Free From Fear

In May 1803 Bonaparte's plans for an invasion of England were taking shape. From the Scheldt to the shores of Biscay, dockyard officials, harbour-masters, sailors, and ship-builders were all receiving secret imperious orders. At the same time, the First Consul was trying to remain on friendly terms with the British Government through their Ambassador in France, Lord Whit- worth.

The latter, however, began to pack, only to find that the permits which were needed to obtain post- horses failed to arrive. On May 11 however, he finally set off for Calais, and on May 16 the French Ambassador in London was recalled. Two days later, the British declared war and captured two French ships. In a towering rage, Bonaparte at once ordered the arrest of all British travellers in France. Ten thousand were seized, which was contrary to all civilised precedent.

Yolanda, who was arranging flowers in the Drawing-Room, heard her brother shout from the Hall. For a moment she thought she must be mistaken because she had not expected him back so soon. Ever since she had risen at four-thirty in the morning, while it was still dark, to help him dress, she had been praying—praying desperately that he would not be injured, or that by some miracle God might prevent the duel from taking place. Since it was now barely eight o'clock, she was not expecting him to return for at least another hour or so, but already he was here in the house. Hastily she put down the dead flowers she had removed from a vase and ran across the room to see him standing in the Hall shouting her name once again. "Yolanda—where are you?" "In here, Peter," she replied. Then as she was about to ask him what had happened, she saw his face and felt her voice die away in her throat. There was something wild about his eyes, and his face was paler than she had

ever seen it before. Sir Peter Tiverton was, as a rule, very conscious that he was extremely handsome, an elegant young Beau who compared favourably with the other Bucks and Beaux who followed slavishly the fashions set by Beau Brummel. At this moment, however, with his usually carefully arranged hair blown by the wind, his cravat crumpled, and a strange expression on his face, Sir Peter looked very unlike himself. "What has happened?" Yolanda asked, and the words were little more than a whisper, "I—killed him!" her brother answered. "I killed the Marquis!" "H-how... could you?" Yolanda cried. "And.,. why?" "God knows I did not mean to," Peter replied. stI intended only to wing him, but he was so drunk that he swayed at the last moment as he fired and missed me and I hit him full in the chest." "Oh ... Peter .., how terrible! What can we do?" "Do?" her brother enquired. "You know full well what I have to do!" Yolanda's eyes widened as he spoke, and it was impossible to ask the obvious question. "I have to leave the country immediately," Peter said, "unless I want to be taken before the Magistrates." "But it was a duel of honour." "Do you think that counts when I have killed someone as important as Ramsbury? What is more, Lord Basil Blake, who was his Second, shouted at me: 'I will see you hanged for this, Tiverton!'" Peter made a helpless gesture with his hand. "You know his influence with the Lord Chamberlain and who will believe me when I claim it was an accident?" "But... Peter... to go abroad .., how can you? And where would you go?"

"To France," her brother replied. "How much money have we in the house?" "Very little, and, as you well know, a ... pile of debts." "Scrape together everything you can." "Peter, you cannot leave me here alone! Besides, what am I to say when they come here ... questioning me as to... where you have.., gone?" Her brother was still for a moment. He looked at his sister almost as if he saw her for the first time. She was very lovely with her dark hair with purple lights in it which framed her small, heart shaped face and with two very large eyes which surprisingly were blue. Not the blue of a clear sky, but the dark, tempestuous blue of the sea in a storm. Her skin was fair, an inheritance from her English father, just as her hair and Peter's came from their French mother. "No, I cannot leave you alone here," he said slowly as if he was speaking to himself. "You must come with me. Perhaps we shall not have to stay away for very long, merely until the hue and cry has subsided." He did not speak with much assurance, knowing that the death of the Marquis of Ramsbury would be a sensation which would undoubtedly be talked about for a long time to come. The grandfather-clock which stood in the Hall chimed the half-hour and Peter started. "Hurry, Yolanda," he said. "I will see the Gibsons and tell them to shut up the house. Can you manage to pack some of my clothes as well as your own "Yes, of course, dearest," Yolanda agreed, 'but are you sure ... absolutely sure you have to... leave the country?" "It is either France or Newgate," her brother replied. As if the way he spoke the last word galvanised Yolanda into action, she ran up the staircase with a little cry, while Peter disappeared into the back quarters of the old Manor House that he had inherited three years ago from his father.

The Tivertons had lived in it for four hundred years, but gradually and especially towards the end of the last century the family fortunes had declined. The farms had been sold off, and now there was little left except the Manor House itself and the portraits of their ancestors, who, Yolanda thought, looked down disapprovingly at them from the walls. But it was her home and she loved it, and she thought now as she hastily pulled the trunks out of the cupboards that to leave everything that was familiar would make her not only unhappy but frightened. She knew that while Peter thought he was taking her with him in order to protect and look after her, she would end up looking after him. He was impulsive and irresponsible. At the same time, he was kind and compassionate and he would never willingly have injured anyone, let alone have killed him. The Marquis of Ramsbury might be one of the most important noblemen in Society and be respected in the House of Lords, but in his personal life he was a rake and a drunkard. The King and Queen both condemned his friendship with the Prince of Wales, on whom they thought he was a bad influence, but it had never been alleged that he was not a clever man. Besides this, his great wealth and vast possessions made it impossible for anyone to ignore or to ostracise him, however unpleasant his behaviour. Yolanda was not at all clear how Peter had become embroiled with the Marquis to such a point that His Lordship had challenged him to a duel. She knew it all concerned some woman, and she had a suspicion that because her brother was so handsome and so attractive, the lady in question had preferred him to the Marquis, who was not only nearing middle-age but looked older because of the dissolute life he led. Whatever the cause, the duel had ended in tragedy, and it meant that she and Peter must go abroad, leaving their home and their friends.

She herself, as it happened, had very few friends, but she knew that her brother was popular and she could not help wondering why his Seconds in the duel, if nobody else, had not returned with him. However, there was no time for question J, and hastily she packed the few clothes she possessed. Then, running to Peter's bedroom, which had once been her father's, she filled a trunk with his well-made cut-away coats, his buckskin breech 3s, his Hessian boots, and a large number of fine muslin cravats. In one drawer she found a few loose sovereigns and it brought to her mind their present need of money. They would need a great deal, she thought, if they were to live in France and have to pay for a roof over their heads as well as everything else. But where was it to come from? There were a few small pieces of jewellery left which had belonged to her mother and which Yolanda had longed to keep for sentimental reasons. But she told herself with a sigh that she must not be selfish and that her mother would certainly wish her to help Peter, whom she had adored. There was also her father's gold watch. It was an heirloom passed down from father to son which had been presented to the first Baronet by Queen Anne. It was heart-breaking to think that they might have to sell it. At the same time, if they were hungry for want of food, what would be the use of a gold watch, however historic, on the other side of the channel? When she had finished packing she ran downstairs to the safe to find that Peter had already opened it. "What happened to Mama's diamond brooch?" he asked. "We sold it a year ago," Yolanda answered. "Do you not remember? You wanted to buy a horse and you also had to pay for your lodgings in advance." "I had forgotten," Peter said. "Surely we must have something of value?" "I have been thinking about that," Yolanda answered. "I have six guineas left of

the housekeeping money which you gave me last month, but perhaps as we are leaving you could cash a cheque at the village- shop." "Yes, of course I can do that," Peter replied. "And I hope it will be honoured." "Oh, Peter, you must have some money in the Bank?" "Not much," her brother replied, 'Taut I did have the sense to borrow from my Seconds before I left London." "How much?" Yolanda asked. "With what I have of my own, I think about fifty pounds." "That should last us a little while, but if we have to stay abroad for very long ..." She looked at her brother tentatively, but he did not meet her eyes. "I will tell you what we will do," he said. "We will make for Paris and see if we can trace some of Mama's relatives." "She always said that most of them were guillotined in the Revolution." "Yes, I know. But the Latours were a large family, and I hope that with Bonaparte's policy of inaugurating a new Court and trying to ingratiate himself with the Ancien Regime, the Latours will be back in favour." "Perhaps they will not accept him," Yolanda suggested. "That does not matter, as long as they accept us." Unexpectedly, he smiled. "Cheer up! It may not be as bad as we anticipate, and, quite frankly, I have always wanted to see Paris. They say the French women beat the English any day of the week." Yolanda gave a little sigh. It was so like Peter to be already thinking of how he could enjoy himself and forgetting the very grave circumstances which were driving them from their home. She knew it was no use trying to lecture him.

Instead, she took everything of any value out of the safe and put it in a leather bag which had belonged to her mother and which she had always carried when she was travelling. "We shall have to leave the Gibson; some money," Yolanda said. "Yes, of course," Peter agreed, but she knew that he had not thought of it himself. "What about the outstanding bills?" "They will have to wait until I return. ' Peter replied. "I have told Gibson that I will write to Mr. Claymore, who has always looked after the Estate, to keep things going and pay off anything that is too urgent to be ignored." Yolanda wanted to ask, "What with?" but she thought it might annoy her brother. So she merely listened until he said: "Breakfast should be ready by now, and as soon as Gibson brings the Curricle round to the door, we must be off." "Do you think that Lord Basil might have sent someone after you already?" Yolanda asked in a frightened voice. "He would first go to my lodgings," Peter replied. "Of course he can find out very easily at White's my address in the country, but I certainly do not intend to be here waiting to be arrested." "No, of course not!" Yolanda cried in terror. She ran upstairs to collect her travelling-cloak and her bonnet. It was quite warm for April, but she was sensible enough to realise that it might be cold at sea, and therefore she had left out a long cloak trimmed with fur which had belonged to her mother. It was far smarter than anything Yolanda had ever possessed herself; for Lady Tiverton, being French, had an eye for what was elegant and always managed to make anything she put on look smarter on her than it would have looked on any other woman. When she was ready, Yolanda took a last look round her bedroom.

The carpet was threadbare and the curtains were faded, but because she had slept there all her life she thought that it was a part of herself, and she hated to say good-bye to it. She glanced up to where over the mantelpiece there was a portrait of her mother. It was a very lovely picture painted by an artist who had caught the fascination that had been the Comtesse Marie de Latour's most irresistible quality and had conveyed it onto canvass. Yolanda was very like her mother, except for her fair skin and something indefinable which made her look neither completely English nor completely French. It was as if she typified everything that was best and beautiful about the women of both nations, and those who knew her well would have said that this was true not only of her looks but of her character and personality. Now, staring up at her mother's face, she was a child again as she said pleadingly: "Look after us, Mama. Help us, for I admit that although I shall be with Peter, I am very ... frightened." Just for a moment Yolanda waited, as if she thought her mother might answer her. Then, because the tears suddenly blinded her eyes, she turned away, to find as she reached the door that Gibson had come in to collect her trunk. "'Tis not right you should be a-goin' away like this, Miss Yolanda," he said scoldingly but with the affection and familiarity of an old servant. "I know, Gibson," Yolanda replied, "but I cannot let Sir Peter go alone. You know as well as I do that he would get into trouble without me." "He’ll get into trouble right enough, Miss, whether you're there or not," Gibson said. He did not wait for a reply but shouldered her trunk and started off down the passage towards the stairs.

A few minutes later, leaving Mrs. Gibson sobbing convulsively into a comer of her apron, they drove away down the ill-kept drive. Peter did not speak, nor did he look back at the house, but Yolanda knew by the tightness of his lips and the set of his chin that he was as upset at leaving as she was. However, there was no point in talking about it, and when they reached the village-shop Peter went in to ask if they would cash a cheque, saying what a nuisance it was that they had to leave for London unexpectedly. "Oi can't let ye 'ave much, Sir Peter," Mi, Brewster, the shop-keeper, said. "Well, give me what you can," Peter said. "I have no time to go into town to the Bank and I am in a hurry." " Urry, 'urry, that's all ye've ever done since ye were a lad," Mr. Brewster said, chuckling. "Nay time fer this, an' nay time fer that! As me ol' Ma used to say to me: 'All ye catch with unnecessary speed is yer own tail!'" He laughed heartily and Peter forced himself to laugh too. Mr. Brewster was scraping about in a draw er. "Ah! 'Ere's something I'd forgot," he said. "Ye're in luck, Sir Peter. Oi've nigh on eleven pounds, an' that's more than I thought to find." "I am very grateful, Mr. Brewster." He wrote out a cheque and passed it across the counter to the shop-keeper, who asked: "When'll ye be back?" "I am not quite certain," Peter replied as he walked towards the door, "but of course we will let you know." "There be yer usual order ready for ye," Mr. Brewster replied. "An' droive careful-like. We don' want no accidents, Sir, do we?" "No, of course not," Peter answered. He hurried out to the Curricle and got in beside Yolanda, who had been holding the reins while he was in the shop.

"How much did you get?" she asked as they drove away. "Nearly eleven pounds." "Is that all?" "It was all he had." They did not speak again until they had travelled for some way, then Peter said: "We will get something for the Curricle and the horses when we reach Dover." "You are ... selling the horses?" Yolanda's voice held a shocked note. "I can hardly afford to stable them while we are abroad." "But, Peter, I feel they are part of the family, part of us. How can you let them go to strangers?" Even as she spoke she knew that there was no answer. Of course they could not afford to keep horses that were of no further use to them. Yet it seemed somehow a betrayal of the animals whom they had loved and who trusted them. As they drove on, it seemed to Yolanda as if every mile they travelled made it harder and harder for them to leave England. What would they find in France to compensate them in any way for what was familiar, for what was in fact the only world that she herself knew? She had read in the newspapers of how the Armistice the year before had changed the attitude of the French towards their former enemy, the British. "Travellers are agreeably impressed," the leading article in the Times told readers. Yolanda saw that Bonaparte, the First Consul, was no longer depicted by the cartoonists as an unshaven scaramouche from a Corsican novel, looting, burning, and murdering. Now he was portrayed as the greatest man in Europe, taking the salute of his troops with all the pomp and splendour of Royalty, with half the nations of the

world paying him homage. Yolanda read a report of a visitor to Paris who had seen the man they had formerly derided as a monster riding a horse which had belonged to the late King of France, attended by brilliant Generals, and admired by beautiful women of many nationalities. It seemed strange that the volte-face had occurred so quickly, but she told herself that nothing was more important than that there should be peace and no more killing. The Times had also told her that it had become the First Consul's practice to grace Mass in the Tuileries Chapel for ten minutes every Sunday. 'I am sure we shall be safe in France,' Yolanda thought. It was strange to remember how bitterly her mother had deplored and hated the French Revolution and afterwards Napoleon Bonaparte, who had fought the British while he attempted to restore the national unity of France. "He is an upstart and will never be accepted by the aristocratic French," Lady Tiverton had declared firmly. Yet it seemed now that even they were beginning to appreciate a man who could give them victory in place of defeat and chaos. It was a long way to Dover, but Peter was a skilful driver and they arrived soon after noon. He left Yolanda at the King's Head with their luggage and went off without telling her where he was going, but she knew it was to sell the horses and the Curricle. She tried not to think about it, knowing that it would make her cry. Sitting alone in the King's Head, she watched the passengers who were waiting to board the ship to carry them across the Channel and thought they were an unprepossessing lot. Peter would have taken a private Parlour for her but Yolanda had dissuaded him.

As they drove towards Dover, neither of them had felt like talking and she had had time to think about how economical they must be with so little money to spend. She had the feeling that her mother's jewellery, attractive though it was to her, would not fetch very much when they took it to a Jeweller. She had no idea whether food and lodging were more expensive in France than they were in England, but she knew that foreign travellers were always likely to be fleeced. As she sat thinking, it suddenly struck her that where France was concerned, she and Peter were hardly foreigners. Half-French, they both spoke their mother's native tongue as fluently as they spoke English, and when she glanced at herself in one of the large mirrors which decorated the walls of the Hotel, Yolanda was aware that she looked more French than English. Perhaps when travelling they would be wiser, she told herself, if they claimed to be French. They would be far less likely to be cheated, and in many parts of France the British would still be looked on as enemies. It was certainly an idea to consider, and when Peter returned she waited until he had told her the results of the sale. "It was rather disappointing," he said. "The Curricle fetched what I expected, but the horses fetched less." "I hope they have gone to a kind man," Yolanda said, "and will not be made to pull one of the stagecoaches which are always over-laden." "He seemed a decent chap," Peter replied. But she had the feeling that he was telling her that more to comfort her than because he was sure. Hastily, because she could not bear to go on talking about the horses, she told him of her idea that they should travel as French people rather than English. "I am damned if I will do anything of the sort!" Peter said firmly. "Besides, I am

always being told that a title is an asset abroad, and that a Republican country is more snobby than any other!" Because he was so positive, Yolanda capitulated immediately. "But of course, dearest, we will do exactly what you wish. I only thought it might save us money, one way and another." "I am feeling quite warm in the pocket at the moment," Peter remarked. "Remember how long it has to last," Yolanda said quickly. Because she was so insistent on his being careful, she would not allow him to take a cabin for her on the ship. The charge for the passage was not expensive— half a guinea for gentlemen and five shillings for servants. "I might pretend to be your lady's-maid," Yolanda said jokingly, "or you could be my valet." "I have bought our tickets already," Peter answered, "and there is a ship leaving in an hour s time. The sooner we go aboard and get a comfortable seat, the better." "How long will it take?" Yolanda asked. "That was the first thing I asked," Peter replied, "and the man said: 'When the wind stands fair, Sir, Calais can be reached in three hours.'" "And is the wind standing fair?" Yolanda enquired. "The answer to that is 'no,'" Peter answered, "in which case it may take five or six. Are you a good sailor?" "I really have no idea. You know as well as I do that I have never been to sea." "I have the uncomfortable suspicion," Peter said, "that I was born a landlubber.' However, we shall soon find out." Despite Yolanda's protests, he insisted on fortifying himself with a bottle of wine and made her drink a glass of it too. When they went aboard, the waves outside the harbour were already whitecrested and the wind was whistling in the sails.

The ship looked too small for the large number of people waiting to board her. Peter found Yolanda a comfortable seat below- decks; then, advising her to sit still, he went up on deck to watch them move out of the harbour. The ship left on the tide, but there was an undoubted swell before they reached the open sea, and Yolanda did not have to listen to what the other passengers were saying to be sure that they were in for an uncomfortable passage. Actually, while everybody round her was sick, Yolanda managed, by keeping her eyes shut and thinking of other things, not to be ill. It was undoubtedly what is described as "a rough passage," and the discomfort of it seemed to drag on endlessly. Actually it was five hours before they reached Calais. As they came into port, Yolanda saw Peter for the first time since they had left Dover. She had thought that perhaps he was staying up on deck because the smell of sickness in the Saloon was unpleasant, but the moment she set eyes on him she realised that he too had been desperately seasick. His face was ashen, his clothes had been blown about in the wind, and, as he was not capable of giving orders, it was Yolanda who found a porter and told him to carry their trunks to the Customs Office. He obeyed her with less reluctance, she thought, because she spoke his language so fluently, and, as Peter was not in a position to talk to the Customs Officers, she took it upon herself to say that she was French. "You are returning home, then, Mademoiselle," the Customs Officer said genially. It was obvious from the expression in his eyes that he admired her. "Yes, indeed, Monsieur, and very glad we are to be back." Then for the first time the Officer noticed Peter standing behind her, looking as if he might be sick again at any moment. "Pardon. Madamehe said. "I did not realise you were married. Your

husband—he is also French?" "Oui, oui, Monsieur," Yolanda said blithely, "but he does not like the Channel."

"Nor do we!" the Customs Officer replied with a wink. "And one day we will cross it—you mark my words!" There was no doubt he meant that the French would invade England, and Yolanda drew in her breath. She managed, however, to smile so beguilingly at the Officer that he let her go with only a most perfunctory search, while she saw that the other travellers were having to open everything they possessed and even show what was in their pockets and in their handbags. A porter collected their luggage and the Officer informed them that the Hotel d'Angleterre was the best Hotel in Calais. Yolanda was about to reply that they wo aid rather go to some cheaper Hotel, but as Peter locked, she thought, almost on the verge of collapse, she decided that for tonight at any rate they might be a little extravagant. She knew that few of their fellow-travellers were going in the same direction, but when they reached the Hotel d'Angleterre it was obvious that it was full of important-looking tourists who were ladies and gentlemen like themselves. Yolanda asked for two single rooms adjoining each other and managed not to look too relieved when she was told that the best rooms were already taken but that there were two cheaper but quite comfortable ones on the second floor. She accepted them and their luggage was taken upstairs. The rooms were actually very small, but they were comfortably furnished. As soon as Peter was inside his room, he groaned and flung himself on the bed. "Order me some brandy, for God's sake. I feel as if I am going to die!" he said, moaning. Yolanda gave the order but when she signed the bill for it she was horrified to

see how expensive it was, even though they were in the country of its origin. "I told you, travellers are fleeced." she said to Peter as he sat up to drink the brandy. "I can tell you one thing," he said, "I shall have to stay in Europe for the rest of my life. I can never face the sea again!" "We were unlucky that it was so rough." "That is an understatement," Peter replied. It was obvious, however, within a few minutes that the brandy began to take effect and he felt better. He rose from the bed to take off his overcoat and fling it on a chair. Then he looked at himself in the mirror and groaned at the condition of his cravat. "It is a wonder they did not send us to the servants' quarters," he remarked. "You do look rather a mess, dearest," Yolanda said. "Let me help you change, then we will go down and have something to eat." "I am not certain I could face food," Peter replied, "but I could do with another brandy." "I am sure it is unwise to drink too much on an empty stomach." "Do not dare mention that word!" Peter exclaimed. "I no longer have such a thing." Yolanda laughed. "Poor Peter! You will soon feel better, and as this is the best Hotel in Calais, the food will be delicious." As she spoke, she opened his trunk and took out some fresh clothes and a clean, starched cravat, then went next door to her own room. She wanted to change too, because in the airless Saloon with so many sick people she felt as if the smell of it had become impregnated in her clothes. She had very few gowns to choose from, but she took out a fresh white muslin with a blue sash and thought that she would wear over it for warmth, a pretty woollen shawl that had once belonged to her mother.

She was seated in front of the small rather inadequate mirror, arranging her hair, when the door burst open. Peter stood there looking so wild and distraught that instinctively Yolanda started to her feet. It flashed through her mind that those who had threatened to arrest him had already crossed the Channel! Then as she tried to ask him what was the matter, he said hoarsely in a voice she barely recognised: "I have been robbed!" "Robbed?" Yolanda questioned. "Of everything I possess!" "It cannot be ... true!" "I know the men who did it. They came and stood beside me while I was being sick over the rail. I thought they were helping me. They held me up and seemed very considerate and friendly, but I suppose they were picking my pocket at the same time.' "Oh, Peter ... are you ... sure?" "Come and look for yourself. I have not a penny left!" Yolanda gave a cry of sheer horror. Then as if she must convince herself that Peter was not imagining things, she ran to his room. He had flung his coat on the bed and she searched in all the pockets, only to find that, as he had said, they were empty. As they boarded the ship she had seen him put the notes he had received from Mr. Brewster in the inside pocket of his coat and the sovereigns in the mesh purse he always carried. Too late, she thought despairingly that she should have insisted on taking some of the money and hiding it in her handbag. How could she have guessed, how could she have imagined for one moment, that Peter, who was so strong and also as a rule alert and quick-witted, would have his pocket picked in such a manner?

She put the coat she had been examining down on the bed and saw that Peter was standing in the doorway watching her. "Now what the devil do we do?" he asked. "Come into my room so that we can talk without being overheard," Yolanda suggested. He did as she said and shot the door behind him. There was silence, then she said: "I suppose we could... go home and try to get some ... more money?" "And be arrested?" "No, I realise it is impossible ... but Peter ... we cannot live on air... and when I was putting Mama's jewellery in my bag, I thought it would not fetch very much." "I could have told you that," Peter replied. "They were only the trinkets Papa gave her when he was too hard-up to afford better." "I still have the six guineas of the housekeeping money." "Well, that is all that stands between us and starvation. What do you suggest we do?" "I feel as if my head is filled with cotton-wool... and I really do not know," Yolanda replied. "I feel the same," Peter said. "I was such a fool, such a blithering idiot, not to realise that those men would not have paid any attention to me if they had not thought I was a chicken to be plucked!" He spoke savagely. "What a chicken!" he went on. "What a greenhorn! Like a country dolt who is the prey of every city vulture!" "You must not blame yourself, dearest," Yolanda said. "You were sick." "Very sick!" Peter snapped. "But that is no excuse." He sat down on the bed. Then he said: "The best thing I can do is to send you back to England and blow my brains out, if I have any left."

Yolanda put out her hand towards him. "You are not to talk like that We will manage somehow. We will not be so faint-hearted as to be defeated." "The only alternative," Peter continued in a low voice, "is to give myself up. We will both go back to England. I will hand myself over to the authorities and face the consequences." "Do you think I would let you do that?" Yolanda asked. "Of course not!" She was holding on to Peter's hand with both of hers. "I think," she said after a moment, "that you were right in suggesting that we should get to Paris and try to find out if we have any relatives there. The difficulty is to find a way to do so." Peter did not reply, and she felt his fingers tighten on hers as if he understood what an effort she was making. "Six guineas will not last us more than a few days if we stay here," Yolanda said, "and I also think that Calais will prove more expensive than other parts of France." "You can be sure of that," Peter agreed. "When we came in," Yolanda said ruminatively, "I saw that the guests in the Hotel were all people like ... ourselves. I suppose it would be ... impossible to approach them for... help?" She spoke tentatively and Peter replied: "Can you imagine what our response would be if two people we had never seen before asked us to lend them money in a strange town in a strange country, with no likelihood of ever seeing it again?" Yolanda sighed. "No, it was a silly idea. If only there were some way we could earn the money... earn enough at any rate to get us to Paris and enable us to stay in cheap lodgings until we can find our relatives."

