“Miracles sometimes happen,” I said.

“A great deal of human ingenuity is needed to assist divine interference to produce a miracle, I have always thought, and alas, at this time when we need genius in our rulers we have only ineptitude.”

“It can’t be too late.”

That is our only chance. Don’t tell me that we have brought this on ourselves because I know it. None could know it better. As a class we have been both selfish and obtuse. In the last reign the King and his mistress said that after them would come the deluge. I can hear it thundering very close now. I fancy that-without the miracle-that deluge will soon envelop us. “

“But as this is known, surely it is a warning. Can’t it be averted?”

“The King is calling together the States-General. He is asking the two wealthiest orders in the land-that is, the clergy and the nobility to make sacrifices to save the country. It is an explosive situation.

I must go to Paris . I shall be leaving tomorrow. I don’t know how long I shall be there, or how long before I see you again. Minelle, I want you to stay here until I send for you. Take care of yourself.

Promise me. “

“I will,” I said.

“And Marguerite, too. Take care of her. Don’t do anything foolish like going off to look for Marguerite’s child.”

I caught my breath.

“You knew!”

“My dear Cousin, I have people watching for me. I must know what happens about me and that includes my own household. I know you well.

You believe with me that it would have been better for Marguerite not to know where the child was. On the other hand you respect her maternal feelings.

I know that you found Yvette. Very well. Marguerite knows. She will visit him from time to time, and one day she will be betrayed and then she will have to answer to her husband. When she is married that is their affair . her husband’s and hers. While she is unmarried and my daughter, it is mine. “

“It seems to me you are omniscient,” I said.

“It is well for you to see me as such.” He smiled and when that smile was tender it transformed his face and moved me deeply.

“I have to talk to you seriously now as it may be some time before we see each other again. I am going to Paris for the meeting of the States-General. We must look at this clearly. At any time … the people could rise. We might subdue them … I do not know. But we are living on a razor’s edge, Minelle. That is why I am speaking to you now. You must know the depth of my feelings for you.” , “No,” I replied, ‘that is exactly what I do not know. I i know that you have been attracted by me, which has surprised me. I know that you brought me here for that reason. I know that you have been similarly attracted to many women. It is precisely the depth of your feelings that I do not know. “

“And you attach great importance to that?”

“It is surely of the greatest importance.”

“I could not talk to you of this while my wife was alive.”

I felt sick with fear. Doubts and suspicions crowded into my mind. I tried to fight off this overwhelming fascination. I was sure that my mother was warning me.

“It is such a short time since she died,” I heard myself say.

“Perhaps you should wait…”

“Wait? Wait for what? Until I am dead? By God, Minelle, do you realize that I might never see you again? You are aware of the mood of the people. You have seen the stones thrown through our windows. Do you realize that if this had happened fifty years ago the culprit would have been discovered, flogged and sent to prison where he would have remained for years.”

“It is not surprising that the people want change.”

“Of course it is not surprising. There should have been justice … compassion … unselfishness … care for the poor. We know that now. But they are not clamouring for those things only. They want revenge. If they succeed there will not be justice. It will simply be a turning of the tables. They will murder us and demand retribution. But you know all this. The country’s affairs weary us.

They are dreary, depressing, hopeless and tragic. Minelle, I want to talk of ourselves . you and me. Whatever happens, know this. My feelings go deep. At first I thought it was a lighthearted desire . such as I have felt throughout my life for many. While you were in Paris, I feared for you. I knew that if I lost you I should never know a moment’s real happiness again. I am going to ask you to marry me.”

“You must realize that is not possible.”

“Why not? Are we not both free now?”

“You have been free such a short time. And the circumstances of your wife’s death…”

“Do you believe what they are saying of me? Dearest Minelle, any black deed they can pin on us, they do, and make a great noise about it.

They accuse me of murdering my wife. “

I looked at him pleadingly.

“You too?” he went on.

“You believe I killed her! You think I slipped up to her bedroom, that I took NouNou’s concoctions and filled her glass. Is that what you believe?”

I could not speak. It was almost as though my mother was beside me.

There, she was saying, as I who had known her so well knew how she would reason, if you believe he could be a murderer, how can you be in love with him?

But she would never have understood this wild emotion. One did not have to have an ideal to love. One could love no matter what the loved one had done, and whatever he did in the future one would go on loving. Perhaps my kind of love was different from that which my mother had known with my father. He had been an honest upright man, a brave sea captain who cared only for his family and that he should conduct his life honourably. All men were not like that.

The Comte was watching me quizzically.

“So you do believe it,” he said. T know that I want to marry you, and I want it before it is too late. I am no longer very young. The world which I have always known is crumbling about me. I feel a need, an urgency . “

“You are telling me that you killed your wife,” I said.

