‘I’m glad about that,’ Stella answered. We had the most wonderful dinner there the night before last.’

‘Yes, we can eat well, and I thought at the same time that we might see the lady with the pearls.’

‘“The Ghost!”’ Stella exclaimed. ‘Everyone calls her “the Ghost.”’

‘Who has told you that everyone does?’ the Rajah asked.

‘François,’ Stella answered simply.

‘François?’ the Rajah repeated and it was a question.

‘Your Chef!’

The Rajah laughed.

‘So my Chef is a gossip and he gossips with you!’

‘He comes to see me in the morning,’ Stella explained, ‘to enquire what I should like to eat during the day. He says he is a great artiste and artistes always desire to please their patrons. When he is not talking about food, he talks about people.’

‘So it was François who made you desire the pearls belonging to “the Ghost?”’ the Rajah asked.

‘No, it was – ’ Stella began, then stopped.

She realised suddenly that it would be unwise to tell the Rajah who had put the idea into her head. He did not like Chrissie, she knew that. He thought that her deformity was ugly and that a hunchback in the house brought bad luck upon it.

No, it would be unwise to mention Chrissie, especially when the Rajah was in such good humour and had promised that he would buy her the pearls belonging to ‘the Ghost.’

To cover up the slip she had nearly made Stella put her hand on the Rajah’s knee and bent her head down towards his shoulder.

‘Why are you so kind to me?’ she asked in a soft voice.

‘Do you really want me to answer that question?’ the Rajah enquired, and she saw the gleam in his eyes as they passed a gas lamp.

6

Mistral knelt in the little Chapel of St. Dévote. It was overshadowed by the deep ravine at the foot of which it was built, so that little light penetrated through the stained glass windows, and inside the Church it was dim and dark save for the candles flickering in front of the Lady Chapel and the Sanctuary light hanging before the Altar.

There were but half a dozen people present for Benediction although it was the Feast of St. Joseph, and Mistral, saying the prayers that the Nuns had taught her, suddenly remembered Sir Robert’s words, ‘There are few Saints in Monte Carlo’.

She could hear quite clearly the humorous note in his voice, see the hint of laughter in his grey eyes as he looked down at her. How handsome he was! It was funny, Mistral thought, but ever since that morning when they had met in the gardens she found him indissolubly linked in her mind with St. Dévote.