My trunks had been laid, one by one, in the stables of the Hôtel l’Impératrice, where Lucy sat vigil over them all night and into the morning. ‘It is possible,’ she sniffed through her tears, ‘that I fell into a doze, madam, but not before that brute Mr Savill accosted me, demanding to know your whereabouts. I told him the honest truth, that I had not the faintest notion where you had got to. To be sure, I had never been so a-feared in my life – he stomped about in the courtyard a good while and offered me a livre to inform him of your return, but I refused to have it.’ My maid then claimed that the blackguard Savill went off in a passion, vowing to have his revenge. It was only in the morning, after Langlois and Thérèse had arrived to fetch her and my belongings, that Lucy noticed two trunks were absent. One contained summer attire and various fripperies, the other my jewels. In a storm of curses and fury, Langlois accused Madame Bonet and Mr Savill of conspiring at the theft. Mrs Elliot’s porter promised to turn the Hôtel l’Impératrice upside down in search of those boxes, but the proprietress would not stand for such treatment. She threatened to denounce him and then set two of her footmen upon them so that Lucy and the heroic Langlois were sent fleeing into the road, just as I had been.

On hearing this news I remember that I stood very still, as if made of wood. I did not tremble or fall into hysterics; instead, I observed Lucy through insensible eyes. Not a sound could be heard beyond her bitter heaves and sobs, for she believed herself to be at fault and was certain I would dismiss her on to the perilous foreign streets. I ought to have behaved with the charity of a good mistress and consoled her, but I could scarcely bring myself to breathe, let alone speak.