I smiled and emitted a soft sigh to hear that my anxieties were unfounded. It was only then that I permitted my heart to fill with the anticipation of a reunion with a friend I had not seen in many months.

‘They come so frequently now that the rumour has been put about,’ said Langlois as we proceeded down the short drive lined with skeletal trees, in which clung the odd cluster of white-berried mistletoe.

‘What rumour is that?’ I enquired with curiosity.

‘That she assists counter-revolutionaries. That she takes in émigrés who wish to return and procures papers for those who wish to flee. Last month the entire section house from Sèvres came to search for Monsieur de Chansenets, who was once governor of the Tuileries and a conspirator. They had received word from the Section de la République in Paris that Madame had been seen with him.’ He tutted. ‘It is plainly absurd. I have seen no such man here or at her hôtel. To have hidden him would have been an impossibility. Time and time again they make their searches, here and in Paris, and still they find no proof for these accusations. No, mademoiselle, my mistress is disliked by many and they will say anything to blacken her name.’

I gazed at Langlois with admiration. His loyalty to his mistress was a credit to him and, I believed, a testimony to the natural affection Mrs Elliot inspired in all who knew her. Although I had never before ventured to Meudon, in seeing her porter and listening to his words, I felt at once the familiarity of a homecoming.

The grey was so dense about us that I could not make out Mrs Elliot’s house till I nearly stood before it. It was not as I had expected. Orléans’s great gift to her was a rectangular structure from the previous century with a sloping slate roof and no more than a small cupola atop it for ornamentation. It was set around a modest courtyard and hewn from a cream-coloured stone, much stained by the elements. It was no larger in size than her townhouse on the rue de Miromesnil, yet with its tall windows it gave the impression of quiet stateliness.

Langlois led me through the entry and into an airy hall of white-painted panels and a marble floor. A low fire crackled with wet kindling. Even at this hour, the mist had rendered the house so dark that candles were lit all about. This was a place for summer and not the chill of winter.