As if it were a nightmare Mistral watched the waiter take her note to the table at the other end of the room. She saw him pause at Prince Nikolai’s side, saw the Prince’s hand go out to take the piece of paper from the tray. Then she could look no more, but bent her head and, clenching her trembling fingers together in her lap, wondered wildly what she could say. He would come to the table, she was certain of that, because he had good manners and also he had told her that if ever she was in any need of his help she was to ask him for it. But when he came, he would know her appeal was but a pretence and a subterfuge, and he would despise her. With a rising sense of panic Mistral heard Emilie say in a tone of satisfaction,

‘He is coming!’

Wishing the ground would open and swallow her up, Mistral waited in misery as the Prince came walking quickly across the room, pausing every now and then to speak to people who hailed him from adjacent tables or to those who were dancing and who touched him on the shoulder as he passed them by. Still Mistral could not raise her eyes, not even when she heard her aunt purr,

‘Good evening, Your Serene Highness. How nice to see you, and how delightful it is here this evening, so gay and amusing.’

‘The Gala would not be complete without your presence, Madame,’ the Prince said with almost an exaggerated courtesy. ‘Good evening, Mademoiselle.’ He bowed to Mistral and at last she was forced to raise her eyes to his. He saw the appeal in them and he smiled at her reassuringly. Then he bowed again to Emilie. ‘Is it permitted, Madame, that I invite Mademoiselle to waltz?’

‘Certainly, Your Serene Highness.’

Emilie’s permission was given in just the right tone of graciousness and condescension, but Mistral, rising to her feet, felt only miserable and ashamed. Then, as she preceded the Prince on to the floor, she caught a glimpse of a dark face looking towards her, of dark eyes watching her every movement. In that moment she knew that her pride was saved.

She had something to tell the Prince! A story of an incident which might have perturbed her more had she not almost forgotten it in worrying over Aunt Emilie’s strange and varied moods. She would tell the Prince about the Rajah, tell him how he not only had attempted to buy her pearls but had tried for one second to hypnotise her. There was no need to exaggerate the story, it was horrible enough in all conscience.