Lindsay hesitated. “She pitied him to some extent, I think. He was only nineteen, and Letitia could see that he’d made a pathetic attempt to appear well dressed. But from the moment he entered her house, he was aggressive and rude. He told her, in a haughty way, that his sister did not need her patronage, that he had always supported her financially and always would if need be. He said he would not tolerate interference in Marie-Thérèse’s life from a Protestant family who could never understand a Catholic girl. He spoke at length, and with great emphasis, of his sister’s modesty, purity, and religious devotion. He said he would allow Marie-Thérèse to do no more work for Letitia, and that their meetings would cease—all she was doing was poisoning the mind of his sister, tempting her with worldly things. Marie-Thérèse was destined to become a bride of Christ, he said, and this had always been apparent to him, from her earliest years. It was what their dead mother would have wished for her, and he meant to ensure that wish was fulfilled. He recited this speech, which was clearly prepared, with few interruptions from Letitia. Then he stormed out. As with his sister, Letitia saw him only once again.”

“How extraordinary. How strange…” Rowland said into the silence that followed. “Poor Letitia. So what happened next, Lindsay? Tell me the end.”

“Several years passed. Letitia had been offended, and she made no further attempts to see Marie-Thérèse. Occasionally she would hear of her through the maid who had first introduced her, but there was little information, and gradually she lost interest. She had other more important things on her mind: her husband’s illness had manifested itself, though it had not yet been diagnosed. It was three years later, in 1969, that she heard from her maid that there had been some crisis: Marie-Thérèse had completed her schooling by then, and had begun instruction at the convent. But she had never completed her novitiate, claiming a loss of faith. This, and other factors, the maid said, had eventually led to a quarrel between the nuns and Marie-Thérèse. She and her brother were about to be evicted, put out on the streets. They had very little money, and no home.

“The maid, convent-educated like Marie-Thérèse, was also a modest girl. When she first heard this story, Letitia sensed that there was some other reason for this eviction that the girl could not bring herself to name. She blushed deeply, and became vague and incoherent when questioned. She said Marie-Thérèse had betrayed the trust the nuns had always shown in her, and that she was seeing no one because of her shame.

“Letitia’s husband was very ill at this time. She did not press the matter. Then, in January 1970, her husband was in remission and Mardi Gras was approaching. There would be no ball that year, but Letitia’s thoughts returned to Marie-Thérèse. She sent for the maid and questioned her. With great reluctance the maid was eventually persuaded to give an address where Marie-Thérèse and her brother were now said to be living. She said she’d heard that they were desperately poor, and that Marie-Thérèse had been ill, but she would divulge nothing more.