“No, I am not. But I will be honest and say that I wanted her out of the way. I despised her. At times I hated her, but never so much as when she stood between you and me. Vaguely before I had hoped for remarriage that I might get a son. Now that you are here I want it for other reasons too. I have dreamed often of a peaceful existence here in the chateau … our children growing up around us … the pleasant life going on and on. I knew that with you it would have to be marriage. Oddly enough it was what I wanted. Then she died. She took an overdose of that sleeping draught because she knew she was suffering from the disease which killed her mother. It was lingering and painful. Do you believe me now?”

I could not meet his eyes because I knew he would read my doubts there and that I might see the lies in his. I thought of his riding through the village and a small lively boy playing in his path . and the Comte, passing on, leaving nothing but a mangled body. That boy died to suit the Comte’s whim. It was true he had taken the boy’s brother and tried to recompense his family . but what recompense was there for death?

I said slowly: “I understand you well. Your way of life has been that those who are not of your class are of a lesser breed. When I consider that, I feel that change is due.”

“You are right. But do not believe all that you hear of me. Rumour attaches to those who arouse the envy of others. You yourself are not immune.”

“Who should envy me?”

“Many people. There are some who know of my feelings for you. Strange is it not, they envy you for that. There are whispers about me and they include you.”

“I am more convinced than ever that I should return to England.”

“What! Runaway! Leave the sinking ship?”

“It is not really my ship.”

“Let me tell you what they are saying. It is known in some places that there has been a child. I have heard the rumour that it is mine and that you are its mother.”

I flushed scarlet and he went on almost mockingly: “There, you see! It is not wise to believe all the rumours you hear.”

“But such a wicked story …”

Most rumour is wicked. Rumourmongers take an element of truth and build round it and because they have that Foundation of fact, the rumour remains firm. But wise people lever believe all they hear. I waste my time. What does it matter what they say? I have to go to Paris. I have to leave you here. Minelle, take care of yourself. Do not act rashly. Be ready to do whatever I say you must. You know it will be Eor your good. “

“Thank you,” I said.

Then he drew me to him and kissed me as I had never seen kissed before and I wanted to stay in his arms for sver.

“Oh Minelle,” he said, ‘why do you deny your heart? ” Then lie released me.

“Perhaps I would not have it otherwise,” he went on.

“For then it would not be you. Moreover, it is a challenge, you know. One day you will cast aside all wisdom and come to me because nothing simply nothing-will be strong enough to withstand it. That’s what I want.

Whatever I am, whatever my sins of the past, you will not care. You will love me . me . not for my virtues, which are nonexistent-but for myself alone. I must leave you. I have much to do for I must go tomorrow. I shall be gone at dawn before you rise . but one day, Minelle . one day . “

Then he kissed me again, holding me as though he would never let me go. I knew he was right. I was fast reaching that stage when whatever he had done, whatever he was guilty of would seem insignificant beside my great need of him.

I turned and left him hastily, afraid of those emotions which such a short time ago I should have believed I could never experience.

I spent a sleepless night and at dawn I heard the sounds of his departure and was at my window to see him as he rode away. He turned and saw me there. He lifted his hand in acknowledgement.

I was up early and fully dressed when the maid arrived with my petit dejeuner. She brought a letter with her.

“Monsieur Ie Comte said it was to be given to you,” she told me. There was a certain avid curiosity in her eyes.

It was written on his crested notepaper the same as that which had been attached to the stone which had been thrown through the window.

My dearest [he had written], I had to write a few lines after I left you. I want you to take especial care from now on. Be patient. One day we shall be together. I have plans for us. I promise you, all will be well.

Charles Auguste.

I read and re-read that letter. Charles Auguste. Oddly enough the name seemed strange to me. I thought of him always as The Comte . the Devil Comte . the Devil on Horseback, the name I had given him long ago when I had first seen him. These fitted him. But not Charles Auguste. I had of course learned a great deal about him since the days when I had thought of him as the Devil on Horseback. He was arrogant, of course. He had been brought up to believe that he and his kind were supreme. It had been so for centuries. They took what they wanted and if anyone stood in the way that person was brushed aside. That was firmly embedded in his nature. Would anything ever change that? Yet there was kindliness in him. Had he not taken Leon and looked after him? He had at least made some reparation for the harm he had done that family. He had cared about little Chariot and had made sure that he was well looked after and had even visited Yvette to assure himself of the child’s welfare. And for me? Was that real tenderness I had seen? How deep did it really go? Did he really love me differently from the way in which he had loved others? What if I married him and failed to produce a son? Should I one day be given a double dose of some fatal poison? Would they come one morning and find me dead?

So I did believe he had killed Ursule, It had been so opportune, hadn’t it? She had died at the right moment. Why should she, who had been a peevish invalid all her life, suddenly decide that she was going to take it?

So I thought him capable of murder and still I wanted him. I wanted to make love with him. I might as well face the truth. It was what my mother had always said one should do. I had always thought of love between men and women as that which my mother had had for my father. A woman should always look up to her husband, admire his good qualities. But if the man who excited one more than any other could possibly do, if the man in whose company one found the utmost pleasure was possibly a murderer, what then?