‘What don’t you understand?’ the Prince asked, ‘and please don’t cry. You are so sweet that I wouldn’t do anything to distress you.’

‘I am sorry to be so stupid,’ Mistral said, freeing her hand to grope for a handkerchief.

The Prince supplied one from his own pocket. It was of soft linen and smelt of orange blossom.

Mistral wiped her eyes and offered it back to him.

‘I – am ashamed – of myself,’ she whispered.

The Prince’s face was suddenly serious. He took the handkerchief and put it away in his breast pocket.

‘Now let us speak frankly,’ he said in quite a different tone. ‘Why are you upset and why are you frightened of me? Tell me the truth and I will try to help you if I can.’

Mistral looked up into his face. There was something new in his expression which reassured her, and she answered slowly,

‘It is so – difficult to put what I feel into words – but when you talk to me – like you did just now you seem to be laughing at me and – at the same time – compelling me to do something that I do not want to do – even though I do not know what it is! There is something underneath what you say – a different meaning from the words you use – Oh, dear, I cannot explain. How stupid I – must sound to you – you will not understand – ’

‘I think I do understand,’ the Prince said quietly. ‘You are very young and you have only just come from a Convent. Your aunt told me that. It is true, isn’t it?’

Mistral nodded.

‘You have never been made love to, and yet you are so beautiful that every man who sees you will want to make love to you. What is frightening you is love. Does that make it seem any better?’

‘I do not think so,’ Mistral answered truthfully. ‘I did not think somehow that – love would be like that. I have thought about it, of course, and the girls at the Convent often spoke about men and love, but – I thought it would be more – sacred – something holy.’

There was a little pause and then the Prince said quietly ‘You are right! Real love is like that, but – there are many kinds of love.’

‘Oh, I see!’ Mistral said. ‘And what one ordinarily meets is the – other kind?’

‘Exactly! In fact that is what one meets almost invariably in a place like Monte Carlo.’

Mistral puckered her forehead.

‘It is not serious then – just something to laugh about?’

‘Where most people are concerned.’

‘It – it doesn’t make me want to laugh somehow, but – but I will try.’

The Prince made a movement.

‘No,’ he said quickly. ‘Just be yourself, do not pretend, do not act a part you do not feel.’

Mistral raised large troubled eyes to his face.

‘Then what can I do?’ she asked.

The Prince looked out to sea.