‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘But you must promise me that when the boy wakes tomorrow, you will tell him he is safe here? And I myself will speak to the professor and explain, as it was me who has caused this trouble. Now, I must leave. God knows what wrath I’ll face from Senhora da Silva Costa in the morning.’

‘Izabela . . . Bel . . .’ Laurent grabbed her arm as she made to walk to the door. He pulled her towards him suddenly and wrapped her in his arms. ‘You are truly beautiful, inside and out. And I can’t bear any longer to continue with this masquerade, this pretence between us. Please feel free to tell me to release you from my arms, but God help me, seeing your compassion tonight . . .’ He shook his head. ‘At the very least, I want to feel the touch of your lips on mine.’

Bel stared at him, knowing she was on the precipice and that not a single part of her cared if she leapt off it.

‘I am yours,’ she murmured. And his lips fell upon hers.

And in the kitchen next door, the young boy slept peacefully for the first time in months.

25

When Bel arrived back at the atelier at five the following evening, she was full of trepidation. Not only for the fate of the young boy, but also to discover whether Laurent’s declaration and kiss had merely been a reaction to the high emotion of last night.

‘Aha!’ said Landowski, who was cleaning himself up after a day’s work. ‘It’s Saint Izabela herself!’

‘How is he, professor?’ she asked, blushing at his comment.

‘Your foundling is currently sitting down to supper with my children,’ said Landowski. ‘Like you, when I called my wife in to see him sleeping like an emaciated rat on the kitchen floor, she immediately took pity on him. She insisted he have a good hosing-down outside in the garden and scrubbed him from head to toe with carbolic soap for fear of lice. Then she wrapped him in a blanket and put him to bed in our house.’

‘Thank you, professor. I’m sorry to put this trouble on your household.’

‘Well, if it was me, I’d have kicked him out on the street where he belongs, but you women, you all have soft hearts. And us men are thankful for them,’ he added gently.

‘Has he said yet where he’s from?’

‘No, because he hasn’t uttered a word since my wife took charge of him. She thinks he is mute.’

‘Monsieur, I know he isn’t. He spoke to me just before I left him last night.’

‘Did he? How interesting.’ Landowski nodded thoughtfully. ‘Well, so far he has not chosen to share his gift of speech with anyone else. He also carries a leather pouch slung around his body, which my wife discovered when she stripped off his filthy rags. He growled like a mad dog when she tried to remove it from him to wash him, and refused to let her take it. Well, we shall see. My guess is, from looking at him, that he is from Poland. It takes one to know one,’ he added soberly. ‘Goodnight.’