"If they exist," Peter said despondently. "I wonder what we could do," Yolanda went on. "You are good with horses. I can sew and cook, but I do not suppose the French would appreciate the sort of dishes I can make." "You can hardly work in the kitchens," Peter said, "and I do not particularly fancy myself as a stable- boy." "It is no use being proud." "We had better go home to England! I am not going to have you suffering through my fault, my idiocy. We will take the first ship back in the morning, and pray Heaven the wind has dropped by then" "Wait a minute!" Yolanda exclaimed. "I am not going to agree to anything until we have considered it carefully. I will tell you what I am going to do now." As she spoke, she looked at her brother and saw him put his hand up to his forehead. "You are feeling ill," she said in a different tone of voice. "Why do you not he down for a little while. I am sure the French do not eat early and there will be food in the Dining-Room until a late hour." 'Which we cannot afford," Peter said, speaking in a way which told Yolanda that he did feel very ill. He lay back on the bed with his head on the pillow and lifted his feet up onto the counterpane. "I am going downstairs to find out what the dinner costs," Yolanda said, "and if I get a chance I will speak to the Proprietor. Then if he seems a sympathetic sort of man, I will tell him the plight we are in." "For God's sake, wait until morning," Peter pleaded. "If he thinks we have no money he will chuck us out into the street tonight!" "I will make sure he does not do that," Yolanda replied. "Try to have some sleep; I know you will feel better for it."

As she spoke, she moved towards the door and as Peter was thinking what he would reply, he heard it close. "Yolanda!" he called. But she had already gone.

As Yolanda went along the corridor towards the stairs she saw two servants approaching. The woman was wearing a large apron over her print dress and a mob-cap, and the man, also wearing an apron, had an open waistcoat over his white shirt. She thought they looked very different from English servants; at the same time, she realised they were a married couple and worked together. Her mother had told her years ago that this was the way of the French. "Bonjour, Madame!" both servants said politely as she passed them. Yolanda reached the top of the stairs and saw below her in the Hall a number of people arriving with their luggage while others were obviously leaving. At the reception-desk which stood just inside the door, some travellers were paying their bills, while others were demanding accommodation and obviously being disappointed. She walked past them towards what she knew, by the noise and chatter of voices, must be the Dining- Room. She was not surprised to see that it was already full and the waiters were hurrying from table to ta- ble. She was thinking how she could ask the price of the menu and she thought that the dishes she saw being served appeared to be rich and exotic. She noticed that the majority of diners appeared to be drinking champagne. Peter and I must not eat until we know what the cost will be,' Yolanda thought nervously.

She walked back towards the reception-desk, where a large Englishman enveloped in a tweed cape and speaking with an excruciating French accent had just paid his bill As he moved away, Yolanda was about to speak to the Proprietor when she was pushed to one side by another man. Immediately the Proprietor was all attention. "Monsieur Hartley!" he said, mispronouncing the name. "Your patron has arrived!" "He has indeed, Monsieur Dessin." the Englishman answered. "The yacht is in harbour." He spoke French well but with an obvious English accent. "Then Monsieur le Duc be arriving almost at once," the Proprietor said. "Everything is prepared and ready. You need have no worries on that score, Monsieur Hartley." "I knew I could rely on you," the Englishman replied. Looking at him and hearing what he said, Yolanda realised that Mr. Hartley must be a Courier. She was well aware that rich and distinguished travellers always employed a Courier who went ahead of them to make arrangements for their accommodations, to provide them with carriages and horses, and to make certain that they were received with respect. "It's unfortunately been a very rough crossing," Mr. Hartley was saying. "It's always the same at this time of the year," Monsieur Dessin replied. "One can never trust the sea. "That's true," Mr. Hartley agreed, "but it was rough before His Grace's yacht left Dover, with the result that Mademoiselle Gabrielle Dupre's lady's- maid refused to go on board." Mr. Hartley spoke as if it was a tragedy, and Monsieur Dessin flung his hands in a typically French gesture.

"Les domestiques!" he exclaimed. "It's always the same! They have no interest in travel." "This means," Mr. Hartley went on, "that I must ask you, Monsieur, to find me a good and experienced lady's-maid immediately." "That's impossible!" Monsieur Dessin replied. "My chambermaids will of course do anything they can for Mademoiselle, but a personal maid when the Hotel's full is out of the question. We're short-handed as it is." "You know Monsieur le Duc will not take 'no' for an answer," Mr. Hartley said. His tone of voice told Yolanda that he was not only worried about his employer's reaction but afraid of him. He rested his arms on the reception-desk and bent towards the Proprietor as he said pleadingly: "Think, Monsieur, think hard! There must be somebody who could look after Mademoiselle at least as far as Paris, and money's of no consequence." It struck Yolanda, who was listening, that here was an answer to her own problems. She had in fact until this moment attended to the conversation with only part of her mind, while with the other part she was calculating how much she and Peter dare spend on an evening meal and whether she would be wise to tell the Proprietor right away of how little money they had. Now when there was silence in answer to Mr. Hartley's plea and Monsieur Dessin put his hand to his forehead as if in an effort to think, she said in her soft voice: "Pardon, Monsieur, but I could not help overhearing your conversation, and I think perhaps I might be of service to you." Mr. Hartley turned to look at her in astonishment. "Of service, MademoiselleF' he enquired. "Yes, indeed. I happen to be a very experienced lady's-maid, and I have just arrived from England where I have been looking after a Lady of Quality for some

years." Monsieur Dessin, who was also looking at Yolanda in surprise, gave a little laugh. "It seems, Monsieur Hartley," he said, "that luck's on your side. It's true that this young woman has only just arrived from a ship which by all accounts had as rough a crossing as Monsieur le Duc's yacht" He would have said more, but another traveller who had been trying to attract his attention said sharply: "If you do not attend to me, I shall leave without paying my account!" Monsieur Dessin hurried to prevent such a disaster and Yolanda was left facing Mr. Hartley. "Is this true?" he asked. "You look very young to be an experienced maid." "I look younger than I am, Monsieur," she replied, "and of course I have a reference to prove that what I say is true." '1 would like to see it." "I will fetch it from upstairs," Yolanda said, "but there is one thing I must tell you." "What is that?" "I am travelling with my... husband." As she spoke, Yolanda could not help a note of anxiety in her voice. It seemed almost Heaven-sent that she might have the chance of being employed as a lady's-maid as far as Paris, but she could not travel without Peter. "A husband!" Mr. Hartley said a little reflectively. "What does he do?" "He is good with horses," Yolanda replied, remembering what she had said to Peter upstairs. "He can ride?" "Very well!" "Has he also a reference to prove it?" "Yes, indeed, Monsieur, he was with Sir Peter Tiverton."

At the name with a title she thought Mr. Hartley looked relieved, and he replied: "As it happens, dining the storm one of His Grace's outriders broke a leg and will therefore have to remain aboard the yacht." "I am sure, Monsieur, my husband can take his place to your satisfaction. He was in fact in charge of all Sir Peter's horses." "I would like to see him immediately "Mr. Hartley said sharply, "and at the same time, fetch your own reference." "I will do that, Monsieur," Yolanda replied, "but you understand it will take me a few minutes as we have not yet unpacked." Mr. Hartley glanced towards the front door "His Grace may be here at any moment," he said, "so hurry! And I hope you are not misleading me." "I promise you, Monsieur, that everything I have told you is true and you will not be disappointed." Again Mr. Hartley looked at the door. "Hurry!" he said. "I will wait for you here." Yolanda picked up her skirt and ran up the stairs. She burst into the bedroom where Peter was lying on the bed. "Get up," she said quickly. "I have found us both employment until we reach Paris!" Peter sat up and stared at her. "What are you saying? What are you talking about?" "I am to be a lady's-maid... and you are to be an outrider!" Yolanda answered. "Hurry into my bedroom. We have to write out our references!" "I think you have gone mad...!" Peter began, only to find her with her trunk open, from which she was taking a writing-box. It was of worn leather and had belonged to her mother. She opened it and there were a number of sheets of white parchment paper

engraved with the Tiverton crest. She handed one to Peter, saying: "Quickly! Write a glowing reference for yourself from Sir Peter Tiverton, saving you have looked after his horses admirably and he is extremely sorry that you are leaving, by your own wish, to return to your native land." Peter took the writing-paper from her and watched while Yolanda produced a small bottle of ink and a large quill-pen. "Fortunately, I remembered to pack my writing- box," she said, "thinking I might write to the Gibsons and tell them not to worry about us." She looked into the box and exclaimed: "Here is another pen! Luckily there are two, but, Peter, hurry! The Duke will be arriving at any moment!" "What Duke?" Peter asked. "I have no idea of his name, but he has a yacht and there is a woman called Mademoiselle Gabrielle Dupre travelling with him, to whom I am to be lady'smaid." "Gabrielle Dupre!" Peter exclaimed. "I do not believe it!" 'Why not? What do you know about her?" "She is an actress. She has just appeared for a short season at the King's Theatre and set the whole of London talking. She is beautiful! She is fantastic! Every man in White's was enraptured by her!" "What sort of parts did she play?" Peter hesitated before he answered: "It is not so much what she does or says, it's how she looks!" "That must be why she has a Duke escorting her back to France," Yolanda remarked. "Do you really intend that I shall be an outrider?" Peter asked:" "At least you will be riding as far as Paris." She took up her pen, adding:

"Please stop talking, Peter, while I compose this reference. We shall have to decide w7hat to call ourselves. I have already said that we are French." "I thought you would tell them that." "We do not wish the Duke to know who we really are." "No, of course not." "Well, you are Pierre Latour—we might as well use Mama's name—and Yolanda is a mediaeval French name." Peter suddenly grinned. "It is a good thing that your imagination is working overtime! I feel as if I have lost every brain I ever had in my head!" "Leave all the talking to me," Yolanda said, "but write... write quickly!" She wrote out her own reference as she spoke, extolling the virtues of ''Yolanda Latour" as a lady's- maid, and signing it "Margaret Tiverton," which was the second name with which she had been Christened. Peter, owing, as his mother had always said, to his French blood, was usually very quick-witted. Now, having written his own reference, he said: "I can hardly go downstairs looking like thisl" He pulled off his cravat as he spoke, and Yolanda said: "A servant would just have a stock round his neck, plain with perhaps a flat bow in the front and no high points to your collar above your chin." "I am not a half-wit," Peter replied. He put his reference down on the table where Yolanda was writing, then went to his bedroom. For the first time, Yolanda thought of her own appearance. Fortunately, she thought now, living quietly in the country, she had never troubled to follow the fashion, so her hair, which was long and thick, was drawn back from her forehead and arranged in a coil at the back of her head. She was vaguely aware that the vogue was for flat curls on the forehead and

over the ears, so she thought that her coiffure at any rate was quite suitable for a lady's-maid. Her gown, which she had made herself of a cheap muslin, would quite easily pass for something a servant might wear when she was not on duty. Anyway, she thought, Mr, Hartley would be so glad to have anyone at this particular moment that he would not be worrying as to what she looked like, but would be concerned Only with her capabilities. Carrying the two references in her hand, she went next door to find Peter, with an unexpected twinkle in his eye, altering himself from a Gentleman of Fashion, in fact one who had almost been a Dandy, into an extremely presentable servant—a handsome one but nevertheless a servant. He had brushed his hair flat and greased it down on his head, and round his neck he had a plain unstarched neck-cloth, as Yolanda had suggested. There was nothing he could do about his coat or indeed his very smart boots, but he put on his riding- breeches and they more than anything else made him look the part he was to play. "Peter, you are marvellous!" Yolanda exclaimed. "I knew you would enter into the adventure of the whole thing, and after all there is nothing else we can do." "As you have already said, it is better than having to walk to Paris," Peter said with a grin. "At least our food will be paid for and, I hope, our drink." "Let us go downstairs and make quite certain we get the job," Yolanda suggested. "And remember, I am your wife." "My wife?" Peter ejaculated. "You did not tell me that!" "Servants in France very often work in couples. Mama told me so a long time ago, and I remembered it when I saw two of them walking down the corridor." "You are right," Peter said. "Well come along, Mrs. Latour, and I hope you prove to be a commendable and obedient wife!" Yolanda made a face at him and they were both laughing as they hurried along the corridor and down the stairs to where Mr. Hartley was waiting for

them. When they reached him Yolanda bobbed him a small curtsey, thinking it was something she should have done before. "Here are our references, Monsieur." Mr. Hartley was not looking at her but at Peter. "So you are Latour!" he said, obviously surprised at Peter's height and good looks. "Oui, Monsieur," Peter replied, "and I hope you will excuse me if I am looking a little untidy at the moment, but we had a very rough crossing and I am a bad sailor." His words brought a smile to Mr. Hartley's worried face. "You're not the only one. As your wife have told you, one of His Grace's outriders broke a leg during the storm." "It was most unfortunate for him," Peter replied, "but I hope we can assist His Grace by being of service." "That's what I hope," Mr. Hartley replied. He was looking at the references as he spoke. "These certainly seem very satisfactory," he remarked. Even as he spoke, there was a commotion at the doorway. Then as a figure appeared, Mr. Hartley thrust the two references back into Yolanda's hand and hurried forward to bow obsequiously to a woman who had just entered the Hotel. Never had Yolanda seen anyone so beautiful or so flamboyant. Wearing a fashionable high-brimmed bonnet ornamented with a profusion of emerald-green ostrich- feathers, she wore a green velvet travelling-cloak trimmed with sables which encircled her neck and fell from the front of the cloak to the ground. She carried a muff of the same fur, in the centre of which was a huge glittering diamond and pearl brooch, and the same stones cascaded from her small ears

beneath her vivid red hair. Her long eye-lashes were mascaraed until they stood out in her rouged and powdered face like the branches of a fir-tree, and her crimson lips were already complaining at the horrors through which they had passed in order to reach France. "Never have I had a more horrible, uncomfortable, disagreeable journey!" Mademoiselle Gabrielle Dupre asserted in a voice that was meant to be heard by everybody who stood staring at her in the Hall. In fact, at her appearance there was a sudden silence. As if she knew she had an audience, her complaints died away and she smiled in a manner which Yolanda was to learn later had bewitched first Paris, then London. "May I welcome you, Mademoiselle" Monsieur Dessin said, bowing so low that his nose almost touched the ground. "My poor establishment is honoured by your presence and everybody in it is at your command." "All I want is champagne, a hot bath, and a good dinner," Gabrielle Dupre replied, "and in that order." She walked towards the stairs as she spoke, and in a moment Monsieur Dessin was moving ahead of her, saying: "Everything will be as you wish, Mademoiselle. The rooms are ready and every flower that is procurable in this part of France is waiting to welcome you." As Gabrielle Dupre passed Yolanda, she was conscious of the exotic perfume that enveloped her like a cloud and the rusde of silk. She too stood staring as if she had never seen anyone like the actress. As she began to climb the stairs, Yolanda felt Mr. Hartley's hand on her shoulder. "Go with Mademoiselle," he said. "Look after her. Do everything she requires." It was an order, and although she could not help giving an audible little gasp, Yolanda obeyed him. The actress was moving slowly and when Yolanda was halfway up the

staircase she turned to look back at Peter. As she did so, she saw that somebody else had come in through the doorway, and she realised why Mr. Hartley had not left the Hall. There was no need for her to ask who the new arrival was. One look was enough to tell her that here was His Grace, her employer. Never had she imagined that any man could look so important, so magnificent, and at the same time so English. He was tall, and he held himself as if it were a condescension to set foot on anything so inferior as the earth beneath him. His clothes were in the height of fashion and fitted him as if he had been poured into them. At the same time, they were merely an adjunct to himself and, as such, were not expected to be noticeable. It was his face that struck Yolanda as extraordinary, and yet she told herself that somehow it was how she had always expected an English Duke of such consequence would look. His expression was stern and at the same time disdainful, as if it was impossible for him to be pleased by anything round him. His features were clear-cut and distinguished, his eye-lids drooped a little lazily as if nothing was likely to interest or amuse him, and the lines from his nose to his lips were sharply etched. "Everything is ready, Your Grace, the best rooms in the Hotel—the flowers— the .,." The Duke put up his hand. "Spare me the repetition, Hartley," he drawled in a deep voice. "See to the luggage!" "Yes, of course, Your Grace! At once!" Obsequious to the point of abject humility, Mr. Hartley scuttled out through the front door and the Duke moved towards the staircase. It was only then that Yolanda realised she was standing staring at him.

The actress, following Monsieur Dessin, had reached the top of the stairs and was already proceeding down the corridor. Yolanda hurried after her, aware as she did so that whatever might happen in the future, she had seen a way of life she had not only never known before but never even imagined. It was not surprising when she followed Gabrielle Dupre into a comparatively large and certainly very comfortable bedroom on the first floor to find it fragrant with flowers which at this time of the year, Yolanda was certain, must have cost a fortune. The actress went immediately to the dressing- table to sit down in front of it and stare at her reflection in the mirror. "Mon Dieu! How I loathe the seal" she exclaimed, and began to undo the ribbons that tied her bonnet under her chin. "I sympathise with your sufferings, Mademoiselle," Monsieur Dessin said. "But a glass of champagne—the very best in my cellar—will soon bring the sparkle back to your beautiful eyes." He spoke with the admiration that only a Frenchman could impart in his voice, and Gabrielle Dupre, throwing her bonnet down on the floor, turned round to smile at him as he carried the glass of champagne towards her. As she took it from him, she saw Yolanda standing in the doorway. "Who is this?" she asked in a peremptory tone. "Your lady's-maid, Mademoiselle," Monsieur Dessin replied. "Madame Latour herself arrived only a short while ago from England, but we were fortunate enough to engage her to look after you." "She looks very young," Gabrielle Dupre said disparagingly. "She has, I understand, considerable experience," Monsieur Dessin replied. He looked towards Yolanda and asked: "Is that not true?" "It is indeed, Monsieur" Yolanda answered.

She moved a little farther into the room as she added: "I have my references here, if Mademoiselle is interested. Monsieur Hartley has already seen them." "I suppose he knows what he is about," Gabrielle Dupre said. "All I ask is that you know your duties and refrain from being sea-sick, carriage-sick, or indulging in any other sort of illness." "I will do my best not to incommode you, Mademoiselle." "If you do—you go!" the actress snapped. Yolanda realised that the voice with which she spoke to her as a servant was vastly different from that which she used when she was showing off to an audience. There was no need for her to reply, for at that moment the porters came struggling into the room with a profusion of trunks. They were all large, extremely heavy, and made of the most expensive leather procurable. There were also at least a dozen hat-boxes. As if Monsieur Dessin realised that this was an opportunity to retreat, he moved hastily towards the door. "If there is anything you want, Mademoiselle" he said, bowing once again, "you have only to send me a message. To hear is to obey!" He made an almost theatrical exit. Then, having drained her glass, Gabrielle Dupre thrust it towards Yolanda. "Fill this up," she said sharply, "then prepare my bath." Yolanda filled the actress's glass; then, seeing a door open on one side of the room, she realised with a sense of relief that it was a cabinet de toilette. There was a bath already arranged in the centre of it and beside it were large cans of hot and cold water. "The bath is here, Mademoiselle," she said. "As soon as you are undressed, I will pour it out for you." Then she looked at the pile of luggage and asked:

"Have you any idea, Mademoiselle, in which trunk are the things you will need this evening?" The actress sipped her champagne and regarded her reflection in the mirror. "I suppose you can read?" she said scathingIy.

Yolanda looked, and told herself that she might have noticed in the first place that one trunk bore a label and on it was written: "Aujourdhui," in an uneducated hand. She opened it and found with relief a neglige and a nightgown on the top, besides a number of toilet requisites which she hastily carried to the dressingtable. She had put her woollen shawl down on a chair, and as if her white muslin gown, plain though it was, attracted the actress's eye, she said: "I presume you have a more appropriate dress to wear than the one you have on." "I am afraid, Mademoiselle," Yolanda replied, "that the black dress and apron I wore when I attended on Her Ladyship were not mine but were provided for me for as long as I was in Her Ladyship's service." "I like my servants to look the part," the actress said. "But I presume you have to wear what you have with you until we reach Paris." She paused to add almost spitefully: "Of course, if you are not satisfactory I shall dismiss you as soon as I am able to find someone to take your place." "Of course, Mademoiselle, that is understood," Yolanda said in a meek tone. "Undo my gown," Gabrielle Dupre ordered. "I cannot think why you are standing about, talking about yourself, when I am both hungry and thirsty."

By the time Mademoiselle had bathed and put on a diaphanous if exceedinglv becoming neglige, Yolanda realised that she was a bully and liked to find fault with her inferiors. She supposed that in a way it was because having in public to put on a show of incessant sweetness and charm, it was a relief to be the exact opposite, if only to an audience of one person. She was to see a very different side of her new mistress's character when, just as she was arranging her Titian-red hair, there was a knock on the door.

"Shall I see who is there, Mademoiselle?" Yolanda enquired. "Of course," the actress replied. The knock had come not from the door which entered onto the passage but from another, which, when Yolanda opened it, she found communicated with a Sitting-Room, also embellished with a profusion of flowers. She also saw that it was an Englishman, who she thought must be the Duke's valet, who had knocked. He was a small, alert-looking little man, and when he looked at Yolanda there was a glint of admiration in his eyes. "His Grace's compliments to M'mselle, and he's ready for dinner," he said in quite passable French. "Mademoiselle is nearly ready," Yolanda replied. "That's what His Grace hoped." The valet, speaking in a low voice which only Yolanda could hear, added: "His Grace dislikes being kept waiting and his food getting cold." The way he spoke was amusing and Yolanda smiled at him before she said: "I will give Mademoiselle the message." She went back to the actress, who was still adding salves, lotions, and powder to her face.

"His Grace is ready for dinner, Mademoiselle." "And so am I." She stood up, saying as she did so: "If I was not so tired I would make you find me a different neglige from this old rag! I have never liked it." "But you look beautiful in it, Mademoiselle," Yolanda said, feeling it was what the actress expected her to say. "Do you really think so?" Gabrielle Dupre looked at herself again in the mirror and gave a little scream. "My jewellery! You imbecile! You have forgotten my jewellery! I thought there was something wrong!" "I am sorry," Yolanda apologised, "but I am afraid I do not know where you keep it." "Where did your last employer keep hers—in the coal scuttle? It is in the jewelcase of course. There it is—standing on the floor!" The case to which Gabrielle Dupre was pointing was so large that it had never crossed Yolanda's mind that it might contain jewellery. When it was opened she gasped in sheer astonishment. Never had she seen such an assortment of expensive gems arranged on trays covered in velvet. There were diamonds, emeralds, turquoises, topazes, sapphires, and pearls, and for each necklace there was a brooch, earrings, bracelets, and a ring to match. It took Gabrielle Dupre some time to decide whether she would wear the diamonds or a necklace of six long rows of perfect pearls with almost a pink hue about them. Finally, glittering in diamonds like a Christmas- tree, she swept across the room towards the Sitting- Room door. Only when she reached it did she turn to look back to where Yolanda was watching her, the box of jewels at her feet.

"Tiens!" she exclaimed. "Are you expecting me to open the door? Surely you know that is what you are supposed to do?" "Pardon, Mademoiselle,“ Yolanda said hastily, "you must forgive me, but I was so lost in amazement at your appearance." That was particularly true, she thought. Never had she imagined that a woman could wear so much jewellery and so little of everything else. In fact, it was only as she stood up that Yolanda blushed as she -saw that Gabrielle Dupre, with nothing on except a neglige over a nightgown that was equally transparent, was virtually naked. Even allowing for the eccentricities of the theatrical profession, it seemed outrageous and she found herself thinking she was glad that Peter could not see her. Then as Gabrielle Dupre waited, she harried to walk in front of her and open the Sitting-Room door with a flourish. As she did so, she realised why the actress considered a dramatic entrance important. Standing in the centre of the Sitting-Boom and looking, Yolanda thought, even more resplendent than he had when he arrived was the Duke. If he had been awe-inspiring in his travelling- clothes, in evening-dress he was more magnificent and commanding than any King could have been. It was not the unblemished whiteness of his high cravat, it was not his black silk knee-breeches which fastened below the knee with diamond buckles, nor was it the manner in which he was standing like a Sultan, ready to accept the homage of his subjects. It was, Yolanda thought, an expression of contempt on his face which made him seem so awe- inspiringly formidable. His eyes were indolently half-closed, his lips seemed to have a faint sneer on them, and yet she had the feeling that he was vibrantly and compellingly alive,

even though he tried to deny it. Then as Gabrielle Dupre paused exactly as if she had just stepped onto a stage, and the Duke could see her glittering undress, Yolanda thought there was just a faint hint of amusement in his eyes. With a little cry that sounded sincere, but which Yolanda was quite certain was an act, Gabrielle Dupre ran forward, saying as she did so: "Mon Cher, forgive me if I kept you waiting. I have been all impatience to be with you and not to waste one second of our precious time together. But I am, I confess, a trifle fatigued after such a terrible crossing." She reached the Duke, who took her hand and raised it to his hps. "You look entrancing," he said. "I am sure that is what you wish me to say." He spoke extremely good French with a Parisian accent. "Only if you mean it," Gabrielle Dupre replied, "and unless you wish to leave me completely and absolutely desolee, you must mean it." "Then of course I do," the Duke replied. Again he kissed her hand, and as he did so, Yolanda was aware that his eyes rested on her for one fleeting second. It drew her attention to the fact that once again she was staring, finding both him and the actress so interesting, so unusual, that she was fascinated by them. With a somewhat belated curtsey she moved backwards through the open door and shut it behind her. Then with a chuckle of sheer amusement she began to tidy the bedroom. She put away the jewellery and locked the case, then rang for the chambermaid to empty the water from the bath before she dared go in search of Peter. She had the feeling that she was safe for a little while at any rate, because the Duke's dinner would take a long time to serve, and anyway she doubted if Gabrielle Dupre would require much undressing before she got into bed. Nevertheless, she was experienced enough in the way Annette, her mother's lady's-maid, had behaved to know that she must be waiting up for her mistress,

however late she retired. The room seemed tidy and she hurried along the passage and up to the second floor. She expected that Peter would be waiting for her, and she was relieved to find that once again he was lying on his bed. "Here you are!" he said as she entered the room. "I thought you were never coming." "I did not dare to get away sooner," Yolanda replied. "Oh, Peter, I have so much to tell you. I cannot wait to explain how extraordinary Mademoiselle Dupre and the Duke are." "You certainly picked the plums off the top of the cake as our employers," Peter remarked, "but tell me about it while we have something to eat I am so hungry that I am chewing my fingers." "I was afraid you might be," Yolanda said with a smile. "I have tidied up all the ends you left undone," Peter said as if he must assert himself. "What do you mean by that?" Yolanda asked. "I have found out from Mr. Hartley that we eat in the Stewards'-Room, and of course everything goes on the Duke's bill." "That is good!" Yolanda said. "You know who he is, of course." "Who? The Duke?" "Who else would I be talking about?" "I never heard his name." "He is the Duke of Ilkeston. Does that mean anything to you?" "I seem to have read about him in the newspapers." "I should jolly well think you have! He is without exception the most important Duke in Great Britain, second only to Royalty, and Master of the Household to the King."

