"Why me? Your father called me ‘Jane Eyre', and he wasn't far wrong. And you-you could have anyone.

So… why?"

"Do you want to know why?" His hands turned me round to face the mirror again, holding me back against him. I could feel his heart hammering against my shoulder-blade. His eyes met mine in the glass. "You don't have to be humble, ma belle. That's why."

An odd sensation took me, part triumphant and part forlorn. I said nothing. The cherubs peered at us blind-eyed. Behind us the rose and gold and crystal of the lovely room glowed like the Bower of Bliss. Raoul was watching my face.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could speak there came a slight sound from the other room. He turned his head sharply, and for a moment his hands tightened on my shoulders. Then he let me go and turned, saying coolly; "Ah, Héloïse. I was looking for you. I believe you wanted me."

I jumped and spun round. I felt the quick heat wash and ebb in my cheeks, leaving me cold and pale. We had been standing in full view of anyone entering the sitting-room. Héloïse de Valmy was there now, just inside the door, with Albertine beside her. She was speaking over her shoulder to someone- presumably one of the guests-behind her in the corridor, beyond my range of vision.

A woman's voice returned a soft reply and I heard skirts rustle away. It was impossible to tell if Madame de Valmy had seen Raoul holding me, but I knew Albertine had. Avoiding her dark malicious eyes I came quickly out of the bedroom with Raoul behind me.

I said, stammering: "Madame… I was using your glass to -to try my frock. You said I might…

It was still impossible to tell whether she had seen. Her light- grey eyes looked me up and down without expression. As usual, they were unsmiling, but I could detect no hint of displeasure in her face.

She said, in her cold composed voice: "Of course. Is that the dress you have made, Miss Martin? It's very pretty. You must be an accomplished needlewoman. Perhaps one day you might do some work for me?"

So she had seen. I felt Raoul, beside me, make a little movement. The burning colour washed back into my face. I said quickly: "It would be a pleasure, madame. Goodnight, madame. Goodnight, monsieur."

I didn't look at him. I slipped past Héloïse de Valmy into the welcome dimness of the corridor, and ran back to my room.

The next day passed in a whirl. I spent all my time with Philippe, who, alone of all the people in the house, seemed untouched by the general excitement, and was, indeed, indulging in a bout of the sulks at being left out of the Easter revels.

Luckily I didn't have to face Madame de Valmy. Just after lunch Albertine-was there a spark of malice in the smooth voice and face as she said it?-brought me a message which asked if we could please direct our afternoon's walk to the village to make some small purchases, as none of the servants (had she or had she not hesitated on the phrase "other servants"?) could be spared?

I agreed politely, and chided myself, as I took a reluctant, foot-trailing Philippe down to Soubirous, for being over-sensitive, Madame de Valmy would surely not put me so brutally in my place a second time, and as for Albertine, a servant's malice couldn't affect me.

But I began to wonder, a few minutes later, if this last was true. As I paused in the sunshine outside Monsieur Garcin's shop to fish in my bag for Albertine's note, the bead curtains over the chemist's doorway rattled aside, and Albertine herself came out. Albertine, who "could not be spared" today; for whom I was playing errand-boy. She must have set out for Soubirous almost immediately after briefing me.

I stared at her in amazement. She showed no sign of confusion, but slipped by me with one of her dark sidelong looks and small- lipped Mona Lisa smiles. She went into the confiserie just beyond the café.

When I pushed through the swinging beads myself into the spicy dimness of the shop, I was tense and nervous and very ready to discover in Monsieur Garcin's voice and attitude that same sidelong malice that I had now certainly seen in Albertine.

I told myself firmly that this was only fancy. But as I emerged from the pharmacy I came face to face with Madame Rocher, the curé's housekeeper, and this time there was no doubt about the chilliness of the greeting. If the good Madame could have passed by on the other side she would undoubtedly have done so. As it was she simply stared, nodded once, and gave me bonjour in a tone nicely calculated (as from virtuous matron to viper-in- the-bosom) to keep me in my place, while at the same time allowing just the faintest loophole for a possibly legitimate future. Philippe she greeted, quite simply, with pity.

And later, when I bought some chocolate in the confiserie I thought Madame Decorzent's fat smile was a little stiff today and her prune-black eyes were curious, almost avid, as she said glancing from Philippe to me: "And when are you leaving us mademoiselle?”

I said coolly, through the sudden hammering of my heart: "We don't go to Thonon for a good while yet, madame. Monsieur Hippolyte doesn't get back for three more months, you know."

And I almost swept Philippe out through the tinkling curtain of beads into the hot sunlight. Albertine had done her work all right. The news, with its attendant rumours, was all over Soubirous.

I ran the gauntlet of sundry other stares and whispers before I reached the bridge and faced-with poor Philippe maddeningly a-whine beside me-the long trudge up through the water-meadows.

I hadn't realised before what hard going it must have been for Cinderella.

After tea I went to look for Mrs. Seddon, to talk to her about whatever rumours were being put about below stairs, only to be told that the fuss and overwork occasioned by the ball had brought on "one of her attacks", and that she had gone to bed, unfit to speak to anyone. So I stayed with Philippe, my mind hovering miserably between remembered (and surely disastrous?) ecstasy, and my apparently imminent dismissal from Valmy. I am glad to remember that some of my worry was on behalf of Philippe…

By the time Berthe came up that evening to serve Philippe's supper, I was in a fairly lamentable state of nerves, and more than half inclined to shirk facing my host and hostess downstairs. Then Philippe chose to throw a tantrum, and refused with tears to go to bed at all unless I would come up later "in the middle of the night" and take him to peep at the dancing from the gallery. I promised, and, satisfied, he disappeared quietly enough with Berthe.

I shut the door on them, and went to run my bath.

Dressing for my first dance… and Raoul somewhere among the throng of dancers… I should have been happy, eager, excited. But my fingers shook as I opened a fresh tablet of scented soap, and later on when I was sitting in my petticoat brushing my hair, and a knock sounded on the door, I turned to face it as if it were a firing-squad.

"I'll go," said Berthe, who had disposed of Philippe and was helping me. She opened the door a little way, had a short muffled colloquy with whoever was outside, then shut the door and came back into the room holding a box.

I was still sitting at the dressing-table, hair-brush suspended. Berthe came over to me. She looked a little flushed as she handed me the box, and she avoided my eye.

"This is for you." Her tone-like her whole bearing that evening-was subdued and a little formal.

For a moment I thought of asking her what was being whispered, then I held my tongue. I didn't want to meet him- and Monsieur and Madame-fresh from Albertine's brand of backstairs gossip. The woman's glance had been smirch enough.