She had only to think of St. Dévote being carried across the sea from Corsica and instantly Sir Robert came to her mind too. She had only to ask her aunt if she could attend Early Mass, or walk down the steps which led to the great gorge which separated the sober town of Monaco from the frivolous town of Monte Carlo, for Sir Robert to be insistently in her thoughts.

She saw him practically every night in the distance, but as they had arranged at their first meeting, when they were in public they behaved as if they were complete strangers to one another.

Always he seemed to be with the same lady, the one whom people spoke of as Lady Violet and who had very beautiful chestnut hair.

She was attractive, Mistral thought, though she must be nearly middle aged. But she could not be sure of this, for many people seemed old to Mistral at eighteen and she often chid herself for thinking people were older than they were.

But somehow she felt she was not mistaken about Lady Violet, for although the Englishwoman was smartly dressed and had undoubted attractions which made the men around her laugh at everything she said, there was something in the way she held herself, in the lines of her neck, in the sharpness of her jaw, or perhaps an occasional tiredness in her eyes which proclaimed the truth.

Mistral found herself watching for Sir Robert and Lady Violet. When she entered the dining room at the Hôtel de Paris, she would glance quickly at the table they nearly always occupied whenever they dined there. When she went on to the Casino with her aunt, she knew that, while she stood watching the gamblers, there was only one person she really wanted to see.

She felt that, if she had been blindfolded, she would have known instantly when Sir Robert entered the rooms. He had so much personality that he was outstanding even amongst the big cosmopolitan crowd thronging, moving about the tables.

There were men of every nationality – handsome, distinguished, aristocratic, and yet Mistral thought their faces seemed to have so little in them, to be so devoid of character.

Sir Robert was different. There was something noble in his face, something resolute and strong which appeared to her to be lacking in other men.

When he laughed, which was often when he was with Lady Violet, he looked young, yet at other times, when his face was in repose, he looked older and grave.

Mistral wondered if he were happy. She had the idea that something troubled him, but when she had those thoughts she rebuked herself for being imaginative. Besides, Aunt Emilie would be annoyed if she knew how often she thought about Sir Robert.