"Then I must have heard of him," Yolanda said, "or rather I should have." Her eyes widened suddenly as she exclaimed: "Peter, you do not think he will know who you are?" "To Ilkeston I am less than a worm beneath his feet," Peter replied. "Come on down to supper and I will tell you about him." They found the Stewards'-Room, which, while it did not compare with the Dining-Room, was quite comfortable. Although the majority of those who ate there occupied a long table down the centre of the room, the Duke's servants, because of the distinctions in hierarchy in his household, were allotted a number of small tables. Mr. Hartley, Yolanda found, had already introduced Peter as a new employee of His Grace, and she in her turn met His Lordship's first, second, and third coachmen, and the three outriders of whom Peter was to be the fourth. She realised that because the servants thought she and Peter were French, they were not very communicative, and only when they were sitting by themselves at a table in a comer of the room did Yolanda say: "We shall have to speak English sometimes, but it would be wise to put on a French accent." Peter nodded. "I have already done that," he said. "I also explained that as I have been in England for several years I have become quite fluent. As a matter of fact they have been very pleasant, and the out-riders stood me a drink." It was this friendliness, Yolanda thought, that had resulted in Peter being better-tempered than she had expected, and he now was looking more like his usual self. "His Grace certainly travels in great comfort," she said. "I gather there is more to his entourage than this," Peter replied. "Mr. Hartley told me that his Comptroller and a secretary have already gone ahead to see that everything is in order when he reaches Paris, and there is his valet."

"I have seen him." "There is a second valet who I gather has been left on board the yacht," Peter went on, "and once we reach Paris there will be a household of French servants." "You will have to explain to me all the things they do," Yolanda said. "After all, I am only used to the Gibsons and I shall find it very bewildering." "You got us into this!" "But think how lucky we have been! It will not cost us a penny even for our food, and once we reach Paris, if we are fortunate we will find some Latours who will welcome us with open arms." "I only hope you are right," Peter said. "I admit it was very clever of you to find us employment so quickly." Yolanda smiled, and as she did so she realised that the three outriders were all looking at her with undisguised admiration. Peter must have noticed the expressions on their faces too, because he said in a low voice: "Our story is that we have only recently been married and are very much in love. You art not interested in any other man except me." "Of course not." Then the way Peter had spoken and the manner in which the outriders were still looking at her made her ask hastily: "You... do not mean...?" "I mean we have got to be very careful," Peter said. "You are too pretty for this sort of caper and that is the truth!" "I would hardly say that, having seen Mademoiselle Dupre." "Who will dare to even look at her when she is with the Duke?" Peter asked. "If nothing else, he is a crack-shot with a pistol." Remembering the reason why they were here, Yolanda gave a little exclamation of horror, and because she was frightened for the future, she asked: "Did you find out what they are paying us?"

"No, but I hope it is something fairly substantial," Peter replied. "When I think of those swines picking my pockets on the ship, I want to go and hit someone." "Please, Peter, whatever you do, you must not get into any trouble. If you do, the French might send you back to England. Then you would be arrested." Peter sighed, and she had the feeling that he had already thought of this himself. Because she could not bear their first meal together in France to be dismal, she tried to amuse him by telling him about Gabrielle Dupre’s jewels, and added: "I wonder what she and the Duke are talking about while they are having dinner. I wish I could be a fly on the wall and listen to them." For some reason her remark seemed to startle Peter. "It is a good thing you can be nothing of the sort," he said quite crossly. "What were you doing in the Sitting-Room anyway?" "Mademoiselle Dupre made me open the door so that she could make a dramatic entrance. It was exactly as if she were on a stage and the Duke was her leading man." "He saw you?" "I think so... when he was ... kissing her hand." Now her brother was definitely scowling. "Listen, Yolanda," he said. "You must keep away from the Duke and out of his sight. Do you understand?" "Why?" Yolanda asked. "What do you mean?" Peter did not reply for a moment and she thought he was choosing his words. "It is not likely that he will notice you when Gabrielle Dupre is there. At the same time, I do not want any trouble." "Trouble with the Duke? Why should there be?" "There is no point in asking questions," Peter said in an irritated tone. "All I want is for you to do as I tell you. Keep out of his way. If he speaks to you, appear

half-witted." "I do not... understand. You are not... suggesting that he might be... interested in... me?" Peter did not reply and she gave a little laugh. "That is absurd! After all, to him I am only a lady's-maid." Peter's lips tightened. "Yes, I know," he said after a long moment, "and that is what makes it worse."

Leaning back in a comfortable carriage drawn by four horses, Yolanda thought with satisfaction that this was a far better way to reach Paris than anything she and Peter could have afforded. She had found when they left Calais that she was to travel alone inside the carriage which was allotted to her, while Hawkins, the Duke's valet, preferred to sit on the box with the coachman. They kept about a quarter-of-a-mile behind the carriage which carried the Duke and Gabrielle Dupre, and occasionally when they went slower through some small town, Yolanda could see Peter and she was sure he was enjoying himself. He looked very strange wearing the Duke's livery with a powdered wig under a black peaked cap. He had already complained because the coat was too tight. "It is your English blood," Yolanda teased. "Frenchmen are traditionally small and dark." "I have already explained that we come from Normandy," Peter replied, "when the other men commented on your white skin." Yolanda was just about to exclaim that she thought it impertinent of them to

make personal remarks, then she remembered that the outriders thought she was a servant like themselves and had therefore every right to criticise or compliment her. She had been too busy, however, to think of anything the first morning when they left Calais, because of the trouble she had getting Gabrielle Dupre's trunks ready by the time she was told they must leave. The actress changed her mind a dozen times as to what she would wear, and Yolanda thought despairingly that if she was late it would be put down to her inefficiency, and the Duke might insist on her being sacked. Two of the chamber-maids helped her, but she was breathless by the time she ran down the stairs to find both the coachmen of the carriage in which she must ride and Hawkins fidgetting about the delay. "His Grace waits for no-one!" Hawkins said sharply. Yolanda resisted making the retort that in that case he should choose a travelling-companion who was not so difficult to get ready. Although the horses went at an excellent pace, the Duke obviously did not intend rushing to Paris at an unnecessary speed. When he and Mademoiselle Dupre stopped for luncheon, the carriage containing Yolanda and Hawkins drove on to where they were to stay the night so that everything was unpacked and ready by the time they reached the Inn. Mr. Hartley was already there and the whole of the first floor had been engaged for the Duke. Flowers filled Gabrielle Dupre's bedroom and SittingRoom, and even the room in which Yolanda was to sleep was a very comfortable one. Once again she had no chance to talk to Peter until the Duke and his guest were having dinner. Peter was waiting to take her to the Stewards'- Room, which in this Inn was not as pleasant as that at the Hotel d'Angleterre. It was small and scruffy, and they were forced to sit near the rest of the Duke's servants and everything they said

could be overheard. It was only when the meal was over that Peter drew Yolanda outside the Hotel and into the yard at the back. "You are all right?" he asked, speaking in English. "I feel rather as if I have been run over by a coach-and-four!" Yolanda replied. "But I think Mademoiselle is satisfied with the way in which I wait on her, which is all that matters." "It has been fun to be able to ride to Paris rather than to travel in one of those uncomfortable caches," Peter remarked. "You flatter yourself," Yolanda replied. "We should have had to go in a diligence, which are the cheapest and, having no springs, make you feel, I am told, as if you have been battered to bits!" "We have been lucky," Peter agreed. Then he asked in what Yolanda thought was an urgent tone: "The Duke has paid you no attention?" "I have not even seen him," Yolanda replied. She thought Peter gave a sigh of relief! Having lived quietly in the country, Yolanda was very innocent and had no idea what a relationship between a man and woman like Gabrielle Dupre actually meant. She had heard from Peter that the Beaux and Bucks of St. James's spent a great deal of time with the ballet-dancers from Covent Garden, but she thought it was because they enjoyed dancing with them in the innumerable Dance Halls which she knew existed in the West End of London. Yolanda therefore had no idea that Mademoiselle Dupre was the Duke's mistress, and she supposed it was because he admired her acting that he had given her some of the magnificent jewellery which filled the case which now lay on the seat opposite her. She had, however, learnt last night that the Duke was not the only man who

had bedecked Gabrielle Dupre with jewels. When the actress was choosing what jewellery she would wear for supper, with once again a neglige that made Yolanda blush at its transparency, she had hesitated in choosing a turquoise and diamond set or one of large and splendid emeralds. "The emeralds would look fascinating with your red hair, Mademoiselle," Yolanda had suggested. "You are right!" Gabrielle Dupre had said stretching out her hand towards the necklace. Then she gave a little scream. "No! Of course I cannot wear them! They were given to me by the Marquis de Chalon, whom the Duc detests!" Her red lips curved in a little smile as she murmured beneath her breath: "I wish to make the Due jealous but not over the Marquis." Looking at the huge leather case now as they sped over the roads, leaving a cloud of dust behind them, Yolanda wondered what its whole contents were worth. It must be an enormous sum, and she thought it strange that somebody as young as Gabrielle Dupre, who she thought could not be more than twenty-four or twenty-five years of age, had managed to collect so many recognitions of her acting in such a short space of time. Whatever happens to her in the future,' Yolanda thought, 'she will lie secure, not like Peter and me, completely destitute except for six guineas and Mama's jewellery.' It was ludicrous to compare the few trinkets her mother had possessed and her plain wedding-ring, which Yolanda now wore, with the enormous emeralds and the profusion of other jewels owned by Gabrielle Dupre. Yet it seemed somehow unfair that a theatrical talent should be rewarded so highly in contrast to what other women who stayed in their homes received. Even as she thought it, Yolanda remembered the love that her mother and

father had had for each other and the happiness which had always seemed to envelope them like sunshine. That, she was sure, was what every woman really wanted, even an actress like Gabrielle Dupre. When she grew older and could no longer draw an audience, the jewels as she sold them might save her from being without a roof over her head or hungry, but she would not have the real happness of loving and belonging to look back on. "I am lucky that I still have Peter," Yolanda told herself, and moved forward to look through the window to try to see him in the distance. She had been truthful when she had said she had not seen the Duke after the first night when she had opened the door into the Sitting-Room for Gabrielle Dupre. She had learnt that because they left later than usual to suit Mademoiselle, the Duke rose early and rode before breakfast. Yolanda could understand, as he looked so strong and athletic, that despite his languid air he required exercise. She was therefore hot surprised when she learnt from Peter that after luncheon the first day, when she and Hawkins had gone ahead, the Duke had taken over one of the outriders' horses and ridden for over an hour before he returned to the carriage. The next day they started off again and were, Peter told Yolanda, following the direct post-road to Paris. While Yolanda had the window of her carriage open so that she could see as much of the countryside as possible, she longed to visit some of the Churches they passed, which she learnt had been, on Napoleon's instructions, recently reopened for the first time since they had been closed during the Revolution. She wished also that she could speak to some of the peasants she saw in the small hamlets through which they drove too quickly for her to have more than a passing glimpse of the markets and the children who looked surprisingly well

fed. She noticed that most of the larger Chateaux were closed, and although the Churches might be open, the stained-glass windows were smashed and in the Church-yards the tombstones were torn up. There was so much to see, so much she would have liked to discuss with the French themselves. But after a long day of driving, unpacking, waiting on Mademoiselle, and having her own meal very late with Peter, she was glad to go to bed and sleep dreamlessly until she was awakened at what seemed an unpleasantly early hour. When they got to Chantilly, which she learnt was the last stop before Paris, she wanted to visit the Castle of the Prince de Conde and see his famous gardens, which her mother had told her she had visited when she was a girl and had admired the fountains, waterfalls, and ornamental birds flying about in the woods. Of course none of those things might be there now, but Yolanda longed to have a chance to look for them. When she had finished supper with Peter, and once again it was impossible for them to talk intimately since the other servants could overhear, the outriders went to the stables to see that their horses were properly bedded down, not trusting the French ostlers. "You had better go upstairs," Peter said as he left her, but for once Yolanda felt rebellious. It had grown much warmer since they had left England, and she had seen as they journeyed South that spring had come to France. She therefore walked out of the back of the Hotel and found herself on a rough, uncultivated piece of land which was difficult to think of as a garden. However, there were trees, beautiful with their pale green leaves, and wildflowers amongst the grasses which led down to a small stream. In England there would have been a profusion of daffodils and primroses, but

even so it was still lovely, and she could see cultivated fields, with no restricting hedges, stretching away to the horizon. They had dined early and now the sun was only just sinking in a blaze of crimson glory. It was so beautiful that as Yolanda stood looking up at the sky, she felt as if her whole being reached out to it. Then a drawling, cynical voice asked: "Are you communing with nature or mere waiting for someone more human?" Yolanda started and turned her head to find that the Duke had approached without her being aware of it. For a moment she stared, feeling that in his elegant evening-clothes he looked somehow out-of-place in the untended garden. Then hastily she remembered to curtsey. "I was enjoying the sunset, Monseigneur." She had leamt that the Duke's French servants addressed him by the title usually given in France to Royalty and Bishops of the Church. "Mademoiselle Dupre tells me that you are looking after her well," the Duke said. "It was fortunate that you were available." "It was also fortunate for me, Monseigneur," Yolanda replied, "for I am travelling to Paris far more comfortably than I would otherwise have done.' "Your home is in Paris?" "No, but that is where my b . . . my husband and I . . . wish to go." She had nearly made a mistake and said "my brother," and now the colour rose in her cheeks from shock at her own stupidity. "You have been married for some time?" the Duke enquired. "Not long, Monseigneur." "And are you in love, or was it your dot that attracted your husband more than your looks?"

For a moment Yolanda wondered what the Duke was talking about. Then she remembered that French marriages were always arranged, even amongst the lower classes, and the dowry a woman would bring her future husband was of great importance. Then she thought it was impertinent of Mm to ask the question, and, feeling somewhat defiant because he was doing so, she replied: "I would never consider marrying anyone, Monseigneur, unless it was for love." "You are fortunate to be able to be an idealist." She thought he was sneering at her, and she answered: "We all need ideals in our lives." "You think that because you are young," the Duke answered. "When you grow older you will find that ideals seldom go hand-in-hand with ambition or success." "Perhaps that is what is wrong with so many people," Yolanda said, "especially those who have the responsibility of running a country." As she spoke, she was thinking of the privations suffered by the English owing to the war, of the men who had been demobilised from the Services after the peace had been declared, without recompense or compensation for those who had been wounded. "Can it be possible that you are criticising your Almighty Victor, Napoleon Bonaparte?" the Duke asked. Yolanda realised that she had been speaking as an Englishwoman while the Duke thought of her as French. For a moment she had no answer ready. Then she remembered all she had heard of the atrocities committed by the French in the other countries they had conquered in Europe and how they had left a trail of broken and shattered lives wherever they went, "All war is cruel and eventually pointless," she said passionately, "and in the

end no-one wins but... death." She had forgotten for the moment to whom she was speaking. Then as the Duke did not reply, she was aware that she had stepped out of her role as a humble servant and had addressed him as an equal. It suddenly struck her that she might have jeopardised both her own and Peter's position. "Forgive me, Monseigneur," she said hastily. "I should not have spoken of my ... feelings, which can be of no ... interest to you. Permit me to... return to the Inn." She curtseyed, and would have walked away, but the Duke said: "There is no hurry, and I am interested as to why you should think in such a way and how you should have acquired such an excellent command of the French language, considering you have been living in England." "I am French, Monseigneur." "And judging from the way you speak, a Parisienne." The Duke was more perceptive, Yolanda thought, than she had given him credit for. Too late, she thought she should have spoken with an argot instead of the French that was spoken by the aristocrats. She thought, however, that it would be a mistake to make any explanations. The least said, soonest mended,' she thought to herself. "Who were you with in England?" the Duke asked, just as Yolanda was wondering once again if she should suggest going back to the Inn. "I was with Lady Tiverton, Monseigneur." "Tiverton," the Duke mused. '1 suppose I should have heard the name." "There is no reason why you should, Monseigneur. The Tivertons lived quietly in the country and did not often travel to London." "You liked being with them?" "Yes, Monseigneur." "It seems strange that during the war they should employ French servants,

unless of course you were somehow connected with the emigres who left France during the Revolution." Yolanda, thinking frantically of dates and her age, clutched at this explanation as being a plausible one. "You are right, Monseigneur. My father and mother were first at the French Embassy, and then they worked for a family of aristocrats who escaped the guillotine." "I thought that was what had happened," the Duke said. "And so you will be seeing your own country for the first time."

"Yes, Monseigneur." "And, having lived in England for so long, do you feel your sympathies are with the country of your birth or with the one that has befriended you?" There was a pause while Yolanda tried to think quickly of what she would say. Then after a moment she replied: "I suppose in some ways I am a half-caste, torn between two loyalties and not certain to which I must adhere." "That is how I thought you would feel," the Duke said, "and I hope that in discovering France you will not be disappointed." There was something in the way he spoke which made Yolanda look up at him, and her eyes met his. His eye-lids were still drooping, he still spoke in the same lazy, almost indifferent voice, and yet suddenly she was aware that Peter had been right when he had said she should keep away from him. She could not explain it to herself, and yet she was vividly conscious of him as a man. It was almost as if he menaced her and she sensed danger. With an effort she took her eyes from his. "I... I have only just thought... Monseigneur," she said quickly and almost incoherently, "that as ...you are ... h-here ... Mademoiselle will be ... requiring me

... I m-must go to her." She curtseyed and, turning, ran back to the Hotel almost as if it were a sanctuary to which she was hurrying for protection. Only as she went up the stairs was she aware not only that had she talked to the Duke but that he was more overwhelming and more overpowering than he had seemed when she had first seen him. "I must obey Peter," she told herself, "and keep away from him."

* * * They reached Paris the following evening and Yolanda found that they were not going to stay at an Hotel as she had expected, but instead the Duke had been given the use of a huge house which had formerly belonged to one of the French aristocrats. It had now been taken over by the new Government and had been put at His Grace's disposal by Bonaparte himself. It was not only comfortable but beautiful, and the rooms which Mademoiselle Dupre was to occupy looked out onto a garden which was tended by what appeared to be almost an army of gardeners from first thing in the morning until dusk. It seemed strange to Yolanda that now that the actress had been escorted by the Duke on the journey from England and was safely back in the Capital in which she had made her name, she did not go to her own apartment, which Yolanda had learnt was also in the fashionable part of Paris. When she had made this suggestion to Peter, he laughed. "Mademoiselle Dupre knows on which side her bread is buttered," he replied, "and she is also aware that some of the reflected glory of the Duke rubs off on her." He thought Yolanda did not understand, and he went on: "Can you not realise that it is a feather in Bonaparte's cap that anyone so

important as the Duke of Ilkeston should visit him in his own Capital? He is very anxious to create a Royal aura for himself, and the English have been the one nation hanging back in paying him homage." As if Peter was pleased to show off his knowledge of Bonaparte's intentions, he went on: "I heard in White's that the First Consul was employing all his charm to captivate his British visitors. Lord Aberdeen said that he was fascinated by his smile, and I am told that Lord Boringdon has become almost pro-French in his sentiments." "I cannot believe he has changed overnight from a tyrant who killed so many innocent people and a great number of English sailors," Yolanda said. Peter shrugged his shoulders.

"Now we are at peace, thank goodness! Personally, I am not concerned with politics but with my own difficulties." The first night that they were able to talk without being overheard, Yolanda asked: "Now that we are in Paris, how are we to start looking for our relatives?" "That is what I am trying to find out," Peter replied. "It is not going to be easy. The fact that I am dressed as a servant and employed by Ilkeston makes it worse." He paused before he said: "I have a good mind to put on my own clothes and present myself at the Tuileries. I am quite certain that Bonaparte would be delighted to meet Sir Peter Tiverton." Yolanda gave a little cry. "How can you do that when we have only six sovereigns to our name? At least wait until we can find our relatives and another roof over our heads before we give up our present position."

"That is all very well for you," Peter said. "You can at least talk to the alluring Mademoiselle. I am fed up with the conversation of servants and by the fact that all the English ones are returning tomorrow to the yacht, with the exception of Hawkins." "Why are they being sent away?" Yolanda enquired. "The French and the English 'below-stairs' do not mix," Peter explained with a grin. "If you heard how rude the outriders are when they are not on duty, you would think that war had broken out all over again!" Yolanda could not help laughing. She knew how prejudiced the servant-class could be, and while their elders and betters might agree to sign a Treaty of Friendship, the British working-men still loathed the "Froggies," as they called them, and would not lay down their arms without a struggle. "It is a good thing we are supposed to be French," Peter said after a moment. "Are they prepared to let us stay on?" "I am considered a good rider," he said with a touch of pride. "Of course you are! But remember, if we leave the Duke's service you will be walking on your own two feet!" "I have not forgotten that," he replied angrily. "It is not necessary for you to keep reminding me of what a fool I was to have lost what money we had." "I was not trying to remind you of that, dearest," Yolanda said. "I was only suggesting that we should be cautious and not do anything rash. I am already afraid that Mademoiselle may dispense with my services now that she can choose from dozens of experienced lady's-maids." "Has she said anything?" Yolanda shook her head. "No, but she finds fault at the slightest mistake, and I think she would throw me out at a moment's notice if it suited her." "You are right," Peter said after a moment. "We have to be careful until I can

find some way of making money. But I want to be myself and not some damned lackey!" Yolanda knew it upset him that he could not go to the Balls and Soirees which his friends had told him were available to English visitors to Paris who were of any social standing. She thought too that perhaps Peter wanted to take part in the gayer entertainments of Paris from which he was barred simply because he had no money. They had been paid for their first week's work, but it did not seem to amount to very much. Yolanda put hers away quickly, knowing that every centime of it must be saved against the unknown future. As soon as they had arrived in Paris, she realised that there was a stream of callers knocking on the door to invite the Duke to meet everyone of importance from the First Consul downwards. This meant that on many occasions he was unable to take Mademoiselle Dupre with him or to dine with her. She was angry at not being included and often vented her wrath on Yolanda. "Why should I be left behind?" she screamed furiously when the Duke had dined out for the second night running. "What was Madame Bonaparte before her marriage but a high-class prostitute who has been unfaithful to her husband a hundred times since!" She was speaking more to herself than to Yolanda, who did not understand what she was saying. Then she added: "I will show him that I am not just an entertainer. He shall learn that I also have power if I choose to use it!" Her voice died away and she was still for a moment. Then she said: "Fetch me my writing-materials—quickly—at once!"

