‘You are not the first to suffer by his violence. There was a dancing girl several years ago. When she refused his advances, he came at her with a knife . . . Now, pray, turn to me . . .’ Mrs Elliot dipped her finger into the paste and began to dab it along my bruise. ‘The unfortunate creature was only saved by her maid, who screamed murder and alarmed the entire household. She was at the time kept by the Duc de Brissac. You might imagine how that gentleman received the news of this event,’ she said. ‘He sent a footman to thrash Savill with his own horsewhip, while Monsieur le duc looked on.’

I could not prevent myself. I gasped in unfeigned delight at this and then laughed with such force that Mrs Elliot was made to pause her work until I shook no longer.

‘I should very much like to dispatch the rascal once and for all. I would be celebrated by every femme galante in Paris for performing such a merciful deed.’ She sighed and reached for a jar of face powder. ‘It is a misfortune that you ever met with him . . . but la, this petit souvenir of your association will soon be healed. Then you will be in as much demand as you ever were,’ said she while dusting my face.

‘But I do not wish to be in demand, Mrs Elliot. Nothing pleases me less.’

She lowered her marabou puff.

‘Then what life do you intend for yourself, child?’

‘A single life,’ said I, holding my head firm. ‘I shall not return to my former existence. I vow it.’

‘But for how long? Until you are reunited with your beloved?’ She raised one of her dark brows. I could not dispel the sense that she mocked me, for I believed I had expressed myself quite clearly to her.

‘Why, yes. That is my intention.’

Her calm marble-blue eyes settled on mine.

‘And how, pray, do you intend to divert yourself until the arrival of that day? Will you repel the advances of every gentleman who makes himself known to you? Will you don a widow’s cap and pass every evening with your embroidery and a book of psalms?’

I found myself lowering my eyes into my lap.

‘I do not intend to pine, if that is what you imply, but nor do I intend to lead a life of . . . variety . . . as I did once. For I found no solace in it.’

She sat in silence for a spell, observing me, before speaking in a soft voice.