‘Keep the rest yourself and I hope they bring you luck too.’

The man was overcome.

‘That is more than gracious of Your Serene Highness – I thank Your Serene Highness a thousand times.’

Aunt Emilie’s eyebrows were raised.

‘Your Serene Highness!’ she repeated. ‘But, of course, I can see the likeness now. You must be Prince Nikolai! I knew your father many years ago. You are very like him.’

‘I thank you for the compliment,’ the Prince said. ‘I am one of my father’s most devoted admirers.’

He glanced at Mistral standing a little behind her aunt, a silent spectator of all that was happening. Emilie had not hesitated.

‘Will Your Serene Highness permit me to present my niece?’ she enquired, and added to Mistral, ‘This is the son of the Grand Duke Ivan of Russia, dear. When I came here many years ago, the Grand Duke was the only distinguished visitor to the Principality – a very handsome man and his son takes after him.’

Mistral curtsied.

The Prince kissed her hand, and having looked once into her dark eyes, he looked again. Eagerly he turned to Emilie.

‘Will you permit me to offer you, Madame, and, your niece, a little supper? My father would wish me to be courteous to an old friend of his.’

That was how it had all begun, Mistral thought, and now day after day it seemed to her as if she became more involved in this strange web which Emilie was weaving around the Prince and herself.

There was nothing she could say, nothing she could do except obey her aunt, and now standing at the top of the Chapel steps, she was sure that this tête-á-tête with the Prince, unchaperoned, had been planned by Emilie. It was by no means a spontaneous invitation on the Prince’s part to invite her to drive with him – whether he knew it or not – and somehow it took all the pleasures from everything to know that it was all planned, all part of some strange puzzle to which only her aunt held the key.

Once again she longed to obey an inner impulse and refuse the Prince’s invitation and say that she would walk home with Jeanne, but she knew, even as she thought of it, that it was impossible. Even when she was not there Aunt Emilie’s presence could be felt, even though they were not spoken aloud, her orders were clear and unchallengeable.

‘I will walk home, Mademoiselle,’ Jeanne said quietly, and Mistral was sure that she, too, had had her instructions.

‘Very well, Jeanne,’ she said, and without looking at the Prince she walked down the steps of the Chapel. A footman in gorgeous livery assisted her into the carriage. He had a strange face, Mistral thought, with almond-shaped eyes and high cheekbones.

As he shut the door behind the Prince and climbed up on the box, Mistral said,