‘Yes, Aunt Emilie.’

‘We have only seen each other, you and I, at short intervals since you went to the Convent twelve years ago. I do not know how much you know or remember about your childhood and your family history. Your grandfather was the Hon. John Wytham, youngest son of Lord Wytham, an English nobleman. I was his eldest child, but he never married my mother who was French. Your real grandmother was an Englishwoman belonging to a distinguished family. She died when your mother was five years old, leaving her to be brought up by her parents, Sir Hereward and Lady Burghfield. Your mother was neglected and treated harshly by her relatives, and your grandfather, when he discovered this, brought her to Brittany and left her in the charge of my mother – and myself. Your grandfather was not a rich man, and he was a very extravagant one. I have supported you – I alone! For those past twelve years during which you have been educated I have paid all your fees, I have bought your clothes, I arranged for you to have special instruction. I paid extra for your music and for your lessons in English, French and German. The classes you attended for elocution, dancing and deportment were all supplementary. I paid for them – I personally.’

‘I did not know of this,’ Mistral said. ‘Thank you, Aunt Emilie!’

‘I have no desire to be thanked,’ Emilie said quickly. ‘I am only telling you this so that you shall understand your own position. Your relatives in England made no attempt to find your mother when she left them, and as your grandfather had little communication with England during the last years of his life, I doubt if they were ever informed of your existence. I am therefore your only relative, your Aunt – your entire family.

‘Yes, Aunt Emilie.’

Mistral was perturbed. There was something truculent, almost aggressive, in her Aunt’s way of speaking.

‘Sufficient then that we understand one another,’ Emilie went on. ‘Now I have something else to tell you – I am married. I married a Comte. He is dead, and there is no need for us to speak of him, but I am in fact Madame la Comtesse. Where we are going I shall not use my title. I shall use another name and remain incognito for reasons of my own.’

‘We are going away!’ Mistral exclaimed. ‘Where to?’

‘I am coming to that in due course,’ Emilie replied. ‘We are going a long journey and one which I have planned for many years.’

‘You planned to go – with me?’ Mistral enquired.

‘Yes, I planned to go with you,’ Emilie replied, ‘we will talk no more of it until we are ready, but you will remember one thing. You will not discuss my affairs or your own with anyone. It does not matter how many people ask or enquire about us, you will tell them nothing.’