Yolanda hurried to obey her and carried the writing-paper, the ink, and the quill-pen to Mademoiselle's dressing-table, not liking to point out that there was a beautiful inlaid secretaire in the next room. It took Gabrielle Dupre a long time to write her letter, and when she had done so and sealed it, she gave it to Yolanda, saying: "Have this taken immediately to the Ministry, and tell the lackey to wait for an answer." Yolanda took the note from her, and when she was outside the room she read to whom it was addressed in an untidy, uneducated hand: Monsieur Joseph Fouche She wondered who he was and thought that she would ask Peter later. She had a feeling that the letter was somehow important. There had been something sinister and spiteful in the way Gabrielle Dupre had spoken. She gave the note to the Major-Dome. She thought that he too looked surprised when he saw to whom Mademoiselle Dupr6 was writing, but lie merely said with a respectful note in his voice: "Tell Mademoiselle that her orders ha\e been carried out." Yolanda went upstairs again. She disliked the evenings when Mademoiselle was not with the Duke, for it meant that it was difficult for her to see Peter, and she had :o hang about the bedroom even when the actress was having dinner alone in her Sitting-Room. Tonight, to her surprise, Gabrielle Dupre insisted on dressing, and put on one of the elaborate and very beautiful gowns which hung in the wardrobe and which took Yolanda hours to press. When she had arranged Gabrielle Dupre's hair, there was, as usual, the longdrawn-out difficulty of choosing which jewels she should wear, but tonight, after an inspection of everything she owned, the actress exclaimed: "The emeralds—I will wear the emeralds!" Yolanda was just doing up the clasp of the necklace when there was a knock

on the door. She knew by the way Gabrielle Dupre started that this was what she had been waiting for. There was no note to be handed in, but the servant said: "Monsieur Joseph Fouche thanks Mademoiselle for her most gracious invitation and will be with her at nine o'clock." There was no need for Yolanda to repeat what had been said, for the actress had been listening, and now she clapped her hands. "He is coming!" she said. "That is good! Send a message to the Chef that I require supper-—and a very good supper—at nine o'clock in my Boudoir, and mind the wines are the best available." "I will tell the Major-Dome, Mademoiselle." Yolanda reached the door and the actress said sharply: "Wait a minute!" Yolanda paused.

Mademoiselle Dupre seemed to be thinking of what she should say, then she remarked: "Tell the Major-Dome that if anyone in this whole household chatters of anything that concerns my visitor, or even mentions his name, they will be sacked immediately, and that also applies to you. Is that clear?" "Very clear, Mademoiselle," Yolanda replied. "I will tell the Major-Dome." She hurried away, thinking as she went that Monsieur Fouche must be another admirer. It seemed incredible that Mademoiselle Dupre should deceive the Duke by entertaining another man in his house. As she thought about it, she was aware how shocked her mother would be that she should concern herself with the behaviour of an actress or even be in

the position where she must associate with such a person. "I know it is unpleasant, Mama," Yolanda said in her heart, "but at least Peter and I have not had to beg our way from Calais to Paris, and although Peter grumbles, he is well fed and has horses to ride." She had hardly seen the Duke except for a passing glimpse of him since they had arrived in Paris, but she knew, from the things Gabrielle Dupre said and from the presents she received from him, that he was exceedingly generous. Ever since they had arrived she had been ordering new clothes, and the dressmakers had been left in no doubt as to whom the bills should be sent. She had received only the previous day a bracelet that must, Yolanda thought, have cost enough to keep Peter and herself for at least a year if they lived frugally. "How can she be so ungrateful?" she asked herself when, having given the order to the Major-Dome, she walked back upstairs. She went into Gabrielle Dupre's bedroom to find it empty and looked into the Boudoir next door. There was nobody there either, and Yolanda was wondering where the actress could be, when she saw that the door on the other side of the room, which led into the Duke's apartments, was half-open. Without even thinking what she was doing, she walked across to it and saw Gabrielle Dupre standing with her back to her at the far end of the room, It was very impressive with a huge four-poster bed draped in red silk, its carved and gilt posts surmounted by ostrich-fronds which almost touched the painted ceiling. Yolanda was just about to speak, to tell Mademoiselle that her orders for supper had been given, when she realised that the actress was standing at a desk which stood against one wall. She was opening one of the small drawers and taking from it a document. She glanced at it, put it back again, and opened another drawer.

It struck Yolanda as strange that she should be reading the Duke's private papers. Then she tried a third drawer, which was locked. This was obviously frustrating to her and she shook the handle and pulled at it with what appeared to be her whole strength, but still it would not move. She made a sound that was one of exasperation. Only then did Yolanda feel that she was spying, and she turned and moved back into the Boudoir. Standing in the centre of it, she called: "Mademoiselle ... are you there?" There was a little pause before Gabrielle Dupr6 appeared in the doorway. "What do you want?" she asked uncompromisingly. 'I only wished to tell you, Mademoiselle, that I have given your order for supper." "Yes, of course!" "Is there anything else you require, Mademoiselle?" The actress obviously thought for a moment, then said: "A knife or a pair of scissors." Then, as if she had made a mistake, she said quickly: "No, I have a better idea! Give me my bunch of keys that open the trunks. I want all of them." "Very well, Mademoiselle." Yolanda went to fetch the keys. When she came back, it was to find the actress waiting for her in the centre of the Boudoir and tapping her foot impatiently. She took the keys, saying as she did so: "You may go! I shall not require you for at least three hours. You understand?" "Yes, Mademoiselle, and thank you very much. I will go and have my supper."

"That is right. Have your supper," Gabrielle Dupre agreed. "Unless I send for you, do not reappear until half-after-ten o'clock." She glanced at the clock as she spoke, and Yolanda thought she must be calculating how long it would be before the Duke appeared. Because she was shocked by the actress's behaviour, she ran down the backstairs to find Peter and thought it was an inexpressible relief when she saw him sitting alone in the Stewards'-Room. "Oh, Peter, I have wanted so much to see you!" she exclaimed. "Why particularly?" he enquired. He was aware, because he knew her so well, that something had upset her. For a moment she debated whether she should tell him. Then she replied: "I suppose it is stupid of me, but I am feeling that it is rather horrible that when the Duke is out, Mademoiselle, because she is so annoyed at being left behind, is entertaining another man!" "That is not surprising," Peter said. "She is notorious, and there is not a man in Paris who would not be delighted to have supper with her." "She said that if anybody talked they would be dismissed instantly!" "She certainly does not wish to lose the Duke in a hurry!" Peter said with a smile. "She is not likely to find anyone else as rich and important as he is." "Why should she behave in this underhanded manner?" Yolanda asked. "It seems unsporting, somehow." Peter laughed. "Women are not expected to be sporting, Women of that sort, who, incidentally, you should know nothing about, are out for all they can get." "That is obvious," Yolanda said, thinking of the enormous box full of jewellery. "Incidentally," Peter asked, "who is the favoured gentleman with whom she is having supper tonight?" "I have never heard of him," Yolanda said. "She sent a note to him at one of the

Ministries. His name is Joseph Fouche." To her surprise, Peter stared at her incredulously before he asked: "Are you sure?" "Of course I am sure," Yolanda replied. "I carried the note downstairs to the Major-Dome." "Why should she want to see him of all people?" Peter said almost to himself. "Why not, if she wants to score off the Duke? Although if he does not know about it, it will not be a question of making him jealous." "He is not likely to be jealous of Fouche!" "Why not?" "Because he is not Mademoiselle's admirer, as you are suggesting." "Then who is he?" Yolanda asked. "He is the most feared man in Paris!" "Feared?" "He is the Minister of Police and he terrifies all those who have anything to hide!" Mademoiselle Dupre was in an excited mood when she dressed for dinner. She had been fractious and difficult all day, changing her clothes a dozen times before she went driving in the Bois and leaving Yolanda with so much to tidy up that she had no time to try to find Peter or even to leave the bedroom. The actress was, however, very different when she came up first to rest between five and seven o'clock, then later to change for dinner. Yolanda had begun to appreciate that cinq-a-sept was in France a very special time when ladies retired to their Boudoirs or bedrooms and could be visited by someone very special. She vaguely remembered her mother speaking of it as a time of rest, but where the actress was concerned she had a suspicion that when she took a rest, the Duke spent some of the time with her. But she might have been mistaken, because he was very circumspect regarding his friendship with Gabrielle Dupre.

Yolanda supposed he had invited her because he did not wish to be alone in the big house and he liked having someone he admired to talk to when he was at home. At the same time, since the actress was so uneducated and uncultured, Yolanda could not understand what, apart from her looks, the Duke found so interesting about her.

She knew that Peter was worried that she should be associated with an actress like Gabrielle Dupre, but she had grown used to her rudeness. "The Duke is going to be with his friends," she said, "so I am going to be with mine." There was a spiteful tone in her voice which told Yolanda she resented not being accepted in the social circles in which the Duke moved. Napoleon had broadened the boundaries of society, which was understandable, considering, as the French kept saying disparagingly, that he was "only a Corsican." But women who were actresses or had reputations like Gabrielle Dupre's were not accepted at the Tuileries or at the Assemblies and the Soirees given by those who were determined to make Paris a city of gaiety and pleasure. Yolanda had the idea, but she was not quite certain why, that the dinnerparties the Duke went to alone were very much more serious and might perhaps have a political significance. There was no reason why she should think that, except that the Duke always seemed to her to be a very serious man. She could not imagine him dancing gaily as Peter wanted to do, or finding his amusement in one of the rowdy parties her brother had described to her as

patronised by the Beaux of London. Perhaps she was mistaken. He was so different from anyone she had ever seen before that she was not certain what she thought about him. At the same time, she knew it was wrong for the woman to whom he was so generous a host to spy on his private documents and to entertain surreptitiously the Head of the Police in what was, to all intents and purposes, the Duke's own house. Although Peter said he had no idea why Monsieur Fouche should be the guest of Gabrielle Dupre, Yolanda had the impression that the evening had been enjoyable.

Mademoiselle had certainly been in an unusually good temper when she had put her to bed. "It is not my business anyway," Yolanda told herself when she kept thinking about it. At the same time, it was difficult to forget that the actress had rifled the Duke's locked desk. Now Gabrielle Dupre had something very different to talk about. "Tonight," she confided, "I am going to dinner with the Proprietor of the Theatre des Varietes. He is anxious for me to make a spectacular appearance at the beginning of next month, and I intend to tell him what a huge success I was in London." "I heard it was impossible to obtain a seat in the King's Theatre when you were performing there, Mademoiselle," Yolanda said in what she hoped was an admiring, awe-struck voice. "That is true," the actress repled, "and my Benefit brought me a great deal of money." For a moment she looked elated, then she gave a little sigh. "Helas! Money

does not last forever, and one can never have too much of it." Yolanda did not answer. She was thinking of the immensely valuable collection of jewels the actress owned. "Yes, money is what I need." Mademoiselle Dupre went on as if she was speaking to herself. "If I appear at the Theatre des Varietes they will have to pay heavily for the privilege." She wore one of her more elaborate and outrageous gowns, bedecked herself in what appeared to be a King's ransom in jewels, and went off leaving a trail of exotic perfume behind her all the way down to the front door. Yolanda tidied the room, then thought a little wistfully that she was the only person who had no engagement for the evening. Peter had gone out the previous night with the new French outriders and had told her what an amusing time they had had at the cheap open-air Dance

Halls to which the poorer Parisians flocked now that the nights were warm. He had danced, he told Yolanda, until le was exhausted and had found, as he had expected, that Frenchwomen were far more fun than the English. "I am glad you had a good time, dearest," Yolanda said. She could not help wishing that she could have been with him. She wanted so much to see Paris in all its different aspects, but so far it had been impossible for her to leave the house or even to visit the Louvre as she longed to do. Since Peter had forbidden her categorically to walk about Paris alone, she had hoped she might persuade one of the women-servants to go with her. But she found that they were all married, worked with their husbands, and understandably had no wish when they were free to have another woman tagging along with them. Without being conceited, Yolanda had the idea that her looks had something to do with the fact that they did not desire her company, and she thought

forlornly that if things went on as they were, she would leave Paris not having seen anything except the view from the windows. She had, of course, agreed with Peter that it was impossible for her to go about a strange city alone, but when after a quick supper he had left, she felt very lonely. What was more, she was worried. He had persuaded her, against her better judgment, to let him have a guinea of the precious six that she was hoarding until it was absolutely essential to spend them. "What has happened to your wages?" she asked. "I had to pay my share last night," Peter replied defiantly. "I could hardly sponge on the others, who are as poor as I am." "But, Peter, we must try to save. If we lose our employment tomorrow, we have only a few pounds and Mama's jewellery between us and starvation."

"Something will turn up," Peter replied lightly. "Look how you managed to get us here with no expense to ourselves!" "We have been very, very lucky," Yolanda said, "but our luck may not hold and we must be sensible." "I am fed up with being sensible, being one of Ilkeston's servants, and wasting my time grooming horses when I might be enjoying myself!" Peter spoke rebelliously and Yolanda understood what he was feeling even though she could think of no alternative. She had given him the guinea and resisted his plea that he might have two. Even in his livery he looked smart and dashing, and she knew how irksome it must be for him to be parted from all his friends and the life he had enjoyed so tremendously in London. There had been dinners and Balls to attend, where he met ladies of whom her mother would have approved. Yolanda kept hoping that in Paris Peter would not get into trouble with the women with whom he danced and made up

parties with the other outriders. "Do not be too late, dearest," she said when she bade him good-night. He grinned at her. "I have no intention of being back before dawn, if I can help it," he said. "I am in Paris, Yolanda, and who wants to sleep when there are far more exciting things to do?" There was a lift in his voice that had been missing ever since they had left England, and Yolanda could only sigh again as he went off with his cockaded hat that was provided for him with his livery at a dashing angle on his dark head. When she was alone, she stood wondering what she should do. The French servants were all downstairs in the basement. There was one yawning footman on duty in the Hall, otherwise the house was very quiet. Then Yolanda thought that as she was alone she at least had a chance to read, and that was something she had had little opportunity of doing since she had left home. She was sure that as it was such a large house and was so well furnished, there must be a Library, and she was determined to find it. She went down the back-stairs so as not to be seen by the footman in the Hall, and, moving along the corridors, peeped into several Salons, all large and exquisitely furnished, before she found what she sought. It was a room which looked over the garden and the books were all in fine cabinets behind glass doors. She saw at once that many of them were by authors she had wanted to read. In fact, there was such a variety to choose from that Yolanda spent a long time going from shelf to shelf, taking out books and putting them back again. As she did so, she appreciated the tooled leather with which the books were bound, and she realised that the person who had collected them must have been very cultured. She wondered if he had been guillotined like so many other aristocrats.

Otherwise he might be existing somewhere in poverty while his possessions had been seized by those who first ravaged France in the Revolution and who now had made her the most feared and hated country in Europe. She wished she could have seen Paris before the Revolution. She wanted to think not of the poverty and hunger of the ordinary people but of the glamour and beauty of the Court, of Marie Antoinette and her ladies with their high wigs and huge gowns, and the King surrounded by men of wit and brilliance. "It must have been picturesque," Yolanda said to herself. She had not seen Bonaparte but she wondered if he would ever be able to create anything as romantic as France had been in the past. Then she told herself with a little shudder that his Regime was built on the skulls and bones of those who had died so that he might come to power. She opened the glass doors of another cabinet, and here she found the books of Voltaire, which she had always wanted to read, and a copy of Paul et Virginie. She took from the shelf Tasso's epic of the crusaders, Jerusalem Delivered, opened it, and, as she began to read, she forgot everything—time and place —finding herself entranced. Not realising what she was doing, she sat down on the window-seat to catch the last remnants of daylight and was so engrossed that she did not hear the door of the Library open. It was not so much a sound that attracted her attention but an unmistakable vibration which told her instinct rather than her mind that there was somebody in the room. She raised her head and saw that the Duke stood there. He was looking at her in that strange manner under his drooping eye-lids that made her feel uncomfortable. She rose quickly to her feet. "Pardon ... Monseigneur," she said. "I... know I

should not be here ... but I... wanted a book to read." "And what have you chosen?" the Duke asked. She saw him look round the room as he spoke, and she realised she had left the doors of the cabinets open as she had passed from one to the other. There was also a book by Voltaire on a table which she had intended to take upstairs. "I am ... aware that it is an... impertinence," Yolanda murmured. She did not move and the Duke walked towards her. "Let me see what you are reading so intently." There was nothing she could do but hand him the copy of Jerusalem Delivered. He looked surprised. "Is this what you enjoy?" he enquired. "Yes, Monseigneur." "You have read Tasso before?" "I have never had the opportunity until now." "But you have heard of him?" "Of course, Monseigneur." "Why 'of course'?" the Duke asked. "Most women are not so concerned with anything serious." Yolanda thought that if he was referring to women like Gabrielle Dupre, that was obvious, but she knew it would be indiscreet to comment and so she remained silent. The Duke was holding the book in his hands but his eyes were on Yolanda's face as he said: "Why are you here alone? I imagine your husband is out enjoying himself." "He is anxious to see Paris, Monseigneur." There was a twist to the Duke's lips which told Yolanda without words that he guessed the sort of Paris that Peter would wish to see. "And you are not curious?" he enquired. Because she thought he spoke sneeringly, she answered truthfully:

"I am of course very curious. I would like to see Paris, but there has been no opportunity." "Why not?" "I have been busy in the house, Monseigneur, and Pierre has forbidden me to walk about the city alone." "That he is right to do, but I should have thought he might have taken you with him." Yolanda had a feeling that he was challenging her, and, as once again she did not answer, he said as if he spoke to himself: "He is right. The sort of places where he would go would not amuse you and perhaps would shock you." "I am quite content, Monseigneur, to stay here as long as I can read." There was a plea in the last words and Yolanda knew that she would be upset if the Duke should now forbid her to take any books from the Library.

"As far as I am concerned, you can read as much as you wish," the Duke said as if he was aware of her thoughts, and handed back Jerusalem Delivered. "Merci, Monseigneur. It is kind, very kind of you. There are so many volumes here that I know will give me great pleasure." "At the same time," the Duke said quietly, "it is a pity if you are not to see Paris." Yolanda looked out the window. Now it was growing dusk but the sunset was still golden against the trees in the garden outside. "I have a suggestion to make," the Duke said. Yolanda turned to look at him and her eyes held,the glow of the sunset in them so that they seemed to light her small face. "I am home earlier than I expected," he went on. "If you came with me in an open carriage I could show you Paris by night." Yolanda's eyes widened as she stared up at him, feeling that she could not

have heard him aright. "We could drive along the banks of the Seine," the Duke said, "so that you can see the Louvre and of course Notre Dame. They are what every visitor to Paris wishes to see first." He spoke almost as if he despised them for their taste, and because the manner in which he was speaking was so impersonal, it swept away Yolanda's fears of being with him. What was more, she very much wanted to do what he suggested. She wanted, more than she was able to express, to see the city of which she had heard so much, and she thought that to see it at night would be an excitement all its own. And yet she hesitated. "I feel... Monseigneur... that I should ... refuse your invitation." 'Your husband is enjoying himself, and it is only fair that you should have a little pleasure too," the Duke replied. "Besides, why should he know?" Yolanda thought of saying that of course she would be honest with Peter and tell him wheie she had been. Then she remembered that if he really were her husband instead of her brother, he might take a very different view of the situation. "Shall I make up your mind for you," the Duke said, "and, as your employer, order you to come with me?" "That would certainly... exonerate my... conscience from all... blame." Yolanda could not help smiling as she spoke and there was a dimple at the side of her mouth. "Very well," the Duke said. "Get a shawl or something to put round your shoulders and I will order the carriage." She gave him a look that was more eloquent than any words. Then she ran from the Library and up the staircase to her bedroom. As she reached it, she found that she held Jerusalem Delivered in her hand.

She put the book down on the bed and hurried to the mirror to tidy her hair. Every evening when she had supper with Peter she always changed into one of her simple white muslin gowns. When Mademoiselle Dupre had not suggested paying for a black dress such as was customary for a lady's-maid to wear, Yolanda had worn during the day a gown of deep blue batiste that she had made for herself in the winter. One of the maids had found her a small apron trimmed with lace that she said had been left behind by another servant who had worked in the house, and although Mademoiselle had made no comment, Yolanda felt that she passed as the type of maid the actress desired. Now in her white muslin with the blue ribbons she had added to it, she thought she looked an inadequate companion for the magnificence of the Duke, but at the same time she felt that he would not be particularly ashamed of her appearance.

She knew that Peter would disapprove, after what he had said about her having anything to do with their employer. At the same time, she told herself that not only would it have been difficult to refuse His Grace's invitation but it might easily have annoyed him to the point where he would dismiss her from his employment. Anyway, the die was cast and it was too late to prevaricate. She took her shawl from a drawer and, carrying it over her arm, ran down the front-stairs, knowing that the Duke would be waiting in the Hall. Only when she saw him wearing his satin-lined evening-cape over his shoulders did she remember that even if she had admitted to being Yolanda Tiverton, it would have been extremely unconventional for her to go driving alone with a gentleman. "Who is to know?" she queried. "And if they did who would care?"

She and Peter were outcasts, exiles from England, of no consequence in the Social World to which they had once belonged. Therefore, for the moment she was free of all the restrictions that would have been hers had she been a Social Debutante who, after making her curtsey at Buckingham Palace, was ready to embark on a London Season. "That is something I shall never be," Yolanda had told herself many times since her father and mother had died. She thought now, as she reached the Duke's side, that it was better to have some pleasure in life than none at all. He had been watching her descend the stairs and it was impossible to tell from the expression on his face, which was his usual one of cynical langour, whether he approved or disapproved of her appearance. The front door was open and through it Yolanda could see waiting a carriage drawn by two horses. The hood was down and as she stepped into it and the Duke seated himself beside her on the back seat, the footman put a rug over their knees, then climbed up on the box beside the coachman. They drove off and Yolanda felt an inexpressible excitement sweep over her in anticipation of what she was about to see. As the Duke had promised, they moved towards the Seine, and now in the fast-fading light with the stars coming out overhead she could see the wide river moving beneath its bridges with the lights of the barges reflected in the water beneath them. "It is just as I expected it to be!" she exclaimed. She was sitting on the edge of her seat so that she could see better, unaware that the Duke, sitting back at his ease, was watching her. "I am glad you are not disappointed." "How could I be?" They drove for a long way along the river-bank, then moved slowly down the

ancient streets with overhanging houses that had a magic of their own. After they had driven in silence for some time, with Yolanda looking rapturously about her and even forgetting that the Duke was there, he said: "I think we might stop and have a little supper together." His words drew her back to reality from the fantasy-world in which she had been thinking of Paris all down the ages, the Paris of her history-books and of the Kings and Queens of France. "S-supper?" she repeated, almost as if she had never heard of the meal. "I would like a glass of champagne," the Duke said, "and to have an opportunity to talk to you and perhaps try to compete with the attractions of Paris." "Forgive me, Monseigneur, if I have been... inattentive," Yolanda said, feeling that she had been rude, "but it is all so exciting for me. I feel as if I have stepped back into the past and can see history taking place in front of my very eyes." "My eyes are content with the present," the Duke said. She had a feeling it was a compliment, but she was not sure. The way he spoke with an unmistakable cynicism made it difficult to know exactly what he did mean. He gave an order and the carriage drove away from the mean streets to a better part of Paris where there were small Squares filled with trees and shrubs. In one of them the horses stopped outside a Restaurant which had on the pavement a number of empty tables which were obviously used in the daytime with an awning above them. Wondering and curious, Yolanda stepped from the carriage and entered a Restaurant which was unlike anything she had expected. She had somehow thought that all Restaurants were large and noisy with bright lights and a mass of customers all talking and laughing. This one was small, low-ceilinged, and quiet, and as she looked round her she realised that there was not one room but several, each holding only half-a-

dozen tables with sofas against the walls on which to sit instead of chairs. The walls themselves were decorated with gilt- framed mirrors and with paintings of flowers and fruit. It was so pretty that when Yolanda sat down on the velvet sofa next to the Duke, she stared round her wide-eyed. "What would you like to eat?" he asked. "Or shall I order some of the specialties of the house?" "Please ... order for me." The Duke took some time consulting with the Patron, who was obviously impressed by his guest's appearance and the knowledgeable manner in which he discussed the mehu. Finally the Patron withdrew, and as the waiter opened a bottle of champagne and poured the golden wine into two glasses, the Duke said: "I have a feeling, although I may be mistaken, that this is the first time you have dined in a Restaurant." "Of course," Yolanda answered. She was just about to add that it would be considered very improper in England for a girl 01 a lady like her mother to eat in a Restaurant, when she remembered that she was supposed to be a servant, and perhaps servants did visit Restaurants wben they could afford it; she did not know. The Duke sipped his wine, then turned a little sideways so that he could look at Yolanda. "Now tell me about yourself." Yolanda shook her head. "There is ... nothing of ... interest to tell... and there are ... so many questions I wish to ask you ... Monseigneur... if I were not.. . afraid of doing so." "Why should you be afraid?" "Y-you might think me... impertinent."

"I promise you I will not do that. At the same time, I am curious about you." "Why ... why should you ... be?" "Because, not being a fool, I am well aware that you are not what you appear." Yolanda was still, feeling it was hard to know how to answer this. Then she said: "If... as you say, you will not think it... impertinent ... Monseigneur... may I make a.., suggestion?' "Of course," the Duke replied. 'You have listened to mine and I am interested to hear yours." "You are as aware as I am... that I should not have ... come with you ... tonight... but it was too big a... temptation ... to refuse to see Paris." The Duke's lips twisted a little. "Most women would have said it was too big a temptation not to be with me." "I could hardly say that... not knowing you." "No, of course not," he replied quite seriously, although there was a faint twinkle in his eyes. "Go on." ^ "What I was going to ... suggest was ... could we, just for the time we are here, forget that I am a... lady's-maid and you my ... employer ... and just pretend that we are ... ordinary people having supper together in the most exciting city in the world?" Yolanda spoke eagerly because she thought that if he would agree, it would be part of the enchantment she had felt ever since they had left the house. She did not wish to twist, turn, prevaricate, or avoid awkward questions, and she did not want to keep thinking that she must be on her guard. She wanted to enjoy seeing Paris, eating a supper which she was sure would be more delicious than any food she had ever eaten before, and, she admitted a little shyly even to herself, being alone for the first time in her life with a man, and a very magnificent one at that.

