‘It is too generous, madame. It is too much to accept. First she agreed to shelter me and nurse me and then drive off Mr Savill. She has encouraged me in this . . . endeavour . . .’ I gestured to my easel. ‘She has shown me nothing but the most Christian benevolence . . . but to sell her sapphire, which I knew to be her most treasured of possessions, to make up for my loss . . . How can I ever repay her?’

Madame de Flaghac reached for the letter on the table and held it in her lap for several moments.

‘This,’ said she. ‘This is the means by which you can repay her kindness, mademoiselle.’

I exchanged an uncertain look with her. She nodded.

‘Write to La Buffon. Accept her invitation.’

I did not comprehend the matron’s reasoning. ‘But you have warned me against her. Now you would have me embrace her in friendship?’

‘Not embrace her, ma chère. An ambassador does not journey to a foreign court to embrace a king. He pays his respects. He ingratiates himself among the court, yet he remains the emissary of his queen. In this fashion he is able to effect good, to persuade the monarch against aggression, and all the while he is serving his own cause too. He is cultivating friends and connections and influence.’ Her old brown eyes fixed themselves on mine.

I contemplated her advice, which struck me as reasonable, though calculated.

‘Do you believe it possible for me to convince the Duc d’Orléans to restore Madame Elliot’s allowance?’

‘Mademoiselle, I believe you may attempt it.’ She smiled at me hopefully. ‘But you would do better to persuade Madame de Buffon that she has nothing to fear from her rival. I am given to understand that since the departure of Monsieur Laclos it is she more than any advisor who holds Orléans in thrall. He is a weak man and easily led . . . by women in particular.’

She handed me the letter and I received it hesitantly.

I sighed. I knew what I must do. Indeed, the more I considered it, the more my resolve began to gather, the more certain I became that this was the correct course of action to take.

‘I shall write to Madame de Buffon,’ I whispered. ‘It is the very least I can do.’

Once I had pledged myself to this path, and composed my letter to La Buffon, my determination to execute my plan became unshakeable. In order to prevent Mrs Elliot from raising any objections, I resolved that I would only reveal my design to her upon the eve of my departure. And so I set about making preparations for my travels in secret, while securing the word of my entire household that they would not betray my plans to my friend.