But that was no concern of mine. I thought I could make reasonable pictures of them. I would try to flatter them, for it was no use seeking hidden character in those vapid little faces.

I was an object of interest to the girls, who took covert looks at me throughout the meal and met each other’s eyes across the table conveying secret messages. They were the sort of girls who made you wonder whether you had a smut on your cheek or some buttons undone.

Madame Dupont, however, doted on them, and I was sure she saw them through a rose-coloured haze. Her great aim, I soon discovered, was to find suitable husbands for them both, while Monsieur Dupont’s was to keep his family occupied with each other while he retained his love-nest on the Left Bank intact.

Madame, during the meal, informed her husband that, in spite of my youth, I was an acclaimed painter. One of the Collisons and everyone . but everyone . knew of the Collison miniatures. They were said to be in the top grade of miniatures throughout the world. All the family had done them for hundreds of years. Wasn’t that wonderful? I believe she thought she was very astute to secure me before my prices soared.

She knew I was a great artist because the Baron de Centeville had made that very clear to her, and everyone knew that the Baron was one of the most respected connoisseurs in the country. He even advised the Emperor and Eugenie. The miniature I had done of the Baron was quite superb . and so was that of the Princesse de Crespigny.

“I am sure those of our girls will be equally successful. The Baron will present his to the Princesse and she will give hers to him. Is that not a charming gesture for affianced people to exchange objects of beauty? A miniature set in jewels-the Baron’s was set in diamonds and sapphires-more appealing than an exchange of rings, I think. Well, you girls will have your miniatures when the time comes . “

Madame Dupont was a great talker. I was glad of that. It made one’s own contribution less demanding.

I was to paint Emilie first as she was the elder, and the next morning I was taken to an attic which was fairly light and gave me enchanting views of Paris. I sat Emilie with the light on her face. Like my other model, the Princesse, her nose was too large, but whereas there had been character in the Princesse’s face, I could detect little of that nature in my new model.

She was happy though, and that gave something pleasant to her face. The eyes dark brown-were not bad at all. Her skin was on the olive side not easy. But I wanted to get that sheen of freshness because I could see that Emilie’s main attraction was that which is given to us all at some time: Youth.

She watched me mix my paints.

“I hope you’ll make me prettier than I am,” she said.

“I shall try to make an attractive picture. I like your dress.”

It was pale mauve and suited her dark colouring.

“Maman chose it.”

Trust Maman! Whatever else she was, she understood how to dress herself and her daughters.

“It’s perfect,” I said.

“Just talk to me … comfortably … easily … as though I were a friend.”

“What shall I talk about?”

“About what you like doing. About your clothes … your friends .. “

She was tongue-tied. I imagined how she would giggle with her sister when telling her about this sitting.

Finally she forgot her shyness and told me how she was going to be taken to Court. Her cousin Francoise would be coming soon and she and Francoise would be taken together. Sophie had to wait another year.

She was having new dresses made and she was looking forward to it. She would be presented to the Emperor and the Empress Eugenic. Then of course there would be balls and she would meet all sorts of people. It would all be very exciting and if she were a success she might be married very soon.

“And you would like that?”

“It would depend on …”

“On the bridegroom,” I said.

“Well, naturally. What sort of bridegroom do you hope for?”

“Handsome, brave, noble and Maman will insist that he is rich.”

“That’s a big bill to fit. Now if you could only go for one of those qualities, which would it be?”

She looked at me in bewilderment. I could see it was no use trying to introduce a light note into conversation with Mademoiselle Emilie.

She said: “First of all there’s the wedding. That will be a big occasion. Sophie will be allowed to attend the reception.”

“Oh, what wedding is this?”

“The Baron de Centeville and the Princesse de Crespigny.”

“Oh,” I said faintly.

“Next week … at Notre Dame. The streets will be crowded. Oh, it will be such fun.”

I had been promising myself to forget him and now it seemed he was back as vividly as ever. I could not go on painting. My hand had lost its steadiness.

I said: “The light is not good enough. I’ll have to stop.”

Emilie was nothing loath. She was the sort of sitter who would tire easily.

“How is it going?” she asked.

“Well, it is rather soon yet.”

“Can I see?”

“I should wait a day or so.”

“All right. Goodbye. Can you find your way to your own room?”

“Oh yes, thank you very much.”

She ran off to giggle with Sophie about the sitting and the curious ways of the artist, I supposed.

I went to my room and sat for a long time looking out of my window at the Paris street.

So next week . he would be married . What did that matter to me?

I had cut him out of my life. Poor little Princesse! I wondered what Marie-Claude was thinking at this moment.

The miniature was progressing well. It was not difficult. Just a stroke of the brush to get the line of the jaw. She had a heart-shaped face which was rather appealing. I would accentuate that. The colour of the skin bothered me; but when she was excited there was a faint rosy tinge in her cheeks. I would try for that. It worked wonders and made her eyes look bigger.

Yes, I was making a pleasant picture of Mademoiselle Emilie. I should finish in good time and then start on young Sophie.

I thought: It is money easily earned. The Baron had fixed the price for me. He had said: “People value you as you value yourself. If you charge too little they will consider you second-rate. Put your prices high and they will believe you are worth it… even if you’re not.