After only an infinitesimal pause the Duke said: "I accept your suggestion, and I feel the first step is that you should tell me your name. Not 'Latour,' I know that already. Your other name." "It is ... Yolanda." "It suits you," he said. "Well, Yolanda, I am playing your game. What do you suggest we talk about?" "I think I would like to know first exactly how you assess the political situation in France, now that you are here." There was no doubt that she had surprised the Duke. "That is a very strange question coming from someone like yourself," he answered. "I thought we agreed that I am not... myself tonight... but I am interested in France and the First Consul's attitude towards England." "Very well, I will tell you the truth," the Duke said. "For the moment there is a vast gulf which is widening daily between our two countries." "But... why?" She thought the Duke paused for words before he said: "I have a feeling, although I hope I am wrong, that peace is in the balance." "Oh... no!" Yolanda cried. "We cannot go to war again! How can Bonaparte want war, which will so obviously destroy everything he has attempted to rebuild?" As she spoke she was thinking with a kind of horror that if there was a renewal of hostilities, she and Peter would have to leave France. Where could they go? Where would they be able to hide not only from the French but, even more frightening, from England? And if there was a war and they were pretending to be French, Peter would be expected to serve in Napoleon's Army. The anxiety must have shown in her face, for the Duke said quietly:

"The idea of your country fighting mine for the second time obviously perturbs you." "Yes ... of course it... does!" Yolanda replied. "Surely, Monseigneur, you, of all people, could help to ensure that we ... remain at... peace?" "You credit me with powers I do not possess. I am here only as a tourist travelling in search of entertainment." Yolanda was sure that was not true, although she had no grounds for doubting his word. "In England you are very powerful. I cannot believe that the English will not listen to you, even if the French... refuse to do ... so." "Like most Englishmen, I think I would like to see the balance of power in Europe restored to the status quo." "Of course," Yolanda said, "and yet the only way that can be done is if you defeat Bonaparte." She spoke without considering her words, and because her voice was clear and she spoke positively, she saw the Duke glance quickly in the direction of the only other couple who were in this part of the Restaurant. He was a middle-aged man dining with a very attractive, sophisticated woman, and as they were deep in conversation, obviously a very intimate one, it was unlikely that they heard. The Duke lowered his voice as he said: "I think, however interesting it may be, Yolanda, we should talk of other things." "Yes ... of course," she said quickly, "and I... apologise if I have been... indiscreet."

"Now it is my turn to choose a subject," the Duke said, "and I want to know your ancestry." "W-why should that... interest you?"

"Because I feel," he replied, "that although from the way you speak and the darkness of your hair you appear to be French, there is something else—something on which I cannot put my finger." "It would be a ... mistake for you to... try, Monseigneur. I have always been told that men like a woman who is ... mysterious. If so ... that is what I... must be." "That is the first feminine thing I have heard you say. "Feminine?" "You always appear to make no effort nor even to have the inclination to attract a man, and that in itself is very un-French." Yolanda laughed. "Surely, Monseigneur, you are not insinuating I should do anything so forward or indeed so outrageous as to try to attract you?" As she spoke, she thought that she was scoring apoint against him. Then as her words died away she thought perhaps they were too impudent, perhaps too challenging; that she was almost, without realising it, flirting with him. She was unsure of herself, unsure really of her behaviour when she was alone with a man like the Duke. In the past she had only talked to her fathers friends when she was young, then later with Peter's, who were no older than he was. The Duke was different because he was a mature man, and even if he had not been who he was, Yolanda thought that his personality would have seemed awe-inspiring. Even though in a way she was frightened of him, he also constituted a challenge which she found hard to resist. She wanted to argue with him, she wanted to prove, perhaps because he saw her in the posit on of a servant, that she could talk to him intelligently and, even though he would not admit it, as an equal.

The Tivertons might not be of such importance as the Duke of Ilkeston, but they were an old family and a respected one. They had been aristocrats for hundreds of years and Yolanda knew that her father would have bowed his head to no man save the King. Many of the nobility of France had been guillotined or beggared by the Revolution, but her mother had been excessively proud of her antecedents. Yolanda had been taught ever since she was a small girl that she should hold her head high with a pride which came not from position or wealth but from the blood which flowed in her veins. "I suppose you know how beautiful you are!" the Duke said unexpectedly. She stared at him with undisguised astonishment, thinking for a moment that he must be mocking her or being satirical at her expense. She had known ever since they had started on this fantastic journey that compared with Gabrielle Dupre she was very insignificant. It had struck her that her face was like that of a pencil-drawing while the actress, with her vivid colouring, might have stepped from a painting by Rubens. Then, as if she had asked the question aloud, the Duke said: "Of course you are beautiful in a very unusual manner. I cannot remember when I last saw such hair that held blue lights in it, or eyes which are the colour of a sky just before the stars come out." Yolanda gave a little gasp, then she said: "That is very... flattering, Monseigneur, but you are ... making me ... shy. Nobody has ever... spoken to me like... that before." "Nobody?" "Of course not. Englishmen do not pay compliments to women, only to their... horses!" She made the remark deliberately to hide the strange feelings the Duke had evoked in her by paying her such a fulsome compliment. He laughed as she had wished him to do and

said: "I think it is high time, Yolanda, that you came to Paris. I assure you, Frenchmen not only express their appreciation of beauty but, if it is there, they do not miss it." "But you are not French, Monseigneur!" "Then shall I say I am an unusually perceptive Englishman?" "If that is true," Yolanda said, "and I suspect it is... then I would like to ask you why you seem so ... cynical and bored with everything round you." "Perhaps I find life, as you say, boring, and I have been disillusioned too often to hope for a miracle." "That is because you are so rich and have had everything you wanted too easily," Yolanda said. "When things go wrong, when one has no money and is in danger, it is of course very frightening, but it awakens an appreciation and delight in what we have and a courage to fight for what we want." She spoke the first words that came into her head and was not surprised when the Duke asked: "And what do you want?" As he spoke, she had the feeling that he was expecting her to express a desire for something trivial, or maybe for jewels such as he gave to Gabrielle Dupre. Because she suddenly felt he was laughing at her, she did not reply, and after a moment he said: "I want an answer to my question." "I think ... perhaps the ... subject is too... serious," Yolanda said hesitatingly. "Shall I tell you that what we have discussed so far I have found extremely interesting and enlightening," the Duke replied. "Now tell me what you want." "At the moment... I want... security and ... safety." "In what way?" This, Yolanda knew, was a question she could not answer. How could she tell him that she wanted to go home and to have enough

money to live at the Manor and for Peter to be free from arrest? Perhaps what she was thinking showed in her eyes, for the Duke said very quietly: "Tell me the truth and trust me." "I would... like to, but it is ... impossible." She knew he was going to argue with her, but at that moment the first course of their dinner arrived. It looked and smelt so delicious that Yolanda realised she was very hungry, and, as they ate, it was easier to make the Duke tell her about the parts of Europe he had visited. He had travelled extensively, she found, and she pressed him to describe Venice, Rome, and the visits he had made to Vienna when he was quite young. "The women there are very beautiful," he reminisced, "and their red hair is an enticement that a foreigner like myself finds irresistible." "Is that why you ... admire Mademoiselle Du- pre?" Yolanda enquired without thinking. "What do you think of MademoiselleF' the Duke asked, avoiding the question. For a moment Yolanda wondered whether she should tell him of how she had seen the actress searching through his private papers and how the previous night she had invited the Minister of Police to supper. Then she told herself that it would definitely be sneaking to give the Duke such information. If he was really fond of Mademoiselle Dupre, and she had no reason to think he was not, then it would be extremely uncomfortable for him to learn what had happened from someone in his employment. She realised that the Duke was waiting for an answer and after a moment she said: "I am ... sure Mademoiselle is a ... brilliant actress." The Duke gave a laugh.

"You are obviously a good judge of character, and I agree with you. She acts her part very well." "She is also very lovely," Yolanda said, "but there is one thing I do not... understand." "What is that?" the Duke enquired. "I suppose it is ... stupid of me," Yolanda said, as if she was puzzling out the problem in her own mind, "but you are ... very clever, exceptionally so. Why did you choose a woman who has ... very little brain and is comparatively ... uneducated as a ... companion?" As she spoke, she was thinking of how her father had once said: "If there is one thing I really abhor it is a nit-wit! Women who can only giggle, simper, and flutter their eye-lashes should not be allowed in polite society. They do not raise the tempo, they depress it, and quite frankly I cannot put up with them!" The Duke did not answer but sat looking at her with what she felt was a strange expression in his eyes, and Yolanda thought that once again she had spoken too intimately. "I... I am ... sorry," she said quickly. "I ... f-for- got for a moment to whom I was ... speaking." "It is the sort of question I might have expected you to ask," the Duke said, "but I do not think I am the right person to answer it." She looked at him uncomprehendingly and he said quietly: "I am sure your husband can give you an adequate explanation." Because Yolanda had forgotten for the moment that she was supposed to be married to Peter, the colour rose in her face as she said quickly: "Yes ... of course I can ask him ... how... foolish of me." At the same time, she was puzzled. Why should Peter know what the Duke found interesting about Gabrielle Dupre?

In fact, when she thought about it, it seemed an absurd answer to her question. As if her silence and the expression on her face made the Duke aware of her bewilderment, he asked: "Do you talk to your husband as you are talking to me?" "Pierre is not really.. .interested in anything serious," Yolanda replied. "Then what is he interested in besides you?" "Horses, especially those which race, Mills, cards if he can afford to play, dancing, and all the other things young men of his age find entertaining.' "Why did you marry him?" "I thought we... agreed, Monseigneur, that tonight we would not... ask awkward questions." "You have certainly asked me some awkward ones, and it is only fair that I should have my turn." "Oh ... please ... it would only ... spoil things! I find it so fascinating to talk to you. It is as if you were an ordinary man I am sitting next to. Not that I have ever sat next to anybody like you before... but that is what makes it... exciting!" "So I excite you!" the Duke remarked softly. The plates had been cleared away and now there was only a cup of coffee in front of Yolanda. and the Duke held a glass of brandy in his right hand. For the first time she was aware that the danger- signal she had felt before when she had been with the Duke was there. She looked away across the room and all he could see was her profile, and after a moment he asked again very softly: "Do I?" "P-please... you are breaking... the rides ... of the game." "More rules?" She nodded her head. "Perhaps you had better tell me what they are." "Well... you must not... ask me questions like that... or make me feel... shy."

"As you felt just now?" "Y-yes ... when you... paid me that... compliment ... even though it was a very ... beautiful one ... you made me feel shy... in a way... I have never felt before." "Why should I be able to do that?" "I... I do not know ... but I am aware it is... something that should not... happen... and therefore it is ... against the rules ... out-of-bounds ... if you like." "That is a very English expression for someone who is French." "I have been ... living in England." "Yes, of course. Perhaps that is why you feel shy as no real Frenchwoman would." "Maybe that is the ... explanation... but I would rather you talked impersonally." "That would be impossible and extremely dull. Besides, I want to tell you not only how beautiful you are but that you intrigue me, and, far from being less curious, I am now consumed with a burning curiosity which only you can assuage." There was a note in the Duke's voice which was now definitely frightening, and Yolanda gave a little exclamation that was almost a cry. "Monseigneur, what is the time? I am sure it is growing late and I must go back and wait for Mademoiselle to return. If I am not... there, she might be very ... angry!" "Are you afraid she might dismiss you?" "Of course... I am." 'Then shall I promise you that if she tries to do so, I will not allow you to be sent away." "That, as you know, would cause an... embarrassing situation and I would have to ... go." "Then it is something which must not happen."

"Please ... please ... Monseigneur... will you take me home?" "I have a feeling," the Duke said slowly, "that you are not running back to your duties so much as running away from me!" "I do not... wish to do so ... but you are... frightening me!" "You are easily frightened, Yolanda." "I think that is because you are a very ... frightening person, Monseigneur." As she spoke, Yolanda smiled and turned her face to look up at him. Her eyes met his and she felt as if he held her captive and she could not escape. Then as the colour rose in her face and she looked away from him, he said quietly: "Because you have asked me to do so, I will take you home." He called for the bill. When he had paid it, he picked up Yolanda's shawl, which had fallen onto the seat behind her, and put it over her shoulders. As he did so his hand touched her neck and she felt something strange like a streak of lightning pass through her, and she knew it was a feeling she had never even imagined before. Because she was afraid not only of him but of herself, she rose and walked quickly from the Restaurant, conscious all the time that he was just behind her. The carriage was waiting for them and as they drove off through the sparsely lighted streets with the stars coming out in the sky overhead, she had the strange feeling that she was moving in a dream. Then beneath the rug she felt the Duke take her hand in his. For a moment she thought she must resist him. Yet it seemed rather pointless, and his fingers were strong and compelling, so, although she felt her own quiver, she did not take them away. They drove in silence for some way, until the Duke said: "What do you feel about this evening, Yolanda?" "It... it has been ... enchanting!" she cried. "It has had a... magic I did not

know... existed, except in poetry and music." He smiled and she felt his fingers tighten on hers. "That is what I want you to feel. Will you come with me another night?" "I... I should say... 'no.'" "But instead you will say 'yes.'" "P-perhaps it is ... wrong." "For whom? You or me?" "I think... for both of us." "But because, as you say, life is exciting and an adventure and it is a pity to miss any of it, you will come?" Yolanda did not reply. There was no need. She was aware that he would know the answer, and they drove in silence until they saw that the house where they were staying was just ahead of them. Then the Duke lifted her hand and she felt his lips, warm and somehow possessive, on her bare skin. "Thank you," he said softly, "for an enchantment I have never known before and which I never want to lose." It was strange, she thought, but the words, spoken in a deep voice without his usual drawl, made her heart behave in a most unpredictable fashion.

Yolanda went down to breakfast feeling as if her head was still in the clouds. She had found it hard to sleep for thinking of the Duke and going over and over in her mind all the things they had said to each other. She knew that she must be sensible and realise that to her it had been a

wonderful evening because it was so unlike anything she had ever done in her life before and the Duke was in fact a very exceptional man. Nevertheless, he had actually said that for him it was an enchantment he had never known before. Again she told herself that it was conventional exaggeration, something which a Frenchman would have said very easily and merely as a politeness to a woman he thought attractive. But the Duke was not French, although he had said of himself that he was an unusually perceptive Englishman, and she could not believe that flowery compliments came easily to his lips. But she did not know—she was not sure of anything. She was only aware that she felt young, bewildered, and at the same time caught up by some incredible magic that she wanted to hold on to and cherish before it escaped her. There was no-one in the Stewards'-Room except, to her delight, Peter. He was just finishing his breakfast and as she sat down opposite him she thought that there was a serious expression on his face. "What is it?" she asked. "I am worried, Yolanda." "Why?" she enquired. "Everyone seems to be saying that war will break out again." Yolanda gave a little exclamation of dismay. "That is what..." she began. Then she stopped, knowing that she had been about to say: "That is what the Duke said," and remembering that she had not yet told Peter that she had disobeyed his orders. She had a feeling that he would be very angry if he knew she had not only driven with the Duke but had had supper with him. She shrank not only from the row but from the feeling that the things Peter

would say would sweep away the magic of the evening and make it seem wrong and perhaps rather sordid. "That is what... I have heard," she substituted, relieved to find that Peter had not noticed her hesitation. "If war does break out," he said in a low voice, "what is going to happen to us?" "We cannot stay in France," Yolanda said quickly. "What special news have you heard?" '1 was told that the British Ambassador, Lord Whitworth, is returning to England." "Is that serious?" "The French think so," Peter replied. "Even in the Dance Hall last night they were saying that he had threatened to go some days ago, but then at the last moment he changed his mind." "I wish we could ask somebody exactly what is happening," Yolanda said. As she spoke, she knew that the one person who could tell them was the Duke. As if Peter sensed what she was thinking, he said: "Cheer up! I cannot believe it is as bad as it sounds. After all, if there was any real chance of hostilities being resumed, the Ambassador would have told anyone as important as Ilkeston that it was dangerous for him to stay here." "I am sure you are right," Yolanda said with a smile. "I have to go to the stables now, but I will try to find out more and tell you what I have discovered at luncheon-time." Yolanda smiled at him and Peter walked away looking, she thought, very unlike the average servant. She wondered if the Duke had noticed the difference. As she thought of the Duke, she stared dreary- eyed across the room with no wish to eat any more. Then she started as one of the men-servants came to her side to say: "There's a letter for M'mselle. You're to give it into her hands and nobody else

is to see it." Yolanda looked up in surprise and saw that the man was holding out a large envelope. It was not flat but rather bulky and she realised there was something inside it besides a letter. "Who is it from?" she enquired. He smiled at her question. "I'm not supposed to tell you any details, Madame," he answered, "but if you're interested, it's from the Minister of Police!" It was what she might have expected, Yolanda thought, having been told that she must give it into the actress's hand and that no-one else was to see it. She could not help once again feeling disgusted that Mademoiselle Dupre was intriguing behind the Duke's back. She rose to take the letter almost reluctantly. "I will do what you ask," she said coldly. She walked up the stairs feeling somehow as if she was being dragged into a plot, although what it could be she had no idea. Half-an-hour later it was time for her to call Gabrielle Dupre. When she had pulled back the curtains and patted a number of pillows into place behind the actress's back so that she could sit up in bed for her breakfast, she put the envelope in front of her. "This has arrived for you, Mademoiselle," she said. "I was told it was to be given to you personally and no-one else should see it." The actress did not bother to reply, and Yolanda fetched a tray containing coffee and croissants which a footman had set down outside the bedroom door. As she arranged it on a table by the bed, Gabrielle Dupre, who had opened the letter and was reading it, said: "Find out if the Duke has returned from his ride, and bring me another cup. I want him to have coffee with me this morning."

It was the first time this had happened, Yolanda thought as she walked across to the door which communicated with the Sitting-Room. She had learnt by now that the Duke breakfasted very early in his own room and when he returned from riding he usually bathed, changed, and then went to the Library, where, she guessed, he had a number of letters to write. It struck her for the first time that he was doubtless making out a report on the situation in France for the Government in England. It was what she would expect him to do, and, knowing how important the Duke was in his own country, she was sure that the Prime Minister would not let slip such an opportunity of using him. Yolanda had heard, and Peter had told her, that the other servants were talking of Napoleon Bonaparte's plans for the invasion of England. Peter said that they joked about the idea of building a whole Armada of flatbottomed boats which would carry the soldiers across the Channel. "I do not believe it is possible," he had said, "but everyone in Paris appears to think it a huge jest and that the French, having landed without much opposition on the coast, will march towards London." Yolanda had thought it was just a silly fantasy, like those the cartoonists in England thought up. Now, with a little shiver, she was not so sure. The Sitting-Room was empty, but she walked across to the door communicating with he Duke's bedroom and knocked a little nervously. She felt shy and a little embarrassed at what she had been told to do, but she could not refuse to obey the order the actress had given her. The door was opened by Hawkins, and one glance past him told Yolanda, to her relief , that there was no-one else in the bedroom. "Good-morning, Madame.“' He always smiled at her and she liked his sense of humour which lurked in his eyes and which made him, Peter had told her, somewhat of a wit when there were

no women present. "Good-morning, Monsieur Hawkins," Yolanda replied. "Mademoiselle wishes Monseigneur to have coffee with her this morning." "I'm expecting His Grace at any moment," Hawkins answered, "and when he does appear, I'll tell him he's wanted." "Thank you." As Yolanda spoke, she heard the door into die passage being opened and hastily she turned and hurried back to the actress's bedroom. "His Grace has just returned, Mademoiselle," she said a little breathlessly. "Then fetch another cup as I told you to do," Gabrielle Dupre said sharply. Fortunately there was one outside the bedroom door on a table where the footmen, to save themselves from continually running up and down the stairs, kept quite a number of extra plates and glasses. Yolanda placed the cup on Gabrielle Dupre’s breakfast-tray, and as she did so she saw that the letter she had received so secretly had disappeared. The actress was now arranging her hair with a jewelled comb which she kept beside the bed and looking into a gold hand-mirror decorated with her initials in diamonds. With her long red hair falling over her shoulders, she looked, Yolanda thought, very lovely, end she told herself that she had been foolish to ask the Duke last night why he found her an attractive companion. Of course he was content just to look at anyone so beautiful. She thought she could understand a man wanting to touch the whiteness of Gabrielle Dupre's skin Then she remembered the strange feelings the Duke's lips had aroused in her when he had kissed her hand. Long after she had been in bed, it was as if she could still feel the touch of his lips. Automatically, while she was thinking, she was tidying the room, putting

away things that had been forgotten last night when the actress had come home tired and, having drunk a little too much wine, Yolanda thought, wanted to get into bed without even bothering to wash. Yolanda had a number of clothes in her arms and was just going to ask if there was anything else that was required, when she saw that the actress, having filled the extra cup with coffee, was dropping something into it. Yolanda only just prevented herself from saying that the Duke did not take sugar. She had noticed last night that he had waved it away when the waiter offered it to him, while she, because she found the bitterness of French coffee too strong, had accepted it gratefully. 'I expect this means I shall have to bring another cup,* she thought. Then because she did not wish the Duke to see her performing her tasks as a lady's-maid, she almost ran towards the door which led into the passage. She let herself out just as she heard him speaking to Hawkins in the SittingRoom. She hurried to her bedroom, which was at the end of the passage. She was aware that it was a special privilege not to be assigned to the servants' quarters, but she knew this was because she had to be on hand to serve her mistress at all hours of the day and night. "It certainly makes it easier. Otherwise, is we are pretending to be married, we might be expected to share the same room," Peter had remarked. "Where do you sleep?" Yolanda enquired. "In the basement with the other men-servants." Peter answered. "Actually, I am not too uncomfortable and the beds are certainly better than those at the Inns in which we stayed on the way from Calais." Yolanda had laughed. "I remember one bed which was all bumps," she said, "so I know how you must have suffered!'

They laughed together over their experiences, but Yolanda knew, from what her mother had told her in the past, that a lady's-maid ranked quite high in the domestic hierarchy. Therefore, she could expect more comfort than the housemaids or those in a still more subservient position. It was over an hour later when a chambermaid told her that Mademoiselle Dupre was calling for her. "Where have you been?" she asked crossly when Yolanda went into the bedroom. "I was waiting for your summons, Mademoiselle," Yolanda replied. "I did not like to interrupt you while Monseigneur was with you." "He has been gone for a long time," the actress replied. "I want to get up and wear that new gown that came yesterday. I am attending a luncheon-party at which I must be exceptionally chic." She certainly looked fantastic, Yolanda thought, when finally she went downstairs wearing a bonnet covered with flowers and feathers, diamonds sparkling in her ears and round her neck. Yolanda could see a Curricle waiting outside the front door and realised from the Livery of the coachmen and the footmen on the box that it did not belong to the Duke. 'I wonder who owns it,' she thought. She went back to the bedroom and was locking up the jewel-case, which as usual had been made untidy by its owner taking out nearly every piece before she chose what she would wear, when she heard a knock on the door which communicated with the Sitting-Room. She opened it and found Hawkins there. "Has M'mselle gone outF" he enquired. As he spoke, he glanced round the room, which made it really unnecessary for

Yolanda to answer his question. "Yes, she has gone out to luncheon." "I thought she might be waiting for His Grace." "No, she said she was going to a very smart party," Yolanda replied. She always spoke French with Hawkins, but, although he was surprisingly fluent, she spoke a little slower because sometimes she thought he found it hard to understand exactly what was said to him. "That's strange!" Hawkins exclaimed. "Why?" Yolanda enquired. "Well, His Grace told me explicitly before he went riding that he was lunching with Mademoiselle, but I have come to tell her it is not likely he'll be having lunch with anyone." "Why not?" Yolanda asked curiously. Hawkins was hesitating and she knew that he was debating in his mind whether he would answer her or not. Then he said: "What did His Grace eat or drink just now when he was with M'mselle?" "I was not in the room," Yolanda answered, "but as far as I know, all he had was a cup of coffee which Mademoiselle poured from her own pot. I saw her do so." Hawkins pressed his thin lips together. "Why? What is wrong?" Yolanda enquired. "It's strange," Hawkins said, almost as if he was speaking to himself, "and I don't quite know what's to be done about it." "About what?" Yolanda queried. "Well, Madame, it's a funny thing," Hawkins said, "but His Grace came in from riding looking fit and pleased with himself, so to speak. In fact, I've never known him in such a good humour as he was this morning." "Then what has happened?" Yolanda asked.

