‘It is of no consequence,’ Mistral said quickly. ‘Do not perturb yourself, Jeanne. If I was not meant to know, I will forget what you said.’

‘You best do that then,’ Jeanne said, ‘or your aunt will half murder me. Listen, child, she has her own reasons for not telling you things, and now, stupid old fool that I am, I have let the cat out of the bag. But keep it to yourself, please, or you will get me into bad trouble.’

‘Of course, I will not say a word,’ Mistral answered, ‘but it is true then, that Aunt Emilie’s husband was called Monsieur Bleuet and that she is not really Madame la Comtesse?’

‘That’s the truth, God help me!’ Jeanne said, glancing over her shoulder as if she half expected to see Emilie listening to them in the shadows.

‘And is he dead?’ Mistral enquired.

‘Yes, he’s dead,’ Jeanne said. ‘He died seven years ago next Christmas, and to tell the truth I know no more than you do why your aunt should pretend to be the widow of a Comte.’

Mistral sighed.

‘I hate mysteries,’ she said. ‘I cannot understand why people want to have secrets. They are nasty, spooky things, in which a person gets all involved and before you know where you are, you are telling lies.’

‘That’s true enough, my dear, so don’t you have any secrets,’ Jeanne said approvingly.

‘I will not,’ Mistral said, and then remembered Sir Robert. That was a secret, and one of her very own. So perhaps after all everyone had them!

Who was she to criticise Aunt Emilie, Mistral thought humbly, and because she felt that Jeanne was still perturbed at what she had unwittingly revealed, she got to her feet and put her arms round the old woman’s shoulder.

‘Pray do not worry,’ she said. ‘The secret is safe enough – yours and mine.’

‘God bless you, ma chére,’ Jeanne said suddenly, ‘and God help you too, whatever lies ahead.’

Her words came from the heart and Mistral suddenly felt apprehensive as if something unknown was lying in wait for her just around the corner. It was then that they heard the door of the sitting room and instinctively they turned towards it, drawing apart.

The door opened and Emilie came in. She was dressed in a smart costume of green ottoman silk trimmed with plaid, and there were feathers in her green hat.

‘Ah, here you are, Mistral,’ she said. ‘Did you enjoy your drive?’

‘Yes, Aunt Emilie. The Prince came to the Church and told me that you had said he might take me out in his carriage.’ ‘Yes I gave him permission,’ Emilie said. ‘He is a delightful boy. I hope you were nice to him.’

She looked at Mistral searchingly as she spoke.

‘I think so, Aunt Emilie,’ Mistral answered.

She did not know why, but her Aunt’s question made her feel guilty.

‘Good!’