‘He is called Victor Leclerc de Buffon,’ said she, bouncing him lightly against her. ‘He must have my husband’s odious name, but only for propriety’s sake, and only until . . . You have been told, have you not?’ She turned her eyes to me. There was a twinkle of delight there.

‘Told of what, Agnès?’

‘The Convention has made divorce legal. There will be divorce in France, is it not extraordinary? Of course, Orléans must continue to return his wife’s dowry and then . . . after a spell, I imagine we shall be free to marry. It is everything I have hoped for, Henriette.’ She beamed. ‘Then Victor will be recognized. A legitimate heir. Here,’ said she, ‘you must hold him, Henriette.’ My friend offered her child to me, and I warmly welcomed him into my arms. He gave a yawn and then gazed at me with his glassy dark blue eyes. At that moment my heart yearned for my own infant, the boy whom I had not pressed to my breast in two years. I did not wish to ruin our happy moment by giving in to sorrow and so hastily turned my gaze to his mother. Agnès de Buffon returned my contented look with an expression of what I could only describe as adoration.

‘You must know, you are my truest friend, Henriette. I had no sisters when I was a child. My brothers and mother died when I was young. Most of my girlhood was passed in a convent, which I loathed. I had some friends there, but never did I feel any true attachment to them,’ she mused. ‘It was not until after my marriage that I came to enjoy the society of women. Apart from you, I have possessed only one other cherished friend in the past. I do not doubt you have learned all about the scandal. Madame Meyler?’

At the mention of that lady’s name, I froze. I was uncertain what response to make, but tried a nod.

‘I am certain what you have heard are falsehoods. My life has been vexed by rumours. I have often said to you that the world looks for reasons to disdain me and so they will invent anything to please themselves. It is unfortunate that Madame Meyler fell from her horse when she was with child, but that was nothing to do with me. And I dare say you have heard it was Orléans’s infant that she carried at the time?’

I looked away shamefacedly as she said that. I could not respond.