At the sound of Jeanne’s voice Mistral turned eagerly from the window where she had been watching the stars coming out in the sky one by one now that darkness had fallen. With difficulty she checked the exclamation which rose to her lips. Jeanne was looking ghastly, her face was as white as that of a corpse, and her lips were bloodless. Her hands were shaking too as she turned the gas jet a little higher and opened the door of the wardrobe.

‘Jeanne, what is the mutter?’ Mistral asked. ‘You look as if you might swoon. Sit down and rest. I will find my own dress.’

‘No, I will do it,’ Jeanne said gruffly, then, as she went to the wardrobe, Mistral heard her mutter, ‘From all sin, Jesus, deliver us!’

‘What did you say?’ she asked, half believing that her ears had deceived her.

‘Nothing, I said nothing,’ Jeanne replied, but Mistral heard her add beneath her breath, ‘From the snares of the devil, Jesus, deliver us.’

What was the matter? What had happened? Why was Jeanne repeating a Penitential Litany? What had upset her? What had made her seem to age twenty years since they had come in from their walk in the gardens?

Impulsively she crossed the room and put her arms round the old woman.

‘You are tired, Jeanne, or ill. Go and lie down on your bed I can dress myself and Aunt Emilie tonight’

‘No, Mademoiselle.’ Jeanne’s voice was shrill. ‘Madame does not wish to be disturbed, not until dinner time. You are not to go near her.’

‘Very well,’ Mistral said. But sit down, Jeanne, please sit down.’

To her surprise the maid shook herself free of the embracing arms.

‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, ‘and let me go about my business, Mademoiselle. I have things to do – O Lamb of God who takest away the sins of the world spare us –’

She laid out the dress that Mistral was to wear that night and went from the room, still praying, a terrified look in her eyes.

Mistral had not understood it and it was a relief to find that Aunt Emilie seemed unperturbed when they met in the sitting room before dinner. Indeed, if anything, Emilie looked more regal and imperious than usual in a dress of sapphire blue brocade with an overskirt of draped net.

If Mistral had been afraid that her aunt would be affected in the same strange way as Jeanne, she was mistaken. Emilie’s head was held high and there was a faint smile on her lips. It even seemed to Mistral that her eyes were unusually bright and that her voice had a ring of triumph in it. Whatever had shattered Jeanne had apparently had the reverse effect on her aunt.