Rupert was grateful to be out of the heat; that must have been what had caused his giddiness, but though the piercing pain had gone, he was still feeling decidedly strange. Was it really too much sun?

‘I think I should go back to Le Coq,’ he said quietly to Hélène.

‘I will ask Pierre to drive you,’ said Rosalie, who had overheard him. ‘Hélène, run and ask Pierre to put the horse to at once.’

‘Really, madame,’ protested Rupert as Hélène hurried from the room, ‘there is no need to trouble Pierre. I can easily take the path through the fields.’

‘Certainly not, m’sieur,’ replied Rosalie firmly. ‘Pierre will drive you.’

Ten minutes later the message was brought that the chaise was at the door.

Rupert got to his feet and walked a little unsteadily out to where Pierre was waiting. Hélène went with him and he paused before climbing up to take his place.

‘Really, Hélène,’ he said softly, ‘there is nothing to worry about, I am sure. I will call on you again tomorrow, if I may.’

‘Of course you may,’ smiled Hélène, holding out her hand. ‘I shall look forward to it, but in the meantime, Rupert, I shall be thinking of you.’

Rupert raised her extended hand to his lips. ‘And I of you, my darling girl.’

Colour flooded Hélène’s cheeks as she murmured, ‘Really, M’sieur Rupert—’

‘Just Rupert will do, you know,’ he interrupted, still holding her hand.

‘Rupert, you should not address me as such.’

‘Why not, my darling girl? It’s what you are.’ And with that he touched her hand to his lips once more before climbing up into the coach.

Though he would never have admitted it to anyone else, he was relieved that he did not have to walk back to the village across the fields under the summer sun. The pain and giddiness had passed, but he felt strangely tired.

They made the short journey at a leisurely pace, and as he drove, Pierre considered what Annette had told him on her return from the village. Should he pass the information on to this Englishman who now seemed to have become so important to Miss Hélène? He, Pierre, had a great fondness for Hélène. He had been among those who had searched for her high and low when she had gone missing during the siege six years ago, and he had admired the courage with which she had managed to keep herself safe in the war-torn city. If Annette was right in her thoughts on Monsieur Barnier’s proposition, surely Monsieur Rupert should be warned.

‘Monsieur Chalfont,’ he said. ‘I think there is something you should know.’

‘I beg your pardon,’ said Rupert, whose thoughts had been drifting away again as he dozed to the rhythm of the chaise. ‘What did you say?’

‘This afternoon as you were leaving St Etienne, I believe Miss Hélène was approached by Monsieur Barnier.’

‘Yes.’ Rupert remembered the encounter with a wry smile. ‘So?’