‘Your nation is most expert in its manufacture of female beauty and accomplishment,’ he announced after paying me a thorough inspection. ‘Have you amused my Fanny?’

La Buffon smiled brightly.

‘We have not suffered a dull moment.’

The Duke leaned forward to examine my sketch, which was nearly complete but for the watercolour wash.

‘Monsieur d’Orléans is a great connoisseur of art,’ proclaimed Madame de Buffon.

‘And ladies,’ added one of the officers. This aroused much laughter.

‘Hush, Courcy, you will offend my Fanny,’ he teased, placing a kiss upon her forehead. ‘My collection is complete with her.’

‘Mademoiselle Lightfoot, I insist you paint Monsieur d’Orléans next,’ my hostess commanded. Her voice seemed suddenly small and childlike in Orléans’s company. Her lover wrapped an affectionate arm about her wide waist and drew her to him.

‘There is time enough for that, ma petite. Now I should favour some wine and a game of cavagnole.’ He sighed and turned from her.

For the briefest of instances I believed I might have a moment to refresh myself, but this was not to be. Orléans’s place was instantly filled by a pair of eager, flirtatious young officers.

‘Will you take my likeness, mademoiselle?’

‘And mine?’ said the other, with a broad grin.

‘And mine?’ called out a third from the window.

I smiled graciously, flattered though wearied at the prospect.

‘But I fear we shall soon lose the light . . .’ I attempted my protest. This, however, did not work for no sooner had I spoken it than two gentlemen came forward to transport my table beside a window and into a flood of summer evening light. I stifled my desire to sigh. The thought of my rumpled attire, my damp chemise and the grime upon my person made me wish for a moment’s respite, for a basin and some Hungary water or at the very least a change of linens. I was permitted not even so much as an instant to fix upon my wrist the miniature portrait that my hostess had kindly given to me, and I feared she would notice its absence.