‘Now I am certain you are telling falsehoods! There is not a woman in Paris whose tongue does not begin to flap at the mere mention of my name.’

‘Yes . . . yes . . .’ I hastily corrected myself, ‘I have heard some things, but not as much as you would suspect . . .’

She examined me with a wry expression, one which understood perfectly the fibs I offered.

‘Then you do not know that I was introduced to him by my dear friend, Madame de Genlis, who was then his maîtresse-en-titre?’

This I did not know. I observed her eyes move rapidly back and forth, studying, calculating, taking in each twitch of my face.

‘No, madame.’

‘I was once the mistress of her husband, the Comte de Genlis, but I suspect you know nothing of that affair either. How soon the world forgets my past sins when I now commit greater ones by appearing with Orléans. You see, Henriette, in my country it is permissible for a married lady to take many lovers, so long as she does not part company with her husband, or cuckold him so boldly as to insult him. It is upon this point that I find the habits of your nation most hypocritical, for the English are less tolerant of such conduct, yet gallantry is as common in London as it is in Paris. I am certain your “relation”, Madame Elliot, has much to say upon that matter.’ She caught my gaze and simpered provocatively.

I did not respond, but maintained my mild, polite expression.