He glanced up as the butler announced them, then rose to his feet, and Mistral’s first thought was that he was the best looking man she had ever seen in her life, her second that she could trust him absolutely. He was very tall, his hair was turning grey, and it was easy to see from whom the Prince got his good looks. But if anything the Grand Duke was more handsome than his son. His features were classic, clear cut and the very zenith of refinement and good breeding.

He looked what he was, an aristocrat and a man who had both lived his life fully and suffered in the experience. There was something very charming in his smile, something, too, of the philosopher and thinker in the gravity of his eyes as they rested first on his son and then on Emilie.

‘Good morning, Nikolai,’ the Grand Duke said. ‘This is a surprise visit.’

‘I must apologise, Father, for not warning you that it was my intention to call on you this morning,’ Prince Nikolai replied, ‘but I did not know it myself until a few moments ago. May I present Madame Secret?’

He indicated Emilie with a little gesture of his hand, but she made no movement to curtsey.

‘And Mademoiselle Fântóme, this lady’s niece.’

Mistral curtsied, then, as she raised her eyes to the Duke’s face, he put out his hand and took hers.

Mademoiselle Fântóme?’ he said. ‘I think I have heard of you.’

‘I have spoken of her, Father,’ the Prince said.

‘Perhaps now you will repeat to your father the proposal that you made to my niece a short time ago in the Hôtel de Paris,’ Emilie snapped, and her voice was harsh and somehow discordant.

The Prince gave her a glance of dislike, but his voice was calm as he replied,

‘Certainly, Madame, I was just about to do so. Father, I have asked Mademoiselle Fantóme to honour me by becoming my wife.’

‘Indeed!’ the Grand Duke said. He was still holding Mistral’s hand and now, as he released it, he said quietly, ‘Will you tell me your name, Mademoiselle?’

‘It is Mistral, Sir.’

‘And your other name?’ the Duke asked.

Mistral hesitated, then Emilie’s voice interposed,

‘Yes, tell him, tell him the truth, the real truth. I want him to hear it.’

There was something so horrible in the way she spoke that Mistral felt herself tremble, then she looked up into the Grand Duke’s face and felt curiously reassured. He was looking down with calm, friendly eyes. He had not turned his head nor taken any notice of Emilie’s outburst.

‘My name is Mistral Wytham,’ she answered in a low tone.

‘What is your age?’ the Grand Duke asked.

‘I am eighteen,’ Mistral replied.

‘Tell him when you were born,’ Emilie said harshly.

The Duke seemed to straighten his shoulders. He looked across at Emilie.