There were columns of print, paeans of praise from enthusiastic correspondents, and nearly every one of them mentioned the distinguished visitors who were to be found in this new and exciting playground of wealthy society. Princes – Montenegrin, Russian, Serbian, Bulgarian – Rajahs, Maharajahs, Grand Dukes, Arch Dukes and swarms of lesser nobility, all received their comment, and there was a veritable fanfare of exaltation when two years earlier, in 1872, England’s Prince and Princess of Wales had visited the Principality. Although the whole list of names was included in Emilie’s book, there was only one name she sought amongst them, and each time he was mentioned she had underlined the printed word with a blue pencil.

It was easy to see at a glance from the blue pencil marks, which stood out clearly, how often this name occurred among those present at the Casino, among those attending the opening of the Opera Season, among those taking part in the pigeon shooting. Always the same name, always underlined in blue, ‘His Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke Ivan of Russia’.

In later years and especially in the last two or three years another name was invariably added to the first – His Imperial Highness, the Grand Duke Ivan of Russia and his son, His Serene Highness, Prince Nikolai.’

Slowly Emilie’s fingers turned the pages of the scrap books. Some of the earlier books were already well worn and a little ragged from the many times they had been read and handled. And yet to Emilie sitting alone in her bedroom at the Hôtel de Paris it was as if she read her cuttings for the first time. For eighteen years she had waited for this moment.

It was after midnight when she raised her head and put the scrap books back in their leather-covered casket. But she did not feel tired, as any ordinary woman of nearly sixty might have felt tired at the end of such a long journey. Instead she felt as if she had an inexhaustible strength. Nothing and nobody could prevent her now from doing what she had set out to do.

As she thought of what lay ahead, her eyes narrowed and a smile twisted her lips. She looked evil at that moment, but after a while, as her thoughts wandered back into the past, her eyes softened, as invariably they did when she thought of Alice – Alice who had been the one thing she had loved in her life. How different her rest would be tonight in the big comfortable bed awaiting her from what it had been when she had come here last with Alice! Then they had arrived battered and bruised from their journey from Nice, but they had been greeted with cries of excitement and a loving welcome from the aunt and cousins with whom they had come to stay.