She felt a great sadness in her heart; she wanted in fact to talk of the Prince of Wales and his virtues. Surely the greatest of these was his fidelity.

"Sir James Harris will be arriving very soon," said the Princess. "I cannot wait for him to come. He may bring news. Who can say?"

Maria went back to her house and felt very lonely. How sad it was to be exiled from one's home! She was longing for the bustle of London and the charm of Richmond. What would she not give to be in her house at Park Street? She thought of the Prince standing there as he had that night when he had followed her home from the Opera. What outrageous adorably mad things he did! The idea of a Prince of Wales following a woman home and standing there in the road pleading for admittance, and then when it was refused feeling no rancour, only a great and abiding love.

She thought of Marble Hill—that wonderful view of Richmond Hill—and of the Prince driving up in his phaeton, having come with dashing speed from Carlton House.

I want to go home, she thought. I want to see him again. It was cruel to go away as I did.

Someone had ridden up to the house. She heard her servants talking; a great excitement possessed her and she went to the door of her room to listen.

The servant came to her. A courier had arrived from England. He had letters for her. She knew from whom those letters came; she seized them eagerly. He had discovered where she was. He had good friends on the Continent. He wanted her to know that he was steadfast unto death, that he would marry no one else but her, that he was exploring all possibilities; he might meet her in Hanover where they would live quietly together for the rest of their lives; he might fly with her to America; he wanted her to come back because he could not live without her; but whatever happened of one thing she could be sure: he would be faithful unto death.

She read through the letters. She felt alive again. Had she been obliged to travel so far to learn the true state of her feelings?

She shut herself in her room and kneeling by her bed she took her rosary in her hand and prayed for courage.

She knew what she must do. She must not answer those letters. She must leave The Hague. Not only could she no longer listen to the confidences of a young girl who herself hoped to marry him, but she must hide herself afresh, for the English Ambassador, Sir James Harris, would soon be arriving in The Hague and she did not want him to find her here.

Maria left Holland and a few weeks later arrived in Paris. There she stayed for a while in the convent in the Faubourg St. Antoine with the English "Blew Nuns' of the Conceptionist Order with whom she had been educated. For a short while she was at peace there, living the days of her childhood over again, her life regulated by the ringing of bells. She confessed that she had fled from England to escape the Prince and was applauded for having taken the only step possible to a good Catholic.

Then she began to feel restive and would heave the convent and wander into the streets of Paris. She liked to watch the city come to life in the mornings when the streets were full of noise and commotion; she found pleasure in watching the barbers covered from head to foot in powder, the practitioners of the law, black clad like so many crows making their way to the Chatelet, and the lemonade sellers and the coffee women who stood at the street corners with their tin urns on their backs. And in the afternoons when the din in the city was intensified and vehicles of all kinds jammed the narrow streets, people crowded into the caf£s to chatter of inequalities, of differences between rich and poor, the price of bread and of the new ideas which were being circulated. All men are equal; why should the rich live in luxury while the poor man could not find the price of a loaf of bread? Liberty and Equality were the watchwords of the day. In the carriages the quality rode by, splashing pedestrians with the mud of the Paris streets—the worst mud in the world, Maria remembered, for if it touched a garment it would certainly in time burn a hole there. It was foul smelling and sulphurous and people cursed as it splashed them. But the ladies, rouged and patched, their hair dressed fantastically high in the fashion set by the Queen of France, did not notice the murderous glances which followed them.

When she returned to the convent Maria discovered that the peace which she had at first found there was missing. She was not meant for the secluded life. It was not that she wished for the luxury of a court; if the Prince had been a country gentleman such as Mr. Weld or Mr. Fitzherbert she would have been delighted. She pictured their living in the country, entertaining their friends. Would he be content? How many times had he said that all he needed for contentment was to be with her? She had been a little sceptical in the beginning; but then she had doubted his fidelity which had now been proved.

He loved her. She believed that. Had he not tried to take his life because of her? What a dilemma—and was she solving it by running away?

The Paris streets which had once so delighted her now began to depress her. On one occasion she hired a carriage and rode out to Versailles. All along the road was the familiar noise and bustle: the great carrabas drawn by eight horses—the Versailles omnibus—carrying in its wickerwork cage some twenty people, and beside it the little "pols-de-chambre' gambolled along— more comfortable than the carrabas but exposing the occupants to all weather. Maria in her carriage was aware of the resentful glances cast her way. There was no way of escaping the growing animosity between the people with money and those without. How different it had been on that day when her parents had taken her there to see King Louis XV at dinner; she still had the dish which had contained the sugar plums. It might be that she would be invited to Court. This would most certainly be the case if it were known she were here. If the Duc d'Orleans should return to Paris, which was very likely, he would hail her as an old friend. Then her hiding-place would be disclosed once more.

Perhaps she should not stay in Paris; perhaps she should leave France altogether. She decided that she would go to Switzerland and very soon was on her way.

