They had chosen on that occasion to go by land and had been bumped for what seemed like four months rather than four hours over a half-finished road, being regaled as they went with tales of robbers and bandits who often found it well worthwhile to hold up the few carriages which dared the journey.

From the windows of the sitting room Emilie could look across the gardens of the Casino directly on to the sea. To the West she could see the harbour and beyond it the great rock of Monaco, its ancient Palace and Fortress still standing grimly sentinel as they had done for over 500 years. But Emilie was more interested in the view which she knew lay behind the hotel – a view of a town which had sprung up like a gaudily tinted mushroom, a brilliant, vivid place, rising roof upon roof up the hillside, white and glittering and seeming in its opulence and magnificence to be the result of some magical power from a wizard’s wand.

Surely that was just what François Blanc had been to Monte Carlo – a wizard, for he had created from a barren poverty stricken rock a veritable wonderland of wealth and luxury, gaiety and pleasure.

Emilie had not believed all that the newspapers had told her these past years. But now that her eyes had seen the revelation for herself, she was astonished. The hotel, too, exceeded anything she had expected, and when, with Mistral beside her and Jeanne following humbly behind, she had swept into the foyer and crossed the big hall, feeling her feet sink into the pile of the luxurious carpet, taking in with one quick glance the marble pillars, the glittering mirrors, the profusion of palms and flowers, she had for one moment felt half afraid of her own courage at daring to enter such a world.

And then something stronger than herself, some force within her drove her forward so that when she reached the reception desk she was able to act convincingly the little play she had already rehearsed in her mind.

‘A suite has been engaged for me,’ she said, ‘by my man of affairs, Monsieur Anjou.’

The clerk bowed.

‘It has indeed, Madame, and we have been expecting you. May I welcome you to the Hôtel de Paris and to Monte Carlo?’

The inclination of Emilie’s head was a model of condescension.

‘Everything is prepared, Madame,’ the clerk said. If you will be good enough to sign the register, I will have you escorted upstairs.’

Emilie picked up the big quill pen and turned towards the open, leather bound book which lay on the desk, then she hesitated, making sure that the clerk saw her hesitation. She glanced back at Jeanne who stood a little distance away holding in her hands a leather jewel case on which a coronet was prominently embossed.