People always like to think they get what they pay for. “

Thanks to him, I could become a rich and fashionable artist with many commissions like this.

I had worked steadily, feeling there was no need for delay. I had probed the nature of the little sister-not that it was necessary to dig very deeply. So much the better. In a way it made the task easier if not so interesting. How different it had been working on the Baron.

In him I discovered something new every day.

I could not get him out of my mind. I supposed it was because he was going to get married soon.

There would be no sitting on the wedding day.

It dawned bright and sunny. It was going to be hot as the day progressed. I thought of the frightened little Princesse awakening on this morning-her last day of freedom. How would she fare with that monster of iniquity? I shuddered to contemplate the union. He would take her back to the chateau, I supposed. I imagined her—little Marie Claude-awaiting him in the nuptial chamber, all her fears upon her. For she was frightened of him. I had discovered that much-and no doubt she had good reason to be.

The house was quiet. The family had gone to the wedding. The servants would be out in the streets because it was something of an occasion, and I imagined crowds would be gathered around Notre Dame to see the bride and groom arrive separately and depart together.

And then there came the irresistible urge to go into the streets to mingle with the people, to see him once more. Just once, I told myself, and then never . never again.

I put on my cloak and went out into the street. I hailed a cab -still something of an uneasy adventure for me and I asked the cocker to take me to the Sainte-Chappelle. I thought that would be near enough and I would walk the rest of the way.

He chatted to me. He recognized my accent at once as that of a foreigner, as they all did. It amused me to see the different reactions. Most were amused in a friendly way, eager to help; but there were some who were a little resentful and inclined to despise one for not being French. It was a common trick, I knew now, to pretend not to understand what I said. But this one was decidedly friendly.

Had I been to see the Louvre, the Pantheon? I should take a cab to Montmartre. I told him it was not my first visit to Paris and I had already seen a little of the city, which I found fascinating.

He was delighted and talked incessantly.

“It’s a bit crowded down this way. There’s this society wedding … That brings out the crowds. The Baron de Centeville is getting married. I think the Empress will be there. It’s the Princesse de Crespigny he’s marrying.”

“I had heard that,” I told him.

“I’d keep out of the way, if I were you. You’ll see nothing but the crowd.”

I thanked him for his advice, paid him and alighted at the SainteChapelle.

For once I forgot to marvel that this old building had stood there for six hundred years and made my way in the direction of Notre Dame.

The crowds were thick. I thought: I was a fool to have come. I shall see nothing—and in any case I don’t want to.

But there I was mistaken. There was a sudden hush in the crowd and then a shout. I saw them in an open carriage. He looked magnificent. I had to admit that. He was wearing some uniform of blue with gold braid which made his hair look fairer than I remembered it, and on his head was a cocked hat which might have been an admiral’s. I had known he was connected with the Navy. Probably an honorary post, I imagined.

And there seated beside him was Marie-Claude looking very beautiful in a gown of white satin sewn with pearls and a head-dress of laces and lilies-of-the-valley.

The crowd gave a cheer. I stared at him. He didn’t see me, of course; and if he had, what would it have mattered to him?

The carriage passed out of sight and the crowd was dispersing; and I felt a great desire to go inside the cathedral and be quiet for a while. I must stop myself thinking of them. It was no concern of mine.

Poor little Marie-Claude. She had been forced into marrying him but there was nothing more anyone could do about that.

It was strange how quickly the crowds had gone. I went to the porch and looked up at the face of the demon . the most wicked of them all. As I watched, the stone seemed to change and take on the shape of his features. It was like a replica of the drawing I had made.

I went inside and sat down. I tried to superimpose other images on that of them sitting together side by side in the carriage. but I could not do this. The marriage of opposites I thought, and I believed there would be little happiness for either of them. I was not concerned for him. He deserved nothing but revenge. But I was very sorry for the Princesse.

Stop thinking of them! There was one charming story I had heard of a hundred poor girls to whom Louis the Sixteenth had given a dowry on the occasion of their marriages as a thanksgiving for the birth of his daughter, Marie Therese Charlotte. He had been present at the wedding of those girls here in Notre Dame and had sealed their marriage licences with his fleur-delis ornamented sword. A hundred young men advancing, each giving a hand to one of the waiting girls it must have been an enchanting sight.

It was rare that the cathedral saw such charming events, and I immediately thought of a more recent one when, seventy years before, during the revolution, the cathedral had been turned into a Temple of Reason and a harlot seated on a litter had been carried in, while half naked women and men danced obscenely around her in the name of Liberty.

I had a sudden desire to look down on the city, every aspect of which was of great fascination to me, and I left the darkness of the exterior and found my way to the turret from which one can look down.

It was silent as I entered the dark turret and started to climb the stairs. There was a chill in the air. I counted the steps and when I was halfway up I thought I heard someone labouring up behind me. I suppose that was natural. Why should I be the only one who thought it worthwhile making this long climb up to the summit to look down on Fresh air at last! Oh, indeed the view was magnificent. I could look right down on Paris and on either side of me were the north and south banks. I could see the Marais behind the Tour Saint-Jacques to the north and in the south the Rue de Bievre and the Boulevard St. Michel with the district which lay between.