Now at last the wedding day had arrived. Annette had been hard at work in the house since cockcrow. Once she had rekindled the kitchen stove and set water to heat, she and Lizette laid the large table in the dining room. The company in the house were too many for them all to eat their breakfast as the family usually did, informally in the sunny cheerfulness of the morning room.

Almost at once the household was astir; on such a special occasion everyone was awake early, in eager anticipation of the day ahead. Bells began to ring below stairs with demands for hot water. Annette answered these calls, carrying buckets up to fill washing bowls, and in Monsieur St Clair’s case the bathtub he had had installed in his dressing room. She found carrying so many extra buckets extremely tiring. She knew everyone was under pressure and made no complaint, but more than once she had to pause on the stairs, resting the bucket on the floor to ease an increasing ache in her back.

Gradually the family came downstairs and Madame and Monsieur Gilbert emerged from the blue guest room just as Rosalie St Clair appeared on the landing.

‘Good morning, Clémentine,’ she said. ‘I trust you slept well.’

‘As well as can be expected,’ sighed Clémentine. ‘It’s never the same in a strange bed, is it? I feel distinctly unrested, but I make no complaint, my dear Rosalie. None at all.’

‘Well, it’s going to be a wonderful day,’ Rosalie said brightly. ‘Look at that sunshine!’

Her sister looked out of the window and replied with a shake of her head, ‘It’s going to be very hot,’ adding almost as an afterthought, ‘And how is dearest Clarice this morning?’

‘Breakfasting in bed,’ replied Rosalie. ‘None of you will see her before she arrives at the Mairie.’

‘Indeed, I should have asked Claudy to bring me a tray upstairs,’ Clémentine bemoaned, ‘but I wouldn’t want to be any trouble on such a busy day.’

‘Of course not,’ Rosalie agreed, wishing her sister had asked and had stayed out of the way. ‘Shall we go down?’ And together they descended the stairs in search of breakfast.

At that moment the door to the kitchen passage opened and Annette, carrying a heavy tray, crossed the hall into the dining room. She eased the door open and entered the room with baskets of freshly made croissants, strawberries from the garden and tall jugs of coffee and hot chocolate.

‘Have you taken up Miss Clarice’s tray, Annette?’ asked Rosalie.

‘Not yet, madame,’ Annette replied.

‘Then leave all that on the sideboard,’ Rosalie told her, ‘and take her tray straight up. You have a great deal to do and we can serve ourselves.’

Annette bobbed a curtsy and, having unloaded her tray, quietly left the room and returned to the kitchen.

‘I’m surprised you employ a maid so obviously in the family way,’ remarked Clémentine as she accepted the cup of coffee Rosalie had poured for her. ‘I would turn off any maid who has got herself into such an embarrassing predicament.’