovery as I am and finding it difficult to keep away, I thought.

There was a deep silence in the room and as I turned the smile must have faded quickly from my face for it was not the Comte who stood there but Claude.

She gave me a half-smile which seemed to cover a certain embarrassment. I could not understand this new mood.

“I heard you had discovered some words,” she said.

“May I see?” She came close to the wall and peered at it murmuring “Ne m’oubhez pas” ” Then she turned to me, her eyes puzzled.

“How did you know it was there?”

“It’s an instinct perhaps.”

“Mademoiselle Lawson …” She hesitated as though she found it difficult to say what was on her mind.

“I’m afraid I’ve been rather hasty. The other day… You see, I was alarmed for Genevieve.”

“Yes, I understand.”

“And I thought… I thought that the best thing …”

“Would be for me to go?”

“It wasn’t only Genevieve.”

I was taken aback. Was she going to confide in me? Was she going to tell me that she was jealous of the Comte’s regard for me? Impossible!

“You may not believe me, but I was thinking of you, too. My husband has spoken to me of you. We both feel that…” She frowned and looked at me helplessly.

“We feel you might want to get away.”

“Why?”

“There could be reasons. I just wanted you to know that I’ve heard of a possibility … a really exciting one. Between us, my husband and I could probably arrange a brilliant opportunity for you. I know how interested you are in old buildings and I dare say you would welcome the chance to examine in detail some of our old churches and abbeys.

And of course the picture galleries. “

“I should, of course, but…”

“Well, we have heard of a little project. A party of ladies are planning a tour to inspect the treasures of France. They want a guide someone who has a deep knowledge of what they will see. Naturally they would not want a man to accompany them, and so they thought that if there were such a lady who could conduct them and explain to them … It’s a unique chance. It would be well paid and I can assure you it would lead to excellent opportunities. It would enhance your reputation and I know give you an entry into many of our oldest families. You would be in great demand, for the ladies who wish to make this tour are all art-fanciers and have collections of their own. It seems such an excellent opportunity.”

I was amazed. She was certainly eager to be rid of me. Yes, indeed, she must be jealous!

“It sounds a fascinating project,” I said.

“But this work …” I waved my hand towards the wall.

“You will finish it shortly. Consider this project. I really think you should.”

She was like a different person. There was a new gentleness about her.

I could almost believe that she was genuinely concerned for me. I thought of making a minute examination of the treasures of France; I thought of discussing these with people who were as interested in them as I was. She could not have offered a more dazzling bait.

“I can get more details for you,” she said eagerly.

“You will think about it, Mademoiselle Lawson?”

She hesitated again as though she would say more, and, deciding against it, left me.

I was puzzled. She was either a jealous woman who was ready to go to great lengths to be rid of me, or she was warning me against the Comte. She might be implying: Be careful. See how he uses women.

Myself. married to Philippe for his convenience; Gabrielle married to Jacques. What will happen to you if you stay here and let him govern your life for that little while it pleases him to do so?

But in my heart I believed she suspected the Comte had some regard for me, and wanted me out of the way. It was an exhilarating thought.

But. for how long? Then I thought of the proposition she had laid before me. It was one which an ambitious woman eager to advance in her profession would be foolish to reject. It was a chance which came once in a lifetime.

When I thought of that and the possibilities the future held for me here in the chateau, I was tormented with doubts and fears and the hopes of wild, and what my good sense told me were hopeless, impossibilities.

I called on Gabrielle. She was noticeably pregnant but she seemed very happy. We talked about the coming baby and she showed me the layette she was preparing.

I asked after Jacques and then she talked to me more frankly than she had done before.

“Having a baby changes you. The things that seemed important before no longer seem anything but trivial. The child is all-important. I can’t understand now why I was so frightened. If I had told Jacques we could have arranged something. But I was so scared… and now it all seems so foolish.”

“What does Jacques feel?”

“He scolds me for being so foolish. But I was afraid because we’d wanted to marry for so long and we knew we couldn’t because we had his mother to support. We just could not have managed to live … the three of us.”

How stupid I had been to suspect the Comte was the father of her child. How could she have been so radiantly happy if this had been the case?

“But for the Comte …” I said.

“Ah, but for the Comte!” She was smiling placidly.

“It seems strange to me that you could not tell Jacques but you could tell him.”

Again that smile.

“Oh, no. He would understand. I knew it. Besides he was the one who could help … and he did. Jacques and I will always be grateful to him.”

This meeting with Gabrielle did something to lift the indecision which

Claude’s offer had brought to me. I would not leave the chateau until it was absolutely necessary, no matter how dazzling the prospect laid before me.

Now I had two overwhelming interests: to uncover what lay beneath the lime-wash and to reveal the true character of the man who was beginning to mean so much far too much in my life.

The words “Forget me not’ had been intriguing, and I was hoping to uncover more, but I did not. What I did uncover was the face of a dog which appeared to be crouching at the feet of the woman of whom the painting was going to prove a portrait. It was while I was working in this section that I discovered paint which I thought might be part of a later work. I suffered moments of horror because I knew it was a practice to cover old paintings with a layer of lime-wash and repaint on the new layer; in which case I might have destroyed a picture which had been painted over the one on which I was working.

I could only go on with what I had begun and to my amazement, in an hour I had revealed that what seemed like a painting was something which had been added to the original picture-although at a later date.

It was extraordinary and it grew more so, for the dog was revealed to be in a case which was the shape of a coffin; and beneath this were the words “Forget me not.”

I laid down my knife and looked at it. The dog was a spaniel like the one in the miniature which the Comte had given me at Christmas. I was certain that this was a portrait of the same woman the subject of the first picture I had cleaned, of my miniature and now the wall-painting.

I wanted to show this to the Comte, so I went to the library. Claude was there alone. She looked up hopefully when she saw me and I realized immediately that she thought I had come to accept her offer.

“I was looking for the Comte,” I said.

Her face hardened and the old dislike was visible.

“Did you propose to send for him?”

“I thought he would be interested to look at the wall.”

“When I see him I will tell him you sent for him.” I pretended not to see the mockery.

“Thank you,” I said, and went back to my work. But the Comte did not come.

Genevieve had a birthday in June which was celebrated by a dinner-party at the chateau. I did not attend this although Genevieve had invited me. I made excuses knowing full well that Claude, who was after all the hostess, had no desire for my presence.

Genevieve herself did not mind whether I went or not; nor, it seemed, to my chagrin, did the Comte. It was a very lukewarm affair and Genevieve was almost. sullen about it.

I had bought her a pair of grey gloves which she had admired in one of the town’s shop windows and she did say she was pleased with these, but she was in one of her gloomy moods and I felt that it would have been better not to have celebrated a birthday in such circumstances.

The day after, we went riding together, and I asked how she had enjoyed the party.

“I didn’t,” she declared.

“It was hateful. What’s the good of having a party when you don’t invite the guests? I would have liked a real party … perhaps with a cake and a crown on it…”

“That’s not a birthday custom.”

“What does it matter? In any case there must be birthday customs. I expect Jean Pierre would know. I’ll ask him.”

“You know what your Aunt Claude feels about your friendship with the Bastides.”

Fury broke out all over her face.

“I tell you I shall choose my own friends. I’m grown up now. They’ll have to realize it. I’m fifteen.”

“It’s not really such a great age.”

“You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

For a few moments I saw her stormy profile before she broke into a gallop and was away. I tried to follow her but she was determined I shouldn’t.