We were forced into a wagonette which was drawn by a mangy-looking horse.

And thus we drove through the mob into the town.

There followed the strangest night I have ever spent. We were driven to the mairie and there hustled out of the cart and taken to a small room on the first floor which looked down on the street.

We were fortunate in as much as these people were unaware of their power at this time. The revolution which had been rumbling for so long had only just broken out and among those men who carried us to the mairie were some who, a short time before, had been known as respectable citizens of the town … shopkeepers and the like. They were unsure of what reprisals might be taken. They knew that there were risings all over Paris but they must have wondered what would happen to them if the risings were suppressed and the aristocrats were in power again.

The mob would have taken us to the lamp-post and hanged us right away, but there were several who advised a certain restraint. The Mayor himself was uncertain. For centuries the Aubigné family had been the power in the neighbourhood. It was early days and they could not be sure that that power was broken; they were not yet accustomed to the new order. And the more sober men of the town were very much afraid of retaliation.

The mob had surrounded the mairie and were demanding that we be brought out. They wanted to see our bodies swinging on the lanternes.

I wondered what was happening back at the château.

Were they safe there? Armand and his friend were not recognizable; poor Sophie’s face had probably saved her. This was a revolt against those who had what the mob wanted. Nobody wanted what those sickly men or poor scarred Sophie had. There was nothing to envy in them. It was different with Lisette and me. They did not believe Lisette. She had miscalculated badly, and if she had not been so anxious to prove herself an aristocrat she would have realized what a very dangerous position she was placing herself in.

There were no chairs in the room, so we lay on the floor.

‘I wish that scum would stop shouting,’ said Lisette.

‘You have been so stupid,’ I told her. ‘There was no need for it. You could be back at the château now.’

‘I am who I am and will bear the consequences for that.’

‘Poor Lisette, why do you care so much?’

‘Of course I cared. I was one of you. The fact that I wasn’t recognized doesn’t change that. Léon will save me, you see, and there will be those who will have to answer for the way they have treated me.’

I did not reply. There was nothing to say. Lisette cared more for her birth than she did for her life since she was ready to risk it to convince herself that she was of noble birth.

I saw clearly then how it had obsessed her, how she had believed it—perhaps forced herself to believe it—all those years. She had let the resentment build up to such an extent that it was beyond everything else. She could not face the fact now that she must know it was not to be true. She had to go on believing … even if it cost her her life.

The noise outside seemed to have abated a little. I stood up and looked out. I turned away quickly. They were still there, waiting for us to be brought out.

‘Lisette,’ I said, ‘tell them the truth. They may believe you. It is madness to go on proclaiming that you are an aristocrat and are proud of it. You are saying you are their enemy. They hate us. Don’t you see? They hate us because we have what they have always wanted. Don’t you understand that?’

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I see it, but it doesn’t alter anything.’

‘I shall never forget the way they looked at Sophie and Armand. True aristocrats … legitimately born aristocrats … not like us, Lisette … the bastards. But they took both of us. Why? Because we are young and healthy, because they envy us. The foundation of this revolution is built on envy. Is its purpose, do you think, to make France a better, happier country? No. It is not that at all. I saw it clearly tonight. It is an attempt by people who have not, to take from those who have those luxuries which they want for themselves. When they have them they will be as selfish and careless of others as the rich have been in the past. It is not a better country that these people are destroying for. It is to turn it round so that those who did not have, now have, and those who had, now have not.’

Lisette was silent and I went on: ‘Is that not so with you, Lisette? You are a true daughter of the revolution. You were envious. Admit it. You have let envy colour your whole life. You have built up a picture that was based on falsehood from the beginning. I can see how it came about. It was a natural inference. Then you were Charles’s mistress and that was gratifying because he was going to marry Sophie. Did you deliberately leave the flower in his apartment so that she could suspect me? You always liked to create a drama, didn’t you? You must have been very pleased to have been his mistress while he was engaged to Sophie. But when there was a child … ’

Lisette burst out: ‘He should have married me. I thought he would. I thought he would make the Comte admit that I was his daughter. Why shouldn’t he have done so? You married Charles.’

‘I was the Comte’s daughter, Lisette.’

‘I was too. I was … I was … ’

I sighed. It was no use talking to her. She would not let go of her obsession, although she knew in her heart that what I and Tante Berthe had told her was true. She must go on believing; and I could see that belief had been her lifeline. She clung to it. She was not going to let it go. Even in the face of the bloodthirsty mob she stood up and said: ‘I am an aristocrat.’

Oh, what a foolish woman she was!

But was I any wiser? I had prevaricated. I had been afraid. I had yearned for Dickon—how far away dear Eversleigh seemed now!—and I had refused to go to him. I had allowed my fears and my suspicions to grow. I had always known that there was none of the saint about Dickon. Far from it. But it was the Dickon he was whom I had wanted; and something perverse within me had refused to let me go to him, to take him for what he was … which is what one must always do with others. One cannot mould them; one loves for what a person is … faults and all, and that was how I had loved Dickon.

I tried to think of him now. Would he have returned to Eversleigh? What would he have said when he found that I had gone?

I thanked God that my father had died before this happened. I thanked God, too, that the children were in England, saved from this holocaust.

The noise had stopped. I went to the window and looked out. I saw him clearly riding through the crowd. Léon Blanchard! I wondered if he was coming to the mairie. Perhaps he would say what was to be done and order them to release Lisette.

‘Lisette,’ I cried. ‘Look! It is Léon Blanchard.’

She was beside me. ‘He has come for me,’ she cried. ‘Léon! Léon!’ she shouted; but he could not hear, nor did he look towards the windows of the mairie.

‘I must get down to him,’ she said. ‘I must.’

She ran to the door. It was locked. She came back to the window. She battered at it with her hands. I saw the blood on the plum-coloured velvet. She had broken through and stood on the balcony. I heard her agonized cry: ‘Léon! Léon! I am here, Léon. Save me from this rabble.’

I couldn’t see Léon Blanchard now. The crowd was staring up at the balcony. I saw Lisette leap and she was gone.

There was a hushed silence in the crowd. The mob seemed to stampede forward. There was deafening noise and screaming. The torches threw a grisly light on the scene. I saw a bloody hand come up and in its grasp was a diamond necklace.

I waited at the window.

I was there when they carried away a broken body.