Was she fond of the child? Emilie asked herself the question as Mistral clung to her at the final moment of parting, afraid of leaving all that was familiar, afraid of the unknown. She was not sure of the answer. Her love for Alice had been an overwhelming, devouring emotion. She could never recover from the shock of Alice’s deception, her reticence and secrecy and finally her death. Mistral was Alice’s child, she was also a constant reminder of Alice’s betrayal. At times Emilie would hate not Mistral herself, but the fact that she was alive while Alice was dead.

But Mistral must be educated, Mistral must be brought up expensively and luxuriously because Emilie’s plan for the future depended on her having all the social adjuncts to a personal success.

Even while Emilie reassured her own fear of failure and thought of the pearl necklace as security against utter destitution, she resolved with an almost fanatical determination that she would not part with it, however hard it might be to resist the temptation to do so. It was essential to her scheme.

Emilie had reached Paris at six o’clock in the evening. It was growing dusk – the blue, dusky twilight which makes Paris seem very mysterious and exciting, a place of adventure, a place of love, of soft music and of happiness. But Emilie saw none of these things. As she stepped out of the train, she felt cold, dirty and frightened. She had reached Paris, it was true, but she was alone in a strange city in which she had not even one friend. She stood forlornly in the station, her face white and drawn against the black crêpe of her unfashionable bonnet.

It was then that Léon spoke to her. She started and looked round to see an elderly man with a little pointed beard that was turning grey and dark eyes which seemed to Emilie to be comfortingly friendly.

‘Can I be of assistance, Mademoiselle?’

‘No, thank you, Monsieur.’

‘The friends who were meeting you have perhaps been delayed?’

‘I am not being met.’

‘No? Then Mademoiselle is well conversant with Paris?’

‘No.’

But – but – it is dangerous for a young women to arrive so late. You will perhaps permit me to direct you to where you are staying.’

‘I have no idea where that is.’

Léon’s sympathetic ejaculation was pleasant to hear. Emilie did not know then, but she learned later that it was part of his business routine for him to speak to unattached young women on railway stations, and that in the dim light he had been deceived into thinking her far younger than she was. But, having begun the conversation, he continued it. She told him the truth, that she had come from Brittany in search of work.

‘Can you cook?’ he asked.

‘By farm standards well,’ she replied. ‘By Paris standards doubtless excruciatingly.’