“So you intend to stay here … indefinitely It occurred to me that she was asking too many questions for politeness and I was being foolish in thinking I must answer them.

I said coolly: “Madame, I have made no definite plans, so therefore I am unable to discuss them with you.”

“Mademoiselle Maddox speaks French very well, does she not, Etienne?”

Etienne smiled at me.

“I have rarely heard an English person speak so well.”

“Only the faintest trace of accent.”

“But this is charming,” Etienne added.

Madame nodded and I thought it was time I started the questioning.

“You have a delightful house here, Madame. Have you lived here long?”

“For some nineteen years.”

“It must be the nearest house to the chateau.”

“It is less than two miles away.”

“And you must be happy to own such a delightful residence.”

“I am happy to be here but I don’t own it. Like everything else on this estate, it belongs to the Comte Fontaine Delibes. Mademoiselle, have you often visited France?”

“I had never been here before I arrived with Marguerite.”

“How very interesting.”

I changed the subject and we talked about the beauties of the countryside, the similarities and the differences when compared with that of England; and the conversation stayed in more conventional channels.

After a while we rose to go and she took my hands in hers and expressed the wish that I should find time to call on her again.

“Etienne frequently calls, I’m glad to say. You must bring Mademoiselle again, Etienne, or if you come alone. Mademoiselle, I shall be delighted.”

I thanked her for her hospitality while Etienne untethered our horses.

As we mounted and rode away I said: “What a beautiful woman.”

“I think so too,” he answered.

“Perhaps I am prejudiced.”

I looked at him in astonishment. He smiled and keeping his eyes on my face as though intent on my reaction, he added:

“Did you realize that she is my mother?”

I felt shaken, thinking immediately of her relationship with the Comte. I wondered whether they had deliberately kept her identity from me so that Etienne might surprise me thus.

I was thankful that I could remain calm, remembering my mother’s remarks that an English lady never showed her feelings, particularly in times of stress. Was this stress? It was certainly startling.

I said; “You must be very proud to have such a beautiful mother.”

Yes,” he said, ” I am. “

Was she still his mistress? I wondered. She lived in a house close to the chateau . his house. Did he visit her there? Did she come to the chateau!

It was no affair of mine, I told myself grimly.

It was on the following day that I took my ride with Leon. I found him easier to talk to than Etienne. He was more relaxed, more natural. He saw no reason to hide the fact that he was the son of peasants and I liked him for it.

If he lacked Etienne’s dark good looks he had been more lavishly endowed with charm. Those dark blue eyes were arresting in his brown face. His dark crinkly hair, worn short, fitted his head cap like His clothes were well cut but serviceable and they completely lacked the dash and elegance of Etienne’s.

He rode his horse well as though he and the animal were one. I was on the strawberry roan which I had ridden on the previous day. I felt a little easier with her, and I was sure she did with me.

Leon was gayer by nature than Etienne more lighthearted, I fancied, but, like Etienne, he complimented me on my riding habit and we talked about horses for a while. I told him about Dower and how I regretted leaving her behind and how before I had acquired her I trundled round on Jenny.

I found myself telling him about my mother and it was a relief to be able to talk of her easily and with the certainty that he would understand, though why I should have thought so after so short an acquaintance, I was not sure. It was simply that his naturalness appealed to me. He was frank and open and I could be the same.

“What would your mother think if she knew you were here? ” he asked.

I hesitated. That she would heartily disapprove of the Comte I was well aware. But she would have enjoyed seeing me treated as a guest in the castle.

I replied: “I think she would agree that I was wise to leave the school when I did … before I was in real difficulty with it.”

“And I suppose she would think it was comme il faut to stay with your cousins?”

“I think Marguerite was glad to have me with her,” I said evasively.

He smiled wryly.

“And the Comte is equally glad. He makes that clear.”

“He is merely being a kind host.”

After our previous frankness, the reference to what must be a secret made a momentary barrier between us.

Then he said: I hear you visited Gabrielle LeGrand yesterday. “

“Oh yes ” She is a very great friend of the Comte, as you no doubt gathered. “

“I learned she is Etienne’s mother.”

“Yes. She and the Comte have been friends for years.”

“I understand,” I said.

I remembered the words I had heard him exchange with Etienne and I believed he was warning me. They did not believe in the cousin ship and I was not surprised. I could see that Leon had worked out that the Comte had met me in England, had liked me, had plans for me, and had brought me to France in order that he might carry them out. He must have a poor opinion of me. But how could I tell him that I had come solely because Marguerite needed me?

“I suppose,” he said conversationally, ‘that life in England is very different from what it is here. “

“Naturally … and yet perhaps fundamentally the same.”

“Your Sir John Derringham, would he have his mistress living nearby quite blatantly? And what would his wife say?”

I was startled but tried not to show it.

“No. That would not be acceptable. Sir John, in any case, would never behave in such a way.”

“It is commonplace enough here. Some of our kings have set the example.”

We have had kings who behaved similarly. Charles II for one. “

“He had a French mother.”

“You seem determined to prove your countrymen light in their morals.”