Her voice was a little apprehensive, for she had a feeling that the Duke might have had bad news. "He comes back from M'mselle's bedroom," Hawkins said, "throws himself down on the bed, and he hasn't woken up since!" "He went to sleep!" Yolanda exclaimed. "I've never known His Grace do such a thing iri all the fifteen years I've been with him," Hawkins went on. "Passed out like a light, he did, and although I've spoken to him and even shook him, gentle-like, he hasn't stirred!" "How extraordinary!" "I don't like it, Madame, that I don't!" Hawkins said. "Fevers I can cope with, and aches and stomach- troubles! They're child's play to me, but I've never know His Grace to act like this before. He might as well be drugged!" "Drugged!" Yolanda repeated the word almost beneath her breath. Then as her eyes widened she said: "Wait a minute! I want to try and find something." She moved back into the bedroom to look for the letter which she had taken to Gabrielle Dupre first thing in the morning. She looked under the pillow where the actress often left her letters, but there was no sign of it. Then she opened the blotter which the actress had used when she had written a letter to Monsieur Fouche, but there was nothing there. Yolanda tried tie waste-paper basket, thinking that the letter might have been torn up. It must be somewhere—of that she was sure— and she told herself that if the actress wished to keep anything hidden from her it would not be in one of the drawers where she was likely to put clothes, handkerchiefs, or silk stockings. She looked round, wondering, as she did so, where she would put anything if she wished to hide it. There had hardly been time, she thought, to hide the letter before the Duke

had come into the room. Gabrielle Dupre must therefore have slipped the letter beneath the pillow or bedclothes until he had left. Yet she might have put it in one of the drawers, and Yolanda opened one by one the drawers of the dressing-table, the beautiful satin-wood commode with its gilt handles, and another chest in which she placed some of Gabrielle Dupres underclothes. She moved everything, but there was no sign of the letter she sought, although she was convinced that it must be in the room somewhere. Then she saw that on one wall there was a small bookcase of exquisitely inlaid rosewood, in which there were a number of small leather volumes of poetry. They were there, Yolanda thought, just for decoration, for she was quite certain that the actress had not taken one from its shelf since she had occupied the room. If she did so, it was doubtful if she would be interested in reading what the volumes contained. Almost as if she was directed to do so, Yolanda pulled out two of the books in the centre of one of the shelves and found what she sought! Hidden behind them was the envelope she had taken to Gabrielle Dupre when she called her, and it still contained what it had contained when it arrived. First she drew out the letter, and because she was certain that it concerned the Duke, she read it. There were only a few lines, written in what was obviously a man's handwriting: Give him two every four hours until further instructions. For a moment it seemed so incomprehensible that Yolanda read it again to be quite certain that she had understood. Then she saw that pushed down inside a corner of the large envelope was what appeared to be a small pill-box.

She drew it out and, even before she opened it, she suspected what it contained. It was a sleeping-drug, perhaps something like laudanum. The latter was a liquid which made people sleep when they were suffering great pain and was, she knew, sometimes taken by Society Ladies who found it hard to sleep. She had heard, however, or read, she could not remember which, that it was possible to obtain sedatives in other forms. It was then that she remembered she had seen the actress putting what she had thought at the time to be sugar into the Duke's cup of coffee. Now she knew why he was asleep! Carrying the letter and the box in her hand, she went back to the Sitting-Room. Hawkins was not there, but the door into the Duke's bedroom was open. Yolanda stood in the opening and looked towards the great bed with its red silk curtains. Hawkins had pulled down the blinds and the room was dim. At the same time, she could see the Duke quite clearly, his head on the lace-trimmed pillows, his body stretched out on the satin counterpane. He was still wearing his riding-coat and riding- boots, and it struck her that he looked like a fallen hero. With a sudden constriction of her heart, she felt afraid in case the actress had killed him. Then, almost as if it was a plot unfolding in front of her eyes, she knew that the Minister of Police, doubtless on Bonaparte's instructions, did not want him dead but alive. If their countries were at war, what could be more of a triumph for the French than to hold in their power as a hostage someone as important as the Duke of Ilkeston. "I must save him," Yolanda told herself. "Somehow T must save him!" Hawkins had been busy at the other end of the room, but now he saw her and

came quickly to her side. Thev both moved into the Sitting-Room and Yolanda held out the letter, keeping the box of pills in her other hand. "This came this morning," she said, "and I had instructions to hand it to Mademoiselle and let no-one else see it." "Who was it from?" Hawkins enquired. "The Minister of Police. He had supper with her the night before last." "Monsieur Fouche!" Hawkins exclaimed. Yolanda did not miss the look of alertness in his eyes as he read the letter slowly. 'You understand?" Yolanda enquired. "Or shall I translate it for you?" "I think it says that she has to give him, who I imagine is His Grace, something every four hours," Hawkins replied. "That is right," Yolanda said, "and this is what was included with the letter." She held out the pill-box in the palm of her hand as she spoke, and Hawkins snatched it from her. He took off the lid, looked at the pills, smelt them, and said in English: "Damn the devils! They intend to keep him here as a prisoner!" "That is what I thought," Yolanda said in a frightened voice. "We were to leave today," Hawkins said, almost as if he spoke to himself. "Today?" Yolanda cried. Hawkins nodded. "That's right, Madame. I have asked for the horses, but I think somehow we are unlikely to get a permit for them." "You mean the French will refuse to let His Grace go?" Without even being aware of it, Yolanda was now speaking English. Hawkins nodded. "They did the same thing at the Embassy" the valet said. "The permits for the post-horses did not arrive when His Excellency wished to leave, and that gave

them Frenchies another chance to carry on their negotiations." Yolanda looked at the valet with frightened eyes. "And if His Grace does not wake up," she said, "and they refuse to take the order for the horses from you, he will be here when war is declared. Even so, surely they could not keep him when he is not a soldier but a civilian?" "They'll do anything they want to do and break every rule as suits them," Hawkins said roughly. "I tells His Grace before we came that I wouldn't trust that Bonaparte further than I can see him, and now look what's happened!" "Mademoiselle gave him the drug in his coffee," Yolanda said. "I saw her do it, but I thought she was merely putting sugar in the cup! He must not have another dose." "I'll see he don't!" Hawkins exclaimed. "Bnt somehow we've got to get him out of this place." "How?" Yolanda asked. He had been talking to her easily, as if he trusted her. Now she saw a very different expression on his face and after a moment's pause he said: "There's no need for you to worry, Madame. Leave everything to me. I'm grateful for your help, but if you takes my advice you'll not get mixed up in this mess. Just put that letter and its contents back where you found it and pretend you've never seen it." "Do you think you can get the Duke away?" Yolanda asked. "I'm saying nothing," the valet replied, "and you forget this ever happened!" "I am going to help," Yolanda said. "I insist on helping. After all, you need me because I can keep an eye on Mademoiselle and prevent her from telling Monsieur Fouche anything that might hurt or hinder the Duke." She saw that Hawkins was impressed by the way she spoke, and after a moment he replied: "I'm not saying I wouldn't be grateful for your help; in fact I am just

wondering if I can trust you or your husband to take a message to someone." "You can trust us both," Yolanda said. "I promise you that." She saw Hawkins look at her in a penetrating manner, as if he was trying to assure himself that she was trustworthy, and she said hastily: "Let me go and find my husband, and you shall tell him what you want him to do. I swear to you, by everything that is sacred, that we will not let you down." Hawkins gave a quick little sigh before he replied: "I'll have to take a chance on it, Madame, won't I?" He smiled as he spoke, and Yolanda knew that he trusted her without his saying so. "I will fetch Pierre," she said, and went from the room. She learnt from one of the lackeys in the Hall that Peter was in the stables. "Will you fetch him immediately?" she asked. "Mademoiselle has left some instructions for him." The lackey grinned. "You keep your eyes on that husband of yours, Madame. Gabrielle Dupre always has something for the good-looking ones to do!" He laughed as he spoke, and, obviously not anxious to hear that she thought such a remark impertinent, he hurried off. It seemed to Yolanda that she waited a long time in the passage before she saw Peter appear at the end of it, having come up the back-stairs from the servants' quarters. She ran towards him and in a whisper jegan to tell him what had happened. As he listened, he looked at her incredulously. Then as he began to understand the full implications of why the French wished to keep the Duke in Paris, he said: 'If Ilkeston is leaving, we must leave with him." "That is what I thought," Yolanda said, "but I did not say so to Hawkins." "No, of course not, but if it means war, we must get out of the country."

"I cannot think how we can do that without horses," Yolanda said in a frightened voice. "Let me talk to Hawkins," Peter said. He walked down the passage and into the Sit- ting-Room. A second later Hawkins came from the bedroom. "He is still asleep?" Yolanda asked, feeling that really nothing else was of any importance. "Like the dead!" Hawkins replied. To Yolanda his words were like the stab of a dagger, and the pain of it was as agonising as if she had really been struck. It seemed almost impossible that anything so small as the pills in that little box could render unconscious a man as strong as the Duke. "We must save him, we must!" she cried in her heart. Peter was already talking to Hawkins. "I understand you have a message you would like me to take," he said. "My wife has already been sensible enough to tell the servants to fetch me because Mademoiselle Dupre required my services." "The household must guess nothing different," Hawkins answered. He looked at Peter searchingly before he said: "You understand, Latour, that if you betray His Grace I'll kill you before we're imprisoned." Hawkins spoke quietly, but it was more impressive than if he had raised his voice or blustered. "I will not betray you," Peter said, as Yolanda had done. "We have our own reasons for wishing to help the Duke, but there is no time for those now. Tell me what you want me to do." "I want you to go to the Quai du Louvre," Hawkins said, "and ask for a man called Bouvais. He is a Barge-Keeper." Yolanda gave a little exclamation.

"So that is how you intend the Duke should leave Paris!" She spoke English, and Hawkins looked quickly towards the door in the corridor as if he thought they might be overheard. Yolanda put her fingers up to her lips. "I am sorry," she said. "But of course it is a brilliant idea, if we cannot use horses." "Go on with what you were telling me to do," Peter said to the valet. "Tell Bouvais that as soon as it's dark, he's to carry out the instructions he's had previously," Hawkins said. "He's an intelligent man and I believe we can trust him, but I'd better give him some money. That's what really interests him." The valet walked across the room and took a bundle of notes from the drawer in the secretaire on which Yolanda had seen the actress writing. He drew out several and handed them to Peter, saying: "He knows there's a great many more to come if he follows instructions." Peter slipped the notes into the inside pocket of his coat, then said: "I will go at once, but you had better give me an envelope to carry in my hand so that the servants will think I am carrying a billet-doux to one of Mademoiselle's, admirers." Yolanda smiled. She knew that Peter was entering into the spirit of the adventure and beginning to enjoy the intrigue. At the same time, she told herself that this was very serious and something that concerned them vitally. Hawkins was putting a piece of plain paper into an envelope, which he then sealed and handed to Peter. "Be careful!" he warned in a low voice. "And remember, Fouche has spies everywhere and you may be followed when you leave the house." "I have already thought of that," Peter replied. "I shall be riding, and I may have to find my way to the Quai du Louvre via the Bois, so do not be surprised if your message takes a long time to deliver."

Hawkins smiled. "You are wise, Latour, but, as you well know, your wife and I will be waiting impatiently." It struck Yolanda that if Hawkins had any reservations about trusting Peter with a considerable sum of money, he had remembered that she was here to make quite certain not only of his honesty but also that he would return to the house. Then she told herself that it was unlikely that anyone would suspect Peter or her as being so double-faced, except of course that Hawkins thought they were French and therefore their loyalty should be to the all-conquering Napoleon and not to England. As Peter left the room, Hawkins said: "Now, Madame, if I can presume even further on your good nature, I would like you to give me a hand with His Grace." "But of course!" Yolanda replied. "How can I help you?" "First of all, I want coffee," Hawkins said, "as strong as possible, and a decanter of brandy. On no account let anyone know downstairs the state His Grace is in." "No, of course not," Yolanda agreed. "They will probably suppose you are too busy to come downstairs yourself." "Thank you," Hawkins said. "I shall be busy, and I shall want your assistance in another way." "I will order the coffee and brandy first," Yolanda said. With one more quick glance at the Duke, and noting apprehensively how still he was lying, she ran to the top of the stairs and, with a new note of authority in her voice, ordered one of the footmen on duty in the Hall to bring to the SittingRoom what Hawkins required. When she went back, it was to find the valet struggling to get the Duke's closefitting riding-coat off his shoulders. Because he was such a large man and Hawkins, although extremely strong,

was rather small in stature, it was a difficult task. With Yolanda's help they managed it. Then as they laid His Lordship back against the pillows, she asked: "What are we going to do now?" 'Tut his head in cold water," Hawkins said curtly. Yolanda fetched a basin, and by pulling the Duke to the very edge of the bed they managed to get his whole face into the water without making everything else wet. While they were busy they heard somebody in the Sitting-Room, and Hawkins hastily left Yolanda alone as he went from the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. She put the Duke's head back onto the pillow over which they had placed a thick towel, and now she wiped his face, thinking, as she did so, how goodlooking he was. At the same time, she thought he looked younger and less frightening with his eyes closed. There were, however, the undoubted lines of cynicism running from his nose to his lips, and she wondered why he was so disillusioned and why, as she had asked him last night, he was not happy when he had so much. She looked down at him and she knew that every nerve in her body wanted him not only to recover but to escape. "You must get back to safety... you must!" she said beneath her breath. "And furthermore, you will be needed in England as there will be so much for you to do. How can you be humiliated, compelled to stay here, a prisoner of our enemies?" She felt that because she was speaking to him he must answer her, but he was still unconscious, still breathing in the deep, unnatural way of someone who has been drugged. "Dear God, please help us," Yolanda prayed. "Save him... you must save him!"

Hawkins came back into the room carrying a tray. "Well give him the coffee first," he said. He spoke in a quiet but normal voice which seemed to Yolanda to take some of the intensity out of her feelings. Because he was being so practical, she was sure that they would succeed and that the Duke would not only recover but would escape. "Ill spoon some black coffee into him," Hawkins was saying. 'Will you hold his head while I try to get it down his throat?" As he spoke, Hawkins arranged a clean towel under the Duke's chin to cover his cravat Then, painstakingly, he spooned only a drop or two at a time between the Duke's lips. It was not easy; in fact after five or ten minutes Yolanda felt that they had progressed too slowly for it to be in the least effective. Hawkins felt the same. He looked at the clock. "Perhaps the best thing would be to wait until the four hours are up," he said. "But Mademoiselle will be back," Yolanda said in a frightened voice. "She will try to persuade him to drink," Hawkins said. "There is no other way she can give him the devil's brew." "Try the brandy," Yolanda suggested. "We must wake him up and warn him what is about to happen." They tried, but over three hours had passed before the Duke, without opening his eyes, suddenly moved his lips. As if he felt the sting of the spirit against them, he opened his mouth only the slightest crack, but Hawkins managed to slip a teaspoonful of brandy inside. Yolanda quickly put her hand under the Duke's chin. Then she knew that he had swallowed what was in his mouth, and they tried again. Three-and-a-half hours must have passed before he swallowed and made an

inarticulate murmur in his throat. "He is coming round!" Yolanda said. Five minutes later the Duke opened his eyes. Yolanda was bending over him, and as he looked up into her eyes he obviously did not at first recognise her. Then she thought, although she was not sure, that he murmured her name. Hawkins took the opportunity to put another spoonful of brandy between his lips. He swallowed it, and then in a voice that was heavy with sleep he asked: "What—has—happened? Why—are you—here?" "Wake up! Please wake up! Yolanda pleaded. "It is important! You have been drugged!" The Duke's eyes closed as if it was too much of an effort to focus them. Then he opened them again and said in a voice that was a little stronger: "Drugged? Did—you say—drugged?" "Yes," Yolanda replied. "You are in danger! Wake up!" It was another ten minutes before finally they could raise the Duke against the pillows, and Hawkins hurried away to get another pot of hot coffee. The Duke sat with a somewhat glazed expression in his eyes, looking at Yolanda as if he still found everything incomprehensible except that he could see her. "Try to understand," Yolanda said softly. "The French want to keep you here as a prisoner... a hostage... and you have to escape." The Duke did not reply, but she felt from the expression in his eyes that he was beginning to think more clearly. Hawkins came back with the coffee, and, with her hand over his to be sure that he did not spill it, Yolanda helped the Duke raise it to his lips. He drank the cupful and started a little as it went down his throat because it

was so hot. Then Hawkins refilled the cup. Yolanda glanced at the clock. "Listen," she said, "at any moment Mademoiselle Dupr6 may come back to give you a second dose of the pills. You must pretend to be unconscious: in fact she must be convinced that it is impossible for you to take any more at the moment. But of course she will go on trying!" "That's sensible!" Hawkins interposed. "Whatever happens, them Frenchies must not know you are awake and onto their little scheme." 'You are right, Hawkins," the Duke said with difficulty. "I will—pretend to be—unconscious, and you must keep Mademoiselle out of—my way as much as possible. Have you told—Bouvais we may want him?" "Latour has gone to do that, Your Grace " Hawkins replied. "I had to trust him. I couldn't leave you here alone." "Latour?" the Duke said after a moment, as if he could not remember who that was. Then his eyes were on Yolanda and he remembered. "You can trust Pierre," Yolanda said. "As I am trusting you," the Duke replied with a faint smile. "Of course." "Drink up your coffee, Your Grace," Hawkins said. "I want to take everything outside. We don't want M'mselle to suspect that we've tried to wake you." "No, of course not," the Duke agreed. He drank what was left in the cup and Hawkins put it on the tray and carried it from the room. The Duke looked at Yolanda. "Thank you," he said. "I am not quite certain why you are helping me, but I am grateful." "I... I have something to... ask you," Yolanda said.

She did not think this was quite the right moment to make her request, but she was alone with the Duke and there might not be another opportunity. "What is it?" the Duke asked. "When you go back to England... however you go... please let Peter and me come with you." She saw the surprised expression in the Duke's eyes and said quickly: "We are English! If we stay here... Peter will be forced to fight against his own... country! Please... please ... say you will take us!"

For a moment the Duke stared at Yolanda as if thinking he had misunderstood what she had said. Then with a faint smile he managed to say: "I told—you there was—something I could not —put my finger—on." "I have no time to tell you ... everything now," Yolanda said, "but please ... please... let us come with you." Perhaps you run more—risks if you are—with me," the Duke replied, "than if you—try to get—away on your—own." Then he saw the expression in her eyes and said before she could speak: "All right. We will sink or swim—together." Yolanda's whole face lit up. "Thank you ... thank you!" she cried, and as she spoke Hawkins came back into the room. "There's a carriage driving up to the door," he said in a low voice. "Lie down, Your Grace, and pretend to be unconscious. She'll think she's given you an overdose." The Duke moved to do as Hawkins suggested and Yolanda hurried away.

She went into Mademoiselle s bedroom to make sure that the glass door of the bookcase was closed. There was no reason, she thought, for Gabrielle Dupre to imagine that her nefarious plot, which it was obvious had been thought out by the Chief of Police, was suspected by anyone so unimportant as a servant. Yolanda waited in the bedroom and heard the actress coming along the passage. Then the door opened and Gabrielle Dupre walked into the room, looking, as usual, extremely beautiful and theatrically flamboyant. But Yolanda knew that her feelings towards her had changed dramatically. Now she not only hated the Frenchwoman but she was also afraid of her. It was terrifying to think that she had betrayed the Duke after his generosity to her and was conniving to get him into prison and used as a "cat's-paw" by Bonaparte. The actress gave Yolanda her gloves and her handbag, then began to remove her bonnet from her red hair. "Has anything happened while I have been away?" she enquired. She was obviously trying to speak casually, but her voice was too casual to be natural. "No, Mademoiselle" Yolanda replied. 'Today there have been no bouquets of flowers, nor even a letter for you after the one which came early this morning." Gabrielle Dupre did not answer. She was sitting in front of the mirror regarding her reflection, turning her head first this way, then the other, as if in appreciation of her own beauty. Then as if she could not bear the suspense she enquired: "Is the Monseigneur in the house?" "I have no idea, Mademoiselle " Yolanda replied. "Shall I go and enquire?" The actress hesitated for a moment. Then she said: "I will see for myself."

She rose from the stool on which she had been sitting, gave Yolanda her bonnet, and walked across the room to open the door which communicated with the Sitting-Room. This was empty and Yolanda was aware chat she hesitated before very quietly she turned the handle of the Duke's door. Yolanda tip-toed softly across the carpef so that she could see and hear what was happening without being seen. She thought that Gabrielle Dupre must have thought for a moment that the Duke was alone, before out of the shadows Hawkins came towards her. "Oh, you are here!" she exclaimed. "Yes, M'mselle." "Is the Monseigneur ill? Why is he lying down at this time of the day 7' Hawkins moved forward in such a way that she had to retreat into the SittingRoom. He shut the door behind him. "The Monseigneur s not well, M'mselle." "Not well!" Gabrielle Dupre exclaimed in simulated surprise. "What is wrong with him?" "I think, M'mselle, he's just tired," Hawkins replied, "so I've let him sleep." "It seems strange," the actress mused. "I would like to look at him." "It's a pity to wake him, M'mselle." "You are quite certain he is asleep?" "Like the dead, M'mselle. He must have had a late night last night." There was just the right note of impertinence in Hawkin's voice. "I think it would be a good idea," Gabrielle Dupre said after a moment, "if we gave him a cup of coffee. I will send my maid for a pot and I am sure the Duke would like to drink it alone with me." "Of course, M'mselle," Hawkins agreed. Yolanda just had time to move away from the door when the actress came back into the bedroom.

"Order some coffee for two to be brought to the Sitting-Room immediately," she said. "Then I wish to change into a neglige." Yolanda tried to do as Mademoiselle suggested. knowing that her object was to get her out of the room while she took the drug from behind the books. She ordered the coffee, wondering how, even if the Duke did not drink it, Hawkins would contrive not to spill it over him, which, Yolanda felt, being so fastidious, he would dislike intensely. Then as she was walking back along the passage to the bedroom she had an idea, and, taking one of the extra cups from the side-table, she opened the door of the Sitting-Room. When Hawkins came to see who was there, she showed it to him and hid it behind a china vase. There was no need to speak, for he knew what she was thinking. So she slipped away without a word and returned to Mademoiselle's bedroom. Five minutes later the coffee was in the Sitting- Room, and Gabrielle Dupre, wearing a neglige of misty blue chiffon, moved towards the table in front of the sofa on which the coffee was arranged. She poured out two cups, unaware that Yolanda was watching her through the minutest crack in the door. As she did so, Yolanda had the feeling that Hawkins was doing the same thing. They were neither of them taking any chance of not knowing which cup contained the drug which Yolanda was well aware Gabrielle Dupre had concealed in her hand. When she finally slipped it into a cup on the right of the coffee-pot, Yolanda thought she did it so deftly that it was obviously not the first time she had drugged some wretched man's drink. Perhaps she had done so in the past when she wished to extract money from one of her admirers. The actress rose to her feet and pushed open the door which led into the

Duke's bedroom. Hawkins had already retreated to stand beside the Duke's bed. "How is he?" Gabrielle Dupre enquired. "I think he's just waking up, M'mselle." "That is good," the actress said. "I want so much to talk to him." The Duke, as if it was his cue, stirred and yawned. 1 am—damned—tired," he remarked in a sleepy voice. "Mon Pauvre, the gaieties of Paris can be very exhausting." The Duke yawned again. "Where—have—you—been?" "That is what I want to tell you!" "I am—too—tired." "What you need, Mon Cher' Gabrielle Dupre smswered, "is a cup of coffee. I will get one for you md then we will talk. I will make you laugh." "Shall I fetch the cup, M'rmelle?' Hawkins enquired. "No, I will do it!" Gabrielle Dupre replied. "See if you can get your Master to sit up. It is easier for him to drink than when he is lying down." She moved back towards the Sitting-Room as she spoke, unaware that Yolanda had slipped into the room the moment she was beside the Duke and taken the drugged cup from the tray. She had replaced it with the extra one which she bad taken from the side-table and concealed. It had been frightening as she had poured out coffee into the clean cup, thinking that she might be discovered. But she was sure that Hawkins would guess what she was doing, and if the actress had not stopped to talk to the Duke, he would have made some effort to prevent her from seeing what was happening in the Sitting-Room. With the drugged cup in her hand, she went into the bedroom. She was just about to pour the coffee away when she had another idea.

She hid the cup and went from the room to run as quickly as she could to the top of the stairs. "Mademoiselle says," she called to the footman below, "that the coffee is not hot enough. She needs another pot immediately in her bedroom." The footman made a somewhat impolite gesture with his hand. "Complaints—always complaints!" he replied. "Hurry, or you will be in trouble!" He disappeared towards the kitchen and Yolanda sped back to the bedroom, praying that he would not be too long. She could hear Mademoiselle talking in a cooing voice to the Duke, and when she heard the door of the Sitting-Room close, she knew that Hawkins had left them alone. He peeped into the bedroom. "You changed the cups?" he whispered. Yolanda nodded. "I knew that was what you would do." "I have another idea." Yolanda told him what it was and Hawkins smiled. "I was right to trust you, Madame "Things may go wrong," Yolanda said warningly, "but Pierre should be back by now. We cannot wait for him to come upstairs. Why do you not try to find him?" Hawkins went quickly, without answering, and Yolanda waited, having difficulty in preventing herself from listening at the Duke's bedroom door to hear what Mademoiselle was saying to him. It would have been understandable for her to do so, considering what was at stake. At the same time, she felt that the Duke might resent her spying on him. She therefore waited, tense and at the same time frightened. Supposing, to make quite sure that her victim passed out, Mademoiselle put

more pills into the coffee? In which case the Duke would be unconscious for another four hours, and it might prove to be a time vital to all of them. Yolanda found herself praying. "Please, God, let us get away ... please... please. He cannot stay here ... neither can Peter and I." There was a knock at the door and she started nervously until she realised that it was a footman with the coffee she had ordered. She took the tray from him, put it do on a table by the bed, and changed the new empty cup for one that contained the drug. She had only just succeeded in hiding the now- empty cup behind a china vase on top of the com- mode when the actress came into the room. She was smiling and looking pleased with herself. She walked inevitably towards the dressing-table. "They sent up two trays of coffee by mistake, Mademmselle," Yolanda explained, "but I thought you might like another cup so I did not send it away." She was hoping that she was right in thinking feat the actress would have been so engrossed in persuading the Duke to drink the drugged coffee that she would have had no time to drink a cup herself. "A good idea!" Gabrielle Dupre answered almost gaily. "I hope it is hot." Yolanda was already topping the coffee with more from the second pot, which, after her complaint had reached the kitchen, was boiling hot. She set it down on the dressing-table beside the actress, praying as she did so that she would drink it quickly. "You must have a rest, Mademoiselle" she said in a solicitous tone. "Was your luncheon-party enjoyable?" "Very enjoyable," Mademoiselle replied. "I received many, many compliments. There is no-one like a Parisian for making a woman feel her best." "That is true!"