But after a brief stay there she was eager to return to France, which being like a second home to her seemed to offer a less cruel exile. Not Paris this time but somewhere quieter, in the country perhaps. She decided on Plombiers in Lorraine and there she took a fine old house and attempted to adjust herself to the life of the town.

It was not long, however, before her whereabouts was discovered, and letters from the Prince began arriving regularly. He kept her informed of everything that was happening between the King and himself regarding their future; and she was a little exasperated but entirely satisfied because he seemed to regard it as a certainty that in time they would be together.

Since the King had refused him permission to travel abroad, and everyone had convinced him that this was impossible, he had been taking other steps. He had already arranged with his brother Frederick to take his place.

Maria thought of the consequences of such an act. It would have to be a solemn renunciation. And what if in the future he should regret?

There were thirty-seven pages in his flourishing handwriting telling of his devotion to her, how his only comfort was in writing to her, begging her to come back because if she did not he would die without her.

It was very touching, very appealing. Had any one woman, Maria asked herself, ever been so devotedly loved? He would give up his crown for her sake.

If I had not been brought up in this stern belief ... She dismissed the thought; but she was thinking more and more of surrender.

* * *

Driving in her carriage one day she passed a man on horseback who bowed gallantly. He was extremely handsome and had the manner of a nobleman; and the next day she met him again. On the third day he pulled up beside the carriage and she had no alternative but to order her coachman to stop.

"Forgive me, Madame," he said, "but I felt I must stop to say what pleasure it gives me to see such beauty in our country lanes."

Maria inclined her head and replied: "You are very kind, sir. Good morning."

"But I believe we must be neighbours ... or at least not many kilometres separate our estates."

"Is that so?"

"You arc impatient to continue with your drive, I see, so I will introduce myself. I am the Marquis de Bellois and I know you to be the English lady who has honoured us by liking Lorraine enough to visit us and stay with us. I doubt not that we shall meet again."

As her carriage drove on Maria was a little uneasy. The man had a very bold expression and she had no wish to become involved with him.

But the Marquis proved to be a man of purpose and it was not long before Maria found herself drawn into the social life of the surrounding country. It would have been churlish to refuse to know her neighbours and since she accepted invitations to the houses of the neighbouring gentry she must return those invitations. It seemed to her that in a very short time she was entertaining as frequently as she and Thomas used to do at Swynnerton. And always at her elbow was the Marquis de Bellois.

She was enchanting, he told her; she was like no one else. All other women were of no interest to him since he had set eyes on the incomparable Mrs. Fitzherbert.

She learned a little about this man. His reputation was far from good; he had all the graces that could be learned at Court —and the French Court at that; but he was an adventurer and she was a woman of fortune. Maria was no fool. She knew very well what was going on in the mind of the Marquis. He had debts; he was looking for a wife; and this beautiful young English widow would suit him very well. Moreover, there were rumours of the Prince of Wales's passion for her which was an added fillip.

Did he think, Maria asked herself, that she would accept him when she had refused her faithful, adoring and disinterested Prince? When she thought of her own fortune and that of the Prince she laughed aloud. Her income would not keep him in ... shoe buckles. Yet he did not think of money. He thought only of his devotion to her. She had run away from him, caused him great pain, and yet he continued to love her.

When the Marquis asked her to marry him she refused immediately.

"But I do not take no for an answer," he told her.

She smiled wanly; and was again reminded of her Prince.

But she was disturbed by the persistence of the Marquis, who was constantly in her house. He was determined, he said, quite determined; and she began to be a little afraid of him for there was something rather sinister in his persistence. She heard stories of his adventures with some of the village girls. What if he should attempt to trap her?

She gave orders to the servants that no one was to be admitted whom they did not know and when the Marquis called she arranged that one of her maids should be in the next room to come at once should she receive a signal.

And finally she decided that she could no longer endure this vague uneasiness. So one day, having made her arrangements, she very quietly left Plombiers for Paris.

Back to the convent and there to live the unsatisfactory life again. Paris was growing more and more uneasy. Everyone was talking about the strange affair of the Diamond Necklace. The Cardinal de Rohan had been arrested and there was a strong suspicion that the Queen was involved in the fraud.

In the streets, in the cafes and the lemonade shops they were discussing this affair; and there were horrible pictures passed round of the Queen—always wearing a diamond necklace—in revolting positions with her favourites, male or female.

The scene was growing uglier and the longing for London was almost too intense to be borne. In the streets men were wearing the jacket in the English fashion, in the shops they were drinking le the; they were going to the horse-racing; all customs which the Duc d'Orleans had brought over with him from England, and to which the French took with a certain perversity because they hated the English and were constantly in conflict with them.

But this reminded Maria poignantly of home and as she had been away for almost a year she was longing to be back.

The Prince had once again discovered her whereabouts. What a good espionage service he had! she thought indulgently. She should come back to him. There should be an honourable marriage. All that she was holding out against could be dispensed with. If he were no longer the heir to the crown he could marry the woman of his choice.