“I think we have different standards.”

“What you are thinking of exists in England, most certainly, but it is less openly done. Whether there is a virtue in secrecy. I am not sure.

But I believe it makes life easier for the people concerned. “

“Some of them.”

“The wife in such cases. It can’t be very pleasant to have a husband’s infidelities flaunted in one’s face. On the other hand for the husband and his mistress to meet openly saves them a great deal of subterfuge.”

“I see you are a realist. Mademoiselle, and much too honest and charming ever to be embroiled in these sordid matters.”

Oh yes, it was clearly a warning. I might have been offended but there was real concern in his eyes and I could not help but be drawn to him.

“You may be sure that I never would be,” I said firmly.

He looked very pleased and, reading his thoughts, I realized that he believed the Comte had discovered his cousin-or if the relationship had been invented it had been without my knowledge-had invited her here with his daughter as her companion and that, having been brought up in a prim English community she had no idea of his intentions.

He was wrong on every point, but I liked him for his concern and assessment.

He seemed to cast aside his anxieties on my account and prepare to enjoy our ride. He began by talking about himself with a frankness I found delightful.

It was a strange fate when everything depended on one incident-like the Comte’s killing of his twin brother.

“Just think,” he said, ‘but for that my life would have been completely different. Poor little Jean Pierre. I often wonder if he looks down on me and says: “There! You owe it all to me.”

“It was a terrible thing, and yet, as you say, it brought good to you.”

“When I go to my old home, I know how good-not only for me but for them all. I am able to help them, you see. The Comte knows of this and is pleased. There is also an allowance for them from him. They have the best house in the village and several acres. They can make a living and are envied by their neighbours. I have heard many of them say that God smiled on them that day when Jean Pierre was run over.”

I shivered slightly.

“Realism, Mademoiselle. It is the strongest characteristic of the French. Had Jean Pierre not run into the road at that precise moment and under the Comte’s horses, he would have lived wretchedly with his family who would have been in a similar plight. You understand their conclusions.”

“I think of your mother. What are her feelings?”

“With a mother it is different. She takes flowers every week to his grave and she grows evergreen bushes there to tell everyone that his memory remains green in her heart.”

“But at least she rejoices when she sees you.”

“Yes, but it reminds her of my twin brother, of course. People are talking of it now as much as they did when it happened. They blame the Comte more and forget what he has done for our family. It is the rising wave of anger against the aristocracy. Anything that can be brought against them is brought.”

T have been aware of that since I came to France, and I heard of it even before. “

“Yes, there are changes coming. I hear of what is brewing when I visit my family. They can be more frank with me than with any who were not of them, as it were. It is a growing tide of resentment. Sometimes there is little reason in it-but God knows at others there is. There are so many injustices in the country. The people are dissatisfied with their rulers. Sometimes I wonder how long it can last. Now it is not safe to travel alone through the villages unless one is dressed as a peasant. Never in my lifetime have I known that before.”

“What will be the end of it?”

“Ah, my dear Mademoiselle, for that we must wait and see.”

As we were nearing the chateau we heard the sound of horse’s hoofs and a man came riding towards us. He was tall, rather soberly dressed and wore no wig over his plentiful reddish hair.

“It’s Lucien Dubois,” cried Leon.

“Lucien, my dear fellow. It is good to see you.”

The man pulled up and took off his hat when he saw me. Leon introduced me. Mademoiselle Maddox, a cousin of the Comte’s now visiting the castle.

Lucien Dubois said he was enchanted to meet me and asked if I was staying long.

“So much depends on circumstances,” I told him.

“Mademoiselle is English but she speaks our language like a native,” said Leon.

“Not quite, I’m afraid,” I replied.

“But most excellently,” said Monsieur Dubois.

“You will be going to your sister,” said Leon.

“I hope you are going to stay for a while.”

“Like Mademoiselle, I will say that so much depends on the circumstances.”

“You have already met Madame LeGrand said Leon to me.

“Monsieur Dubois is her brother.”

I thought there was a resemblance the flamboyant good looks, the distinctive colouring, although the man’s eyes were not as green as his sister’s-but perhaps he had not the art of accentuating their colour.

I wondered what he thought of his sister’s relationship with the Comte. Perhaps as a Frenchman he accepted it. I thought cynically that the Comte’s nobility probably made the situation tolerable. To be a King’s mistress was an honourable position; to be a poor man’s a shameful one. I would not accept the distinction and if it was due to my immaturity and lack of realism, I was glad of them.

“Well, we shall be seeing you before long, I don’t doubt,” said Leon.

“If I am not honoured with an invitation to the castle you must come to my sister’s house,” said Monsieur Dubois. Then bowing to us he rode on.

“There you see a man who is disgruntled with life,” Leon told me. ‘ “Why?”

“Because he thinks it has not dealt him what he deserves. The plaint of many, you may say. All the failures of the world blame fate.”

“The fault is in ourselves not in our stars, as our national poet put it.”

“There are a lot of them about. Mademoiselle. Envy is the most common emotion in the world. It’s the basic ingredient of every deadly sin.