The actress picked up the cup and Yolanda held her breath. "Tonight I am invited to a dinner-party at which I must shine like a star." "You always look like one, Mademoiselle," Yolanda replied, "but if you are to dine early, you must rest" "You are right," the actress agreed. She took a sip of the coffee, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she did so. "I think," she said as if she spoke to herself, "that tonight I shall have much to celebrate." Yolanda did not speak in case she should disturb her. The actress took another sip and yet another. Then suddenly she tipped the rest of the cup of coffee down her throat and threw out her hands. "I am clever," she said. "Not only beautiful but clever, which even Bonaparte will have to acknowledge." As she spoke, Yolanda understood exactly why she had wanted to work with Fouche against the Duke. It was social acclaim she needed, the praise of the Leader of France, and perhaps to be accepted by his wife, Josephine. It was disloyal but at the same time understandable. The actress rose and walked towards the bed. Only as she reached it did she suddenly open her mouth to emit a great yawn which seemed to come from the very depths of her stomach. "Mon Dieu!" she exclaimed. "But I am—tired!" Before she could speak again, she fell back against the pillows. Yolanda lifted her feet onto the bed, took off her slippers, and saw that she was as unconscious as the Duke had been. She ran across the room and through the Sitting- Room to knock on the Duke's door. She heard his voice say: "Come in!" and when she entered, it was to find that

not only Hawkins was with him but also Peter. "Mademoiselle has passed out," she said. "We now have four hours." "Was that your idea, Hawkins?" the Duke enquired. The valet shook his head. "No, Your Grace, it was entirely Madame's, I was only concerned in seeing you were not drugged for the second time today." The Duke's eyes rested for a moment on Yolanda before he said: "We now have two hours to reach the river where Latour tells us Bouvais will be waiting." "He said a boat would be there for you," Peter remarked. The Duke knitted his brows as he said: "The only difficulty is how to get out of the house without being seen. I may be wrong, but I have the feeling that Fouche's men will be watching the front at the house." That's what I thinks, Your Grace," Hawkins said quickly. "There must be a way out through the garden," Yolanda said. "Of course!" the Duke exclaimed. "But there is every likelihood that the gate will be locked." "I tell you what I can do, Your Grace," Peter said. T could tell whoever has the key, and I think I know who it is, that when I am on duty tonight I want to go out to meet a woman I fancy." He paused to say with a slightly embarrassed smile: "They have been teasing me downstairs about my conquests. They will quite understand if I say I have an assignation, and I will say that I am willing to risk the Head Groom finding out that I am not in the stables, where I should be." "A good idea!" the Duke agreed quickly. "You are certain you can carry it off?" Peter nodded and the Duke said: "Very well. We will leave at six o'clock. We can take nothing with us except what we can carry in our pockets or over our arm. To be laden with luggage of

any sort would attract attention." He looked at Yolanda as he spoke. Then he continued: "Once we are clear of the house, Madame and I will stroll through the trees which lead down to the banks of the river. We shall not show that we are aware that Hawkins and you, Latour, are following at a discreet distance, because we must not appear to have any connection with each other." "I understand, Your Grace," Hawkins replied. "When once we see the boat, we must move quickly." The Duke ceased speaking and Peter said: "I will go and get the key to the garden-door, Your Grace. Then I shall bring with me the pistol which I carry as an outrider and a knife which the French find both useful and silent when they get into a street-fight." Yolanda gave a little cry. "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, but no-one seemed to hear her. Peter went from the bedroom and Hawkins followed him. For the moment she and the Duke were alone. She looked at him, then she said in a voice barely above a whisper: "You... are... all right?" "I am all right," he replied, "thanks to you." There was somehow no need to say any more. Then as her eyes were held by the Duke's for a long moment, Yolanda felt as if the dangers round them encroached nearer and nearer. With a sound that was almost a sob, she turned and hurried away, leaving the Duke alone. * * * There was the squeaking and flapping of sails being raised, the sound of heavy footsteps overhead, voices giving orders, and the slap of the water against the wooden sides of the barge. Seated below in the stuffy, untidy cabin, Yolanda knew that the Duke was

listening intently, as she was, to what was going on overhead. As they had been rowed down-river towards the Quai du Louvre in a small boat that sank low in the water with their weight, she had thought that at any moment they would hear the shouts that told them they had been discovered. She knew that nothing could have been more terrifying than the moment when, with Hawkins going ahead to spy out the land, they had crept down the back-stairs and out through a side-door which led into the garden. There they had moved swiftly, under cover of the shrubs and beneath the trees, to the garden-door. Peter had the key, and when they had passed trough it one by one, they had all looked to right and left and among the trees ahead, half-anticipating that Fouche's men might be waiting for this very moment to arrest them. However, nothing had happened, and, as the Duke had planned, he and Yolanda had walked ahead just she thought, as if they were a courting couple intent on nothing but themselves. Peter and Hawkins had followed at a discreet distance. The Duke had deliberately zig-zagged between the trees, not keeping to the path but walking on the grass in which there was an occasional wild-flower to be seen. Yolanda could not talk. She knew that if she had really been going for a walk with the Duke, it might have held some of the enchantment that she had known last night. Instead, every nerve in her body was tense with fear, and yet at the same time some sixth sense, which she had not known until now she possessed, told her that all would be well. She and Peter had been so lucky ever since they had met the Duke. She could not believe that now, at the very last moment, their hopes of freedom would be crushed and they would be taken back ignominiously to the house, or perhaps to prison, by Fouche's men.

When she saw the barge, she realised that it looked exactly as she had expected; it was a keel-boat that had been invented at the end of the last century. Her father had always been interested in the canals that had been built in England by the second Duke of Buckingham, and he had often talked about the keel-boats with their pointed bows and sterns. Yolanda knew that in shallow rivers and canals, barges were propelled by poles, but in deeper waters like those of the Seine, they would use a sail. She lifted her head, wondering if there would be enough wind to keep them moving, and was afraid that in the warmth of the evening they might be becalmed. However, there was no time to ask questions. One of Bouvais's crew had fetched them in a row- boat, and when they stepped aboard, a large man, who was obviously Bouvais himself, hurried Yolanda and the Duke down below the deck. "I was not anticipating, Monsieur, that you'd bring a lady with you," Bouvais said when they were inside the cabin, which was so low that the Duke could not stand upright in it. "If you can get us all safely to Le Havre," the Duke said, "I intend to triple what we have already agreed to pay for our passage." There was no doubt that Bouvais was pleased. At the same time, there was a note of apprehension in his voice as he answered: "There are always possible explanations for an extra man being with me, if the Customs Officers come on board, but how's a lady to be explained away?" Yolanda drew in her breath. She wondered if she ought to offer to stay behind, but she knew that if she did so, it would mean that Peter must stay too. As if what she was thinking communicated itself to the Duke, he said: "We trust you to get us away to safety, and I promise you I shall not prove

ungenerous when you are successful." "If anyone comes aboard," Bouvais said, "the other two," he jerked upwards with his thumb, "will pass muster. But you, Monsieur, are different. I'll show you where you'll have to hide, and the lady with you." As he spoke, he pulled aside some of the ropes and other rubbish that was lying on the floor and opened what appeared to be the side-wall of the cabin itself. Yolanda saw a small, dark cupboard which was empty save for a wooden seat affixed to the wall There was just room, she calculated, for two people. "An excellent hiding-place," the Duke remarked drily "and one which I feel has been used before." The Frenchman smiled. "I've had cargoes, Monsieur, which the Customs Officers would have been glad to confiscate, but I've never yet failed to deliver theml" "Then let us hope that we shall not be the exception" the Duke remarked. The barge gave a lurch as if the sail had caught the wind, and Bouvais, without saying any more, left the cabin and they heard his heavy footsteps going up on deck. Yolanda sat down on a rough wooden seat in front which there was a table fixed to the floor. The cabin itself was filled with all sorts of strange objects, most of them lying on the rough boards in an untidy mess. There were extra sails, casks of wine, pillows, blankets badly in need of a wash, and what she supposed were narrow straw mattresses on which a man could sleep. The Duke followed her eyes, then he said with a twist his hps: "We are fortunate that it is summer. Most of the crew will be content to sleep on deck, otherwise we might have them with us!"

He spoke not disgustedly but as if the whole thing was rather amusing, and as Yolanda stared at him she realised that ever since they had left the house, his habitual air of langour had disappeared and he no longer drawled. Instead, he spoke quickly and authoritatively and it struck her that he moved in the same way. There was also a glint in his eyes that told her that the danger of what they were experiencing excited rather than worried him. It was difficult to see clearly in the cabin, for not only were the few port-holes filthy with dirt inside, and outside from the splash of river-water, but already it was growing dusk. The Duke had seated himself as she had on the wooden seat, and he was looking out the port-hole as the barge began to move. "So far—so good!" he remarked. "When I chose Bouvais, I thought he was a reliable man." "You ... expected this to... happen?" Yolanda enquired. "I hoped, when I arrived in Paris, that there would be no difficulty in leaving," the Duke replied. "Then when Lord Whitworth, the English Ambassador, told me that he had trouble in obtaining horses with which to leave the city, I knew I had to find some other means by which I could depart." "If you were aware that things were so serious, why did you not leave sooner?" Yolanda asked. The Duke did not reply for a moment and she had the feeling that he was choosing his words rather than trusting her with the truth. "I am ... sorry," she said. "I do not wish to ... ask you embarrassing... questions." "They are not really embarrassing," the Duke replied. "It is just that I am being careful in case we are interrogated. Fouche s methods are not very civilised!" Yolanda gave a little cry. "We must not be caught! We must get away! You are needed in England." As she spoke, she knew that that was something she could not say about

herself and Peter. If they escaped from Paris, there was still the question hanging over their heads as to where they could go. She thought perhaps Ireland might be a solution, but she told herself with a little sinking of her heart that to go anywhere they would have to borrow the money from the Duke. Then we shall have to tell him the truth,' she thought, 'and perhaps he will be horrified when he knows that Peter has killed anyone so important as the Marquis of Ramsbury!'" There was every chance that the Marquis had been a close friend of the Duke's, and that would mean that his whole attitude towards them would change. "We must not tell him,' she thought quickly, 'that would be a terrible mistake!' "What is worrying you?" the Duke asked. As he spoke, a thump overhead made it easy for Yolandaa to glance upwards as she told him without words that she was afraid and apprehensive. "I know about that," he said, "but there is some- thing else. I was aware of it the other night when I asked you to trust me. Surely now there is no reason for such secrecy?" "I ... suppose not," Yolanda said very quietly. "At the same time... I cannot tell you yet... not at ... moment." The Duke smiled. "Of course not. One thing at a time." There must have been some breeze, for now the barge was almost in the centre of the river and the sails appeared to have caught enough wind for them to be moving in the stream. When they came aboard, Yolanda had seen that the barge was carrying a great number of planks of wood.

If they had a usual cargo, she had thought, it woold attract no attention, for wood was required everywhere, and especially if the tales were true of the ships which were being built in the North for the invasion of England. As the barge moved farther down the river, she had a sudden feeling of elation. Already they had achieved so much: she and Hawkins had rescued the Duke from the drugs that the Chief of Police had prescribed for him; they had escaped from the house; and they were now on their journey home. She wondered how soon it would be before it was discovered that they had got away. It was likely, she decided, to be a long time; first, because no-one would disturb Mademoiselle, and secondly, none of the servants went into the Duke's room as he was waited on only by Hawkins. With any luck, it would be morning and breakfast-time before the MajorDome was perturbed by the fact that he had received no orders from the Duke's apartments and would take it upon himself to investigate. 'By that time we shall be far away,' Yolanda thought hopefully, even as she felt a little quiver of fear. Unexpectedly, the Duke put out his hand. "Are you frightened?" "Y-yes... of course." As she spoke, she put her own hand in his and felt his fingers tighten on hers. "Now tell me the truth," he said quietly, and she felt a strange excitement rise within her at his words. Then, before she could analyse it to herself, before she could feel a thrill run like quick-silver through her body from her breasts to her lips, there was the noise of heavy footsteps and the cabin-door burst open. "There's a Customs Boat coming towards us," Bouvais said sharply. "I think it's only a routine check, but you mustn't be seen, Monsieur."

"No, of course not," the Duke said quietly. He released Yolanda's hand and Bouvais started to pull aside the things which lay in front of the secret cupboard. As soon as the door was open, the Duke made a little gesture and Yolanda stepped through it and he followed her. The door was shut behind them and they heard Bouvais piling things against it. Then there was the sound of footsteps overhead as they sat in complete darkness. For a moment Yolanda was very still. Then she felt the Duke's arm move behind her, and with a little impulsive movement she turned her head and hid her face gainst his shoulder. "It is all right," he said very softly. "The Cus- toms-men have not discovered this hiding-place be- fore. and there is no reason why they should do so "But... I am... afraid." "I know." "I am ... praying," she whispered, "praying... desperately that... you will get away." "You are praying for me?" "Of course ... I thought this morning... when were unconscious ... that I could not... bear the Fren-ch to take you ... prisoner." As the Duke's arm tightened round her, they heard new voices speaking and realised that the Customs Boat had come alongside. There were two men asking questions and Bou- vais's voice replying. It was impossible to hear exactly what was said, but as Yolanda listened tensely it did not seem to her that the Customs Officers sounded aggressive in any way. They went on talking, it seemed almost interminably, until at last Bouvais's

voice came quite dearly to them as he called: "An Revoir, Messieurs! Au revoir!" Then as Yolanda realised that she had held her breath for a long time, she breathed again and felt herself go limp in the Duke's arms. She raised her face from his shoulder to whisper: "They... have gonel! They have... gone!" and his lips came down on hers. For a moment she was still with the surprise and shock of it. Then as his arms tightened and his lips became more possessive, she felt, as she had before, that a streak of lightning shot through her. Now it was more intense, more thrilling, and so marvellous that it was almost impossible to think. She could only feel as if something warm and wonderful crept up from her very heart until he took it from her lips into his keeping and she became a part of him. He drew her closer and now she thought that everything that was beautiful and wonderful was there in his kiss and they were enveloped with light while the music of the Heavens was playing in their ears. This was love, this was what she had always sought without knowing it. This was what had eluded her dreams, and yet she was aware it existed. She could not ask herself how she could have fallen in love so swiftly, so unexpectedly, yet it was impossible to doubt for one second that what she felt was true love and so perfect that it was sacred and part of the Divine. "I... love... you!" She said the words first in her heart, then because the Duke had raised his head they came instinctively to her lips. She was almost surprised when she heard them as if they were the voice of a stranger. The Duke did not reply but drew her closer still, and now he was kissing her more demandingly, fiercely and passionately, as if he felt he might have lost her

in the danger through which they had just passed but had found her again. Only when a century of wonder and glory seemed to have passed did Yolanda put her head back again on his shoulder and say incoherently: "How... can this have... happened . =. that I... love you?" "It is what I wanted to happen last night," the Duke said, "but I was afraid of frightening you." "I... I think I... wanted it too," Yolanda whispered, "but I too ... was afraid." "Of me?" "I think of myself... and what you made me feel when you... kissed my hand." "I would rather kiss your lips," the Duke said. Now he was kissing her again, kissing her with a wildness that she felt was echoed within herself It was only when they heard Bouvais moving in the cabin that Yolanda came back to sanity. For a moment, as she heard him fumbling at the door. she shut her eyes. Now she had to face reality. For one magical, inexpressible moment she had been swept away into a glory that did not belong to the world in which she lived but to Heaven itself. She had been one with the Duke, and it had been so perfect, so holy, and she did not for a moment question that it came from God Himself. But the moment had passed and she came down from the sky to remember that the man who had kissed her was the Duke of Ilkeston, while she, as far as he was concerned, was merely an Englishwoman, playing the part of a servant. The reality which made it worse was that she was the sister of a man compelled to flee into exile for an act which under the law was considered murder. With an agony that seemed to sweep over her like a tempest, Yolanda wished that she had died when she had known love in all its perfection. Then Bouvais's rough voice was saying:

"You can come out now, Monsieur I've got rid of them!"

It was the Duke who changed their plans the following day, after he had read a newspaper. Yolanda thought she might be embarrassed if they had to sleep on either side of the same cabin. But after a simple but quite edible meal with the others, the Duke had gone up on deck, and when Hawkins came to fetch for him one of the straw mattresses, a blanket, and a pillow, Yolanda realised that he intended to sleep in the open air. It was a warm night and so stuffy in the cabin that she thought she too would have preferred to sleep under the stars. Nevertheless, she was spared any embarrassment, and she lay down in a haze of happiness, thinking only of the wonder of the Duke's lips, the strength of his arms, and the inexpressible rapture he had given her. The next morning, when she felt shy at meeting him, there was suddenly a turmoil of activity as the Duke announced that their plans were changed and he intended that they should ride. "I suppose you are used to riding?" he asked Yolanda with what she thought was an indifferent note in his voice. When she looked at him questioningly he turned away to give instructions to Peter and Hawkins, who were both in the cabin. "I want you to buy me four good horses," he said. "You really intend to ride to Le Havre?" Peter asked. "I am convinced that we should get out of France as quickly as possible," the

Duke replied. "Why is it so much more urgent today than it was yesterday?" Peter enquired. He spoke as he might have done to an equal, and Yolanda wondered if the Duke noticed it. But he merely said: "The position between France and England has obviously worsened. The newspaper carried the information that the French Ambassador to London has been recalled." "That sounds as if war is inevitable," Peter remarked. "I am afraid so," the Duke replied, "and the last thing that must happen to any of us is to be left in France." "That is obvious where you are concerned," Peter remarked, "but we, I imagine, as very ordinary civilians, will be quite safe, except that it will be difficult to get a ship to carry us home." The Duke, however, was frowning, and Yolanda thought that something else perturbed him. "What is troubling you, Monseigneur?" she asked. She knew, even as she spoke, that it was a joy even to speak to him, but the Duke replied coldly: "The British Ambassador in Paris told me that Napoleon in a temper had threatened that if we went to war, he would arrest every British traveller left in France." "Good God!" Peter ejaculated. "Surely that is an unheard-of step on the part of any country?" "It is uncivilised and contrary to all civilised precedents, but then I have always averred that Bonaparte is at heart a savage!" the Duke answered. "Then the sooner, Your Grace, we get away from these Froggies, the better!" Hawkins interposed.

"That is what I thought," the Duke agreed. "You and Latour see what you can find in the way of horses, and remember we will want a side-saddle for Madame." Yolanda knew by the expression on Peter's face that he was looking forward to the experience of buying horses without counting the cost, and also to riding rather than being cooped up on the barge. The Duke looked at his watch. "Meet us in about two hours' time; we, meantime, will move a little farther down river." "We will try not to get lost," Peter replied. He hurried off with Hawkins, looking, Yolanda thought, rather like a small boy given an unexpected treat. She thought the Duke would seize the opportunity to talk to her alone, and she waited expectantly in the cabin, only to be surprised and disappointed when he remained up on deck. She had so much to say to him and she wanted to feel again that rapture and the lightning-like sensation she had never known before when he so much as touched her hand. "I love him! I love him!" she said to herself. While occasionally she could hear him talking to Bouvais and the other men handling the barge, the hours went by and he did not come below. When later he did, Bouvais came with him, carrying fresh bread, a variety of cheeses, and a basket of freshly picked fruit. "It's not much, Madame," he said apologetically, "but one of my men has gone to the town and you will not go hungry tonight." "I am not particularly hungry now," Yolanda replied, "and I hope, Monsieur, that you will allow me to cook you something hot for supper." "That's very kind of you, Madame," Bouvais replied. As soon as they had finished speaking, Yolanda looked enquiringly at the Duke.

"I am hoping," he said, answering the question Yolanda had not asked, "that we shall have the horses by this evening and be able to set out on the first part of our journey as soon as it is too late for the peasants to be working in the fields." That's wise," Bouvais remarked, "if you don't wish to be seen, Monsieur," "Four riders appearing from the direction of the river late at night might cause comment," the Duke said. Bouvais nodded his head. The way he looked at the Duke told Yolanda that he was thinking it would be difficult for anyone so distinctive and tall not to be noticed. He will have to be careful... very careful,' she thought, and remembered what a long way they were from Le Havre. Peter and Hawkins met them two hours later, full of excitement at what they had achieved. The Duke followed them down from the deck to the cabin, where they could talk without being overheard. "We have found four excellent horses, Your Grace!" Peter exclaimed. "They cost rather a lot of money, but I thought it would be a mistake to haggle and make the owner resentful if we got his animals cheap." "Quite right," the Duke approved. "We told him we would collect them after six o'clock," Peter continued, "and I naturally did not let them know that we were travelling by barge." The Duke seemed to agree that this was sensible. Then he asked: "What are the shops like in town?" They seemed quite large and prosperous," Peter replied. Then I think it would be a good idea," the Duke said, "if you bought your wife a riding-habit." "I... I am sure I can... manage!" Yolanda cried.

She had in fact been worrying as to whether she would be very uncomfortable if she had a long way to ride without a proper habit. At home she often rode about the grounds and down to the small village wearing a gown, but even- on a short distance it was rather constricting. She knew that the one thing she must not do was to be a hindrance to the Duke on the ride ahead and compel him to slow his pace, which might be dangerous. She was a very good rider, although since her father's death she and Peter had not been able to afford the superior horse-flesh they had ridden when they were young. The Duke ignored her remark and merely said to Peter: "You had better go at once!" Because she thought it was a mistake to look smart, Yolanda did not put on the pretty bonnet she had worn when they left the house. Instead, she tied a silk scarf over her head, which made her look more like any ordinary Frenchwoman such as she knew would be shopping in the town. Then she suddenly thought how foolish and rash it would be to spend the only money they had on anything so unnecessary as clothes. "I can manage as I am, Your Grace," she said firmly, "and there is no need for me to leave the barge." "I insist that you do as I suggest," the Duke replied. "And there must be other things you need, having come empty-handed." As Yolanda gave a little sigh, knowing that she dare not disobey him, he drew some notes from his pocket and handed them to Peter. "N-no ... please... I can pay for... myself," Yolanda said instinctively. "That is not true!" Peter interposed. "And thank you, Your Grace, we are very grateful for your generosity." There was nothing more that Yolanda could say, but when they walked away

from the barge, which was tied up at the bank of the main stream of the river, she asked angrily: "How could you let the Duke pay for my habit?" "Why should we spend money we can ill afford?" Peter answered. "It is wrong." "It is no more wrong than that I should have worn an outrider's livery," Peter replied. "Have you forgotten, Miss Hoity-Toity, that you are a servant?" He was only teasing, but his words seemed to Yolanda like a blow. Of course she was only a servant in the Duke's eyes, but she loved him, and today he had appeared not even to glance in her direction. That had hurt her so painfully that she kept thinking about it. She and Peter went to the largest and most expensive-looking shop because they were in a hurry. There was a quite well-tailored summer-habit in a thin cloth of deep blue, a colour that matched Yolanda's eyes. She put it on and realised that except for a small alteration to the waist, which was too big, she might almost have been measured for it. "I will take it," she said to the saleswoman. "Is there anything else, Madame, with which I can tempt you?" the saleswoman enquired. Yolanda was about to reply "No," when she saw a gown in a very attractive shade of pink. She could not help looking at it, and although at first she resisted the temptation to try it on, she finally succumbed to the saleswoman's blandishments. "It might have been made for you, Madame. It fits you like a glove, and very lovely you look too." Yolanda stared at her reflection in the mirror. She had obeyed the Duke's instructions to carry away only what she stood up in, and the only extra garment she had brought with her was her travelling- cloak.

So when they reached Le Havre and crossed the Channel, she would have only one gown to wear, however long they might be at sea. Her conscience told her she had no right to spend the Duke's money on anything except the riding-habit. Then she told herself that she still had her mother's jewels. The gown was not expensive and she knew the saleswoman was right when she said she looked attractive in it. It had that indefinable chic that she had noticed every one of Gabrielle Dupre's gowns had when she wore them. "I want the Duke to see me like this," Yolanda told her reflection in the mirror, "and not as he has always seen me before." Impulsively and quickly, because she was afraid she might change her mind, she said: "I will take it!" The saleswoman packed it up in the same parcel as the habit, and when Yolanda had bought a short pair of buttoned boots like the ones she had worn for riding at home, she and Peter hurried back to the barge. It had hot moved much farther down-stream since they had left it, and Yolanda suspected that the Duke was paying Bouvais for holding the barge. But it was essential that they should not go far from the stable where the horses were waiting for them. When they went oh deck, the Duke greeted Peter effusively but again had nothing to say to her. She suddenly asked herself if he regretted that moment of wonder in the dark cupboard when he had kissed her and brought her the realisation that love was part of God. "Perhaps I... disappointed him,' she thought despairingly. When she had changed into her riding-habit and he made no comment on her appearance, she told herself that for some reason she did not understand, she had

also lost his admiration. They had a quick meal before they left the barge, and although Yolanda cooked them a superb omelette, the Duke paid her no compliments and was engrossed only with discussing with Bouvais the best and quickest route acrosscountry to Le Havre. "We will ride at night," he said, "and keep under cover of the trees during the day." "There're plenty of woods, Monsieur, and the Seine twists and turns amongst a few of them, but if you keeps to the North side of the river you'll find plenty of shelter most of the way." When they said good-bye, Bouvais was so profuse in his expressions of goodwill that Yolanda was rare the Duke had been very generous with his payment for the short time they had been on the barge. Then, when the inhabitants who lived in the towns and the small hamlets were having then evening meal, they rode off through the empty fields, moving westwards in the cool evening air. The horses which Peter and Hawkins had chosen were not particularly prepossessing to look at, but all were from spirited stock and of good stamina. Yolanda remembered her father saying that Peter had "an eye for a horse" and that it was something which could not be taught but which a man had to be bom with. She was sure that that was true, for as soon as she felt the horse she had been given to ride move under her, she knew that it was an animal capable of carrying her without much difficulty on the long journey ahead. They rode at the pace set by the Duke, which Yolanda knew showed his sense of horsemanship in that it was steady and rhythmic without causing undue exertion either to man or to beast. It was four o'clock in the morning and the dawn was coming up over the horizon when they halted in a thick wood. Then the Duke spoke for the first time.

