‘Why was I not told of this before?’ he asked.

Emilie laughed. It was an ugly, discordant sound.

‘You may well ask that question. It was because Alice did not want you to know. It was because she made me promise on her deathbed that I would never tell you. I have not told you now, you have discovered it for yourself, discovered it because your son – yes, your only son, of whom you are so fond wants to marry the daughter of the woman you treated so vilely that she fled back to me for protection. A pretty tangle, isn’t it? And how are you going to solve it, I wonder? Your son is in love, and who is he in love with? With Mistral, the daughter of Alice Wytham, whom you brought here nineteen years ago and whom you despoiled and betrayed for your own vile pleasure.’

There was so much bitterness and spite in Emilie’s passionate declamation that instinctively Mistral turned towards the Prince as if for protection and found him beside her.

He took her hand in his and held it tightly. She clung to him, thankful for his strength. She knew that he was as astonished as she was at what was occurring. Yet neither of them could say anything. They could only cling together, two children lost in a wood of terror and bewilderment.

Only the Grand Duke seemed calm and utterly unperturbed. He looked at Emilie and his voice was stern as he said very quietly,

‘I made enquiries as to what had happened to your sister and I was told that she was dead.’

‘Yes, she died,’ Emilie replied, ‘and you were instrumental in her death. You made enquiries, you say? Yes, you made them eight months after she left you! I took good care that you should not learn then of the child that Alice had left behind, for she left her to me and not to you. The thought of a child might have pleased you, but it was too late then to regret that you had shamefully betrayed an innocent and decent girl.’

‘You are very fond of that word “betrayed”,’ the Duke said quietly. ‘I think we must be talking at cross purposes. I did not betray your sister. Of her own free will she consented to marry me.’

‘She married you?’

Emilie’s question was almost a scream.

‘Yes, she married me,’ the Duke replied. ‘Did you not know that? We were married here in my Private Chapel both by a Priest of my religion and one of Alice’s. The records are there should you wish to inspect them.’

‘Married! I didn’t know! I didn’t guess!’

Emilie’s hand went up to her throat as if she felt something was choking her. The Grand Duke looked at her and his eyes were stern.