"We will stay here and sleep," he said. "Bouvais has given us something to eat and drink, and later you, Latour, will go to the nearest village to buy us enough food to last until tomorrow." Yolanda had not realised until now that the Duke's saddle-bag contained food and there were two bottles of wine in Peter s. They sat down near the edge of the wood where they could see without being seen and allowed their horses to graze on the young grass. They had stopped twice during the ride so that the horses could drink, and now Yolanda realised for the first time that she herself was very thirsty. They all ate together, which was unexpected, but Yolanda thought she might have known that that was how the Duke would behave when they were in danger. For once, class was forgotten in their combined efforts to escape, and the Duke was the equal of his valet and of Peter, whom Yolanda supposed he still considered to be one of his servants. They talked of the journey ahead, which was the only thing that mattered at the moment, and there was a close comradeship in their united desire for the same object—safety. When Yolanda had eaten and had drunk a glass of wine, Hawkins brought a blanket which had been tied to the back of his saddle and laid it out for her underneath a tree a little way from where they were sitting. She thanked him and he said: "If you feels frightened, Madame, remember we're all here to protect you." Yolanda smiled at the little man. "I think really the person we have to protect is His Grace," she replied. "That's true," Hawkins agreed, "but His Grace is lucky. He always wins through and gets what he wants. I've never known him to fail." When Hawkins had left her and Yolanda lay down on the blanket, she

thought unhappily that obviously she was one thing the Duke did not want. He had never addressed a word to her all day, nor, she thought, had he even looked at her. However, it had not been easy to talk, and she had known that none of them wished to do so. At the same time, she longed for just a glance from his eyes, the touch of his hand, and that sense of intimacy between them that had been there since the first night he had taken her out to see Paris after dark "I love him!" she whispered. Somehow her love became inexplicably mixed with her prayers and it was impossible to know where one began and the other ended. The next evening they set off again on the long ride, having moved only a very short distance during the day, dodging from wood to wood, always reconnoitering the land to see that there was no-one about every time they had to venture into the open. The horses were rested, and now they covered a vary considerable distance before once again they stopped when it was dawn. The next day it was not quite so warm and there were several light showers of rain. The Duke said: "I reckon that by tomorrow evening we should reach Le Havre. Therefore, I intend to stay tonight at an Inn of some sort. It is too cold to sleep out in the open." Yolanda had a feeling that he was thinking of her, but she was not sure. In fact, she was no longer certain of anything where the Duke was concerned. She only knew that every time she looked at him, the ache he had caused in her heart seemed more painful than it had been a moment before. All the time drumming in her ears was the thought that he no longer wanted to talk to her, no longer thought her beautiful as once he had said she was. "What have I... done? What have I... said?" she asked herself. It seemed somehow impossible that a kiss that had brought her the music of the angels should have left him bored and perhaps disgusted by her.

The Inn was small and well off the beaten track. "I've one room that'll do for you, Monsieur and Madame," the Inn-Keeper said to the Duke when he asked what accommodation was available, "and some single rooms in the attic that're not so comfortable." "That will be all right," the Duke said. "Latour—you and your wife will have the large room. Hawkins and I will go to the attics." "No ... no ... of course not!" Yolanda said. "Your Grace must have the large room... Peter and I would prefer the single rooms." She thought the Duke looked surprised, and Peter interposed hastily: "Yolanda says I snore, so we never sleep together." "Very well then," the Duke said. "Madame will have the large room to herself." Yolanda tried to argue, but he swept her protests aside in the imperious manner which had made him so awe-inspiring when she had first seen him at Calais. Before she could realise what was happening, she was alone in the muchcontested room and the door was shut. She thought that perhaps Peter would come and talk to her, but she was very tired and the moment she put her head down on the pillow she fell asleep. The Inn being a poor one, the bed was not particularly comfortable and the room was sparsely furnished, but Yolanda knew nothing until she was awakened by a knock on the door and Hawkins's voice informing her that they were to leave in twenty minutes' time. They had a good breakfast. The Inn-Keeper looked at them curiously and asked questions as to where they had come from and where they were going, but it was obvious that he had no sinister motive for his enquiries. They rode on the next day and in the afternoon there were many more people moving on the roads. There were a number of small hamlets clustered on the outskirts of Le Havre, but their appearance was not so unusual as it would have been the previous days.

Yolanda had her first sight of the sea, a blue streak in the distance, and gave a little cry of sheer excitement. But later, as they drew nearer and nearer to it, she remembered that this was not only tha end of their escape from the French but also the end of her acquaintanceship, if that was what it was. with the Duke. There would be the voyage back to England- if they were lucky enough to find the yacht waiting for them. Then when they reached their own country, she and Peter had once more to disappear. She had not yet had an opportunity to ask where they should go or to make any plans for their future. All she could think of at the moment was that to leave the Duke would be an agony beyond anything she had ever felt in her life. She loved him more every moment of the day that she rode beside him, even though he never spoke to or looked at her. She loved the set of his shoulders, the manner in which he held his head, they way he sat a horse. She watched him when he was talking to Peter and Hawkins, and she thought that his face was engraved on her heart and no other man would ever seem attractive to her. Her heart told her too that she would never love again as she loved now, and for the rest of her life she would be desperately lonely when he was no longer near her and she could not even hear his voice The sun had sunk and dusk was deepening when they rode into Le Havre. Although the Duke said nothing, Yolanda was vividly aware that it was going to be dangerous for them when they tried to contact the yacht, because Fouche might have sent men ahead to prevent them from boarding her. She thought of speaking of it to the Duke, then was afraid that he might think she was interfering. She was, however, not surprised when instead of riding down to the harbour

they rode out through the town and along the coast for a short way. The Duke dismounted and stood looking down into the harbour, which was now about half-a-mile east of them. "There she is, Hawkins!" he said in a low voice. They all followed the direction in which he pointed and saw the yacht riding at anchor. "Yes, that be her, Your Grace!" Hawkins agreed. "Be careful that nobody sees you," the Duke said. "We will ride on another mile or so." Hawkins nodded and, without saying any more, handed the bridle of his horse to Peter and set off at a jog-trot in the direction of the harbour. "What is he going to do?" Peter enquired. "He will get aboard either by boat or by swimming, and tell the Captain to upanchor and meet us farther along the coast" the Duke replied. That is a clever idea!" Peter exclaimed. "As it will soon be dark, the French will not realise that the yacht is moving until it is too late!" "That is what I anticipate," the Duke said. "Can you manage both horses?" "Yes, of course." Yolanda waited, and she thought that as Peter was occupied, the Duke might assist her into the saddle. To her surprise, he mounted himself and she was obliged to do the same without help. He rode on ahead, and as he seemed suddenly to blend with the darkness of the sky, she thought that she had lost him completely. * * * "You have got to say something to him," Peter insisted. "How can I?" Yolanda asked. "Tell him we will pay him back when it is possible for us to do so, although God knows, a hundred pounds or so means nothing to the Duke of Ilkeston."

"A... hundred pounds?" Yolanda cried in dismay. Peter had come to her cabin soon after she awoke. It was strange, after the discomfort of the last four nights, to know the joy of a soft mattress and the feel of fine linen sheets. It was even more difficult to realise that everything had gone according to the Duke's plans and they had been able to leave the soil of France without anyone being aware of it, let alone making any effort to stop them. When they set their horses free and had gone down to the beach to wait for the first sign of the yacht sailing along the coast, Yolanda had longed to slip her hand into the Duke's. She wanted to be linked with him as they waited for the vessel that was to carry them away from the enemy. But, intent on talking to Peter, he seemed to have forgotten her very existence, so that she stood forlornly watching the waves wash gently over the sandy shore, feeling as if the sound of them beat against her heart He would go back to the Social World in which he reigned, to his appointment in the Royal Household, to his friends in the House of Lords, and of course to the women who, she was sure, found him irresistibly attractive. Why should he remember even for a passing second a woman whom he had once kissed in the dark? A rowing-boat carried them from the shore to the yacht, and as the Captain welcomed them aboard, the luxury of it showed Yolanda all too vividly the type of life to which the Duke was accustomed. She had been shown to her cabin, and when a steward had suggested that she might like something to eat or drink, she had refused, knowing that for the moment she was too miserable to feel either hungry or thirsty. She had in fact cried herself to sleep and had awakened only when Peter came knocking on her door.

He was looking in high spirits, she thought, and to please him she tried to put aside her own misery. "Thank God the sea is calm," he said, "and the Captain says it will be a very smooth crossing." "I am glad, dearest." "Now there is something you have to do..." Peter began. When he had told her what it was, she had cried out in protest. "Do not be so squeamish," her brother said now. "We have to have some money, especially if we are going to travel, as you suggested, to Ireland." "Supposing when we get there we can find no ... work?" "I very likely know somebody in Ireland, if only I could think of them," Peter said vaguely. "But wherever we go, we will not get there free, as we did travelling to Paris. So we must have some money, Yolanda." "But... not from the ... Duke," she said firmly. "Very well," Peter said. "I shall go home and wait to be arrested. If you refuse to help me, there is nothing else I can do!" Yolanda drew in her breath. He had defeated her and they were both aware of it. "Very... well," she said, "but I cannot think why you do not... ask him... yourself." Peter grinned in a mischievous way that had always ensured his getting his own way when he was a small boy. "I have a feeling," he replied, "that the wealthy Duke of Ilkeston will find it more difficult to refuse a woman than a man!" This was so outrageous that Yolanda wanted to laugh, but before she could say anything, Peter had gone, leaving her alone. She washed, then as she saw her dusty riding- habit lying on a chair where she had left it the night before, she remembered that she had something very different

to wear. She had in fact pinned her new gown carefully inside her travelling-cape, which had been secured on the back of her saddle. It had not been cold enough for her to need it, but it had sheltered her new gown from the elements, and, tired though she had been last night, she had remembered to hang it up in the fitted wardrobe in the cabin before she got into bed. Now she looked at it, and, not questioning whether she should have bought it or not, she put it on. It would give her courage, she thought, to know that she looked her best when she had to ask the Duke if he would lend her and Peter some money. It was the most humiliating, embarrassing thing she had ever had to do in her whole life! But Peter was right. They could not manage on the little money they had, and the only alternative was to go home, in which case he would be arrested. "What does it matter what the Duke thinks?" she asked herself. "He obviously wishes only to be rid of us and already finds us an encumbrance." She took a long time in dressing before she could face the moment when she must leave the cabin. She knew that it was late in the morning and she had slept so long that she must have missed breakfast Even as she thought it, there was a knock on the door, and when she asked who it was, she found that it was a steward. "I heard you were awake, Ma'am," he said, "so I brought you some coffee. Is there anything eke you require?" "No, thank you. Coffee will be delightful," Yolanda replied. He put it down on a table which was fixed to the side of the cabin, then as he began to leave, Yolanda asked: "Can you tell me ... where I... might find.., His Grace?"

She felt her voice tremble as she spoke. "His Grace is in his private cabin, Ma'am, which is aft," the steward replied. "Thank you," Yolanda said. When he had left, she drank some of the coffee, feeling that it would give her courage. Then, aware that her heart was beating frantically because, while she was afraid of seeing the Duke. at the same time she was nevertheless longing to see him, she left her cabin, moving aft as the steward had told her to do. It was not as easy to find as she had expected, and she was just wondering whether she should go on deck and ask someone to direct her when Hawkins came from a cabin at the far end of the passage. He smiled when he saw her. "Good morning, Ma'am! You slept well?" he asked. "Very well, thank you," Yolanda replied. "I would like to see His Grace." "I'll tell him," Hawkins said, and went back through the door through which he had just emerged. Yolanda heard the murmur of the valet's voice and the Duke's deeper one. Then, just as she felt she could not face him and must run away, Hawkins reappeared to say: "Will you come in, Ma'am?" He opened the door wide and Yolanda passed him and found herself in a cabin which stretched the whole breadth of the ship. It was comfortable and beautifully decorated in a manner that she might have expected to be a background for the Duke. There was a large desk at which he was sitting, there was a comfortable sofa and chairs, and there was a bookcase attached to the wall, and yet the cabin had a nautical appearance that was entirely in keeping with a sea-going vessel, "Good-morning!"

The Duke's voice was low and grave. Now at last, Yolanda thought as she advanced towards him, he was forced to look at her. "Will you not sit down?" He indicated a chair in front of the desk. As she reached it a little unsteadily because the yacht was moving at a slight inclination, she thought that he intended to be business-like at their interview — otherwise, he might have invited her to sit on the sofa or on one of the chairs. 'You slept well, I hope?" he asked. "Y-yes... thank you." There was silence. Then he said: "I must of course commend you on the way in which you endured the discomforts and exertions of the last few days. It was a hard journey for a man, let alone a woman." Yolanda did not reply and she thought despairingly that the way in which he was speaking was still cold and impersonal. It might have been the manner in which he would commend anyone who had served him well, but not someone in whom he had shown a personal interest "As I expect you are aware," the Duke said, "we shall be putting into Southampton. Perhaps you will tell me where you wish to go from there." He had given her the opening she needed in order to say what she had come to say, but it was difficult to find the words, and she clasped her fingers convulsively in her lap. Then without looking at the Duke she managed to say in a very small voice: "B-before we ... arrive in... England... I have ... something to ask... Your Grace." "What is that?" Now it was almost impossible to speak, and Yolanda drew in her breath before she managed to re- ply: "We... we need... your help."

She felt, without looking at him, that the Duke raised his eye-brows, and she said quickly, because otherwise it would never be said: "P-Peter... and I wondered if you would . .. lend us some money ... only a little ... and somehow... although it may take... a long time... we will pay you back." Her words seemed to run into one another, but at least they were said, and now she was so tense that it was almost impossible to breathe. "I feel I owe you a debt of gratitude for the way in which you have helped me," the Duke said slowly. "No... no!" Yolanda said quickly. "You owe us nothing! You have been very kind ... wonderfully kind in... bringing us here with you ... but if we could just borrow..." Her voice died away. Somehow it was impossible to say the sum Peter had suggested to her. "You have not yet told me where you intend to go," the Duke said. "I... I do not know... perhaps ... Ireland." "Why Ireland?" She did not answer and after a moment the Duke said: '1 think it would be wise, Yolanda, if you told me this momentous secret you have been keeping to yourself for so long. From what you have just said, I can only imagine that you are in hiding for some reason. Could that be true?" "Y-yes... yes." There seemed to be no point in prevaricating any longer. "From whom—and why?" There was a sternness in the question that made Yolanda think that if she did not tell him, perhaps the Duke would refuse to help them, in which case Peter would have to do as he threatened and go home where he would be arrested. "We are in hiding," Yolanda said in a voice that was barely audible, "bbecause... Peter has ... killed a m-man!"

"Killed a man?" "In a d-duel... it was an accident... but he will be... arrested for... murder." "If he killed somebody in a duel and he did not intend to do so, then there is no possibility of his being tried for murder," the Duke said. "As you must be aware, duelling takes place only between gentlemen and is an affair of honour." Yolanda thought he was contemptuous of her and Peter's stupidity, and she said quickly: "The man Peter... killed was of great importance ... that is why he may be... arrested." She glanced at the Duke and thought he looked sceptical, and she added quickly: "I swear to you that Peter only meant to shoot him in the arm ... but his opponent, who had had too much to drink, swayed and the bullet hit him in the chest!" "You say the man was somebody of great importance—will you tell me who it was?" Yolanda opened her lips to obey him, then she said in a sudden panic: "If I tell you ... you will not inform anyone that ... Peter has returned to ... England?" "Do you really believe I am capable of doing anything like that?" the Duke asked, and now she knew he was angry. "I... I am... sorry," she said, "but everything has been... so terrible ... ever since it happened... and the money we took with us from England was stolen while Peter was sea-sick on the ship in which we crossed to Calais." There were tears in Yolanda's voice and in her eves, and the Duke asked quickly: "Whom did he kill?" "The ... Marquis of... Ramsbury!" It was difficult to say the name, but it was said, and even as she spoke,

Yolanda thought perhaps she had been crazy to tell the truth. If the Marquis, as she had suspected before, had been a friend of the Duke, then he might feel it his duty to hand Peter over to the authorities. "The Marquis of Ramsbury?" the Duke repeated "Yes." "Are you sure that is who it was?" "Of course... and it was his Second, Lord Basil Blake, who said he would have Peter... hanged for murder!" "He had no right to say anything of the sort, the Duke said. "In any case, as it happens, the Marquis is not dead!" There was a silence in which Yolanda could hear her heart beating. "N-not... dead?" The words seemed to jerk from her lips. The Duke shook his head. "The Ambassador told me a week ago when I was dining with him that his friend Ramsbury had been involved in a shooting-accident which had nearly proved fatal, but by a miracle he survived and is in fact now on the road to recovery." "I... cannot believe ... it!" Yolanda whispered. "It is true." Yolanda shut her eyes. For a moment she felt as if the whole cabin swam round her. After all she had suffered, after her fears for Peter, after all the worry of running away, of losing their money, of managing to get to Paris and away from it, it seemed unbelievable that it had all been quite unnecessary. "I understand that this has been a shock for you," she heard the Duke say as if he were far, far away in the distance. He rose from the desk and opened a cupboard where there were drinks and glasses neatly arranged so that however much the ship pitched and tossed, they

would not be broken. He came back with a glass in his hand and stood beside Yolanda. "Drink this!" he ordered. "I... I am ... all right." He did not move and after a moment she took the glass from him. As she did so, her fingers touched his and she felt once again that shaft of lightning streak through her with a mixture of pain and ecstasy. It revived her far more effectively than anything she could drink, but to please him she took two small sips, then set the glass down on the desk. "Now... we can ... go home." "Where is that?" the Duke asked. "Near Canterbury... we are very poor and ... the house is old and rather dilapidated, but at least we belong there." "I am glad, for your sake, that I have been able to give you some good news," the Duke said gravely. "Wonderful... wonderful news!" Yolanda cried. "And now Peter can go back to London and be with his friends and enjoy everything as he was doing before." "Why did he fight with Ramsbury in the first place?" Yolanda made a little gesture with her hands. "I do not really know ... but I think it was over a... woman." "A woman?" the Duke questioned. Yolanda smiled. "Peter finds the lovely ladies he meets in London very attractive, as they find him." "And you do not mind!" the Duke exclaimed. "I am quite happy to be at home," Yolanda said "Although sometimes I am very lonely, now that Papa and Mama are dead." "You have not yet told me your real name."

"It is Tiverton. I am quite sure you have never heard of us, but Papa was the fifth Baronet, and Peter is the sixth." She felt the Duke stiffen and after a moment he said in a strange voice: "I do not understand. You say your father was the fifth Baronet. Was Peter your cousin before you married him?" Yolanda gave a little laugh. "I forgot I had not told you," she said. "Peter is my brother! We only ... pretended to be married .. "Your brother!" the Duke interrupted, and his voice seemed to ring out in the cabin. "Your brother!" he repeated. He spoke so loudly that she looked up in surprise. Suddenly he bent forward and his arms were round her. "Your brother!" he said again. "And here have I been crucifying myself because I thought you were married! Oh, my darling, do you know what an agony it has been not to touch you, not to kiss you?" It was impossible to say any more, because his lips were on Yolanda's and he was kissing her wildly, passionately, with a fierceness that seemed to relieve something which had exploded inside him and could no longer be controlled. He drew her closer and still closer as he kissed her until it was impossible for her to breathe or to think. She knew only that he had swept her once again into the Heavens to which he had taken her before. The yacht changed course and the Duke staggered. Without taking his lips from Yolanda's, he somehow reached the sofa to sink down on it, drawing her with him so that she was half-lying across his knees, her head against his shoulder. "I love you! God, how I love you!" he cried. "For the first time in my life I have been behaving with restraint, thinking of you rather than of myself, because I believed you were married!"

He did not wait for a reply, but was kissing her again with a fire that seemed to burn from his lips into her heart and awakened a flickering flame within her -------When finally she could speak, Yolanda said: "I thought when you would not... talk to me or look at me all the way to Le Havre, that you had been ... disappointed when you ... kissed me." "Disappointed!" the Duke exclaimed. "It was the most perfect kiss I have ever known in my whole life!" He raised his head to look down at her and said: "The only thing that puzzled me was that I could not help feeling, even though I knew it was absurd, that you had never been kissed before." "No-one has ever... kissed me except... you," Yolanda whispered. "Oh, my precious, why did I not trust my instinct rather than my mind? I could have saved myself so much misery when I thought I must let you go out of my life and never see you again." "Would you ... really have... done that?" "I was trying to do so," the Duke answered, 'Be- cause I thought it was the right thing to do, and I did not wish to spoil anything so perfect as my heart :old me you were." "You say... such wonderful... things to me." Yolanda's eyes were very wide, and looking down into them the Duke thought he had never seen anyone look more beautiful and more radiant. He knew it was love which made her dark blue eyes pools of tender mystery, and it was love which made her lips look red and kissed and brought a flush to her cheeks. "How can I have been so lucky as to find you?" he asked. "I had come to believe that all women were the same—out for what they could get—caring for nothing but their own pleasure." "Is that why you... looked so ... bored and cynical?"

"It was part of the reason," he said. "But that is quite immaterial now, my darling. I have found you when I thought it was impossible for you even to exist, and now I promise I will never lose you." He kissed the softness of both her cheeks before he asked: "How soon will you marry me?" "M-marry... you?" "I want you as I have never wanted anything before in my whole life." Yolanda could only look at him as if she were dazzled by a light which almost blinded her by its brilliance, and the Duke went on: "I knew the first moment I saw you that you were different from any other woman I had ever seen." "How...?" Yolanda asked. "It is hard to put into words. But there was an aura of purity which seemed," the Duke replied- "to vibrate from you." "You really ... felt that... about me?" "When we drove together that night," the Duke replied, '1 knew more clearly what the difference was." "What... was ... it?" "You were mine—the woman I have sought all my life in my dreams." "I cannot believe... it." "I will make you believe it, my lovely one." "You are so ... magnificent... so important," Yolanda murmured. "You ought to m-marry someone like... yourself." The Duke smiled and it was very different from the usual mocking twist of his lips. "I am very impressed with the daughter of the fifth Baronet, but much more impressed by her large eyes, her little straight nose, and her lips, which were actually made for my kisses." His mouth came down on hers as he spoke, and he kissed her until she felt

that once again she was no longer herself but part of him. "I love you!" he said. "And when we reach England, I have so much to show you, so much to give you, my darling. But the first thing I am going to do is to take something from you." Yolanda looked at him questioningly; then with his arms still round her, he took her hand and drew the wedding-ring from the third finger. "I cannot begin to tell you how that ring has haunted my nights and I have been unable to sleep for thinking about you," he said. "I kept asking myself why, when Fate had brought you into my life, your wedding-ring should stand like a flaming sword between us, and I could find no answer." He slipped the ring into his waistcoat pocket before he kissed her fingers one by one. "You shall wear no rings except for the ones I give you," he said, "and, my beautiful brave darling, I will give you all the jewels in the world, though not one of them will be good enough for you." He kissed the palm of her hand before he added: "I think sapphires would be right for someone who has eyes like the evening sky, and diamonds, which glitter like the stars I saw in them when we drove together through Paris." "You... said such... marvellous things to me then," Yolanda said, "and I cannot... believe it, when you say even more wonderful ones... that you are really an Englishman." "I am a man in love," the Duke said, "and my feelings for you make it impossible to express m self except with the beauty that only you can understand." "I love youl I... love you!" Yolanda cried. "I want you to say it a million times so that I will be sure of it," the Duke said. "I did not... know that love could be so ... perfect and so much a part of God. When you first kissed me, I thought you had... taken me to ... Heaven, and I

wanted... to die." "I will not let you die," the Duke said fiercely. "You will live and love me because without you I shall be as unhappy and disillusioned as I was before we met" "Promise that you will... never be ... disillusioned with me," Yolanda pleaded. "I shall never be that. Of that you may be sure, my precious one," the Duke promised. "Because we belong to each other and neither of us can be complete without the other." Yolanda gave a little sigh of sheer happiness. It was what she felt herself, what she had known she felt ever since that first night when he had taken her hand as they drove through the streets of Paris Looking back, it all seemed now such a marvellous, exciting adventure, something that perhaps one day they would tell their grandchildren. But now all that mattered was that she was safe in the Duke's arms, and there was no more fear, no more uncertainty and insecurity. She felt his mouth seeking hers and surrendered herself utterly to the magic and enchantment of his lips. She was home—and home was love—and him.

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