'You are sure Madame will have no objection?' said his companion, a corpulent gentleman who wheezed slightly from the exertion of mounting the stairs.

'My dear Julian, she will be enchanted to have you at her soiree.'

'And shall we find Monsieur Brire at home?' asked the corpulent gentleman as they reached the top of the stairs.

The duc chuckled and shook his head.

'Our host dislikes such evenings as these and invariably absents himself. Madame has no shortage of attendants willing to take his place at table or in bed, when necessary.'

He bowed to a diminutive lady who now appeared through the crowd. She was dressed in cream figured silk, powdered curls piled high upon her head and at the corner of her mouth she wore a scarlet patch that gave her countenance a charmingly roguish look as she smiled her welcome.

'Monsieur le Duc why are you always so late!' she chided him gently, as he bowed over her hands. 'I had quite given up hope. It is too bad of you.'

Monsieur le Duc spread his hands in a helpless gesture.

'Alas, Madame, I have no defence and must crave your pardon. However, I have hopes of regaining your favour by bringing my good friend Julian Poyntz along with me: I believe you are old friends.'

For the first time Madame's dark eyes moved to the duc's companion and they widened slightly as she took in the heavily laced coat of salmon pink satin over an embroidered waistcoat that was cut generously to cover the gentleman's ample proportions. She gave a little trill of laughter.

'Truly, m'sieur, I would not have known you.' She smiled disarmingly, holding out her hands to him.

'I, on the other hand, could never forget you, Madame.' The Englishman gallantly kissed her fingers.

The lady made no reply but allowed her eyes to dwell expressively upon the rounded form before her.

'I have grown a little stouter since we last met, eh?' chuckled Poyntz.

Madame Brire laughed up at him and tucked her tiny hand into his arm.

'That is a certainty, m'sieur! Henri, you may go away and amuse yourself for a while,' she commanded imperiously. 'It should not be difficult, for you are acquainted with everyone present, I think, and I wish to have M'sieur Poyntz to myself!'

The duc shrugged his shoulders.

'If that is your wish, Madame, of course I will go. But I am mortified that you should prefer such a stout English gentleman to myself!'

'Careful, Henri, or I shall be forced to call you out!' laughed Poyntz, wagging a fat finger at his friend.

'Observe, you have terrified me, m'sieur I go at once.'

With another graceful bow, the Duc sauntered away, leaving Madame Brire to lead her guest across the crowded room.

'Come, Julian, we will sit and talk. There is a quiet corner where we can find a little privacy. Do you object if I call you Julian? It used to please you.'

'It does that still, Madame.'

She pouted. 'Ah, but you do not call me Therese! Have you been away from Paris for so long that you have forgotten we were once lovers?'

His faintly protuberant blue eyes grew misty.

'How could I forget anything so delightful?' he murmured. 'But after so many years I hesitate to remind you of the fact, lest I offend.'

They had reached a secluded alcove set between stone pillars and part-shielded from the main chamber by heavy drapes. Madame Brire settled herself upon a sofa, carefully arranging the folds of her dress to make room for her escort. She patted the seat beside her.

'And what brings you to Paris, Julian? Are you perhaps on your way to Rome to visit your Stuart king?'

'I am on my way back from here,' replied the gentleman, sitting beside her, 'I have also been to Avignon to see the prince.'

'Ah, such a charming man.' Madame sighed. 'But so much changed! I saw him shortly before he was obliged to leave Paris. So many years of disappointment. They are taking their toll of him. But tell me, is there another plan to restore the Stuarts to the English throne?'

'There is always another plan,' came the weary reply.

'And it is still milord Thurleigh who makes these plans for you to obey?' Her sharp eyes observed his sudden wary look and she smiled. 'Oh Julian, you must not be alarmed, there is no-one to overhear us.'

'What do you know of Thurleigh's plans?' he asked her cautiously, but the lady only laughed.

'Why Julian, nothing more than the gossip that surrounds every Englishman who comes to France these days. But you need not be concerned - I do not think anyone here really cares about your little intrigues.' She paused, her smile slightly teasing. 'Except ... there is perhaps one who would be interested, a young English milord who is exceedingly handsome...'

Poyntz gave a nervous laugh. 'Then pray do not tell him anything about me, Therese, for it is all nonsense, you know!'

'Have no fear, mon cher,' she told him, patting his hand. 'I chatter, but I do not give away my secrets. Now, I have had you to myself long enough, and if I do not let you go, we shall find ourselves the target for mischievous tongues' she tapped her fan playfully against his bulging waistcoat, her eyes twinkling wickedly 'I do have my reputation to consider. But you need not be too unhappy. I know of at least one lady here tonight who truly admires men of your stature. She really is very agreeable, m'sieur.'

Poyntz chuckled as he struggled to his feet. 'Thank you, ma'am, but I shall survive, I believe, without your kind offices! I see du Bellay over there and as he has been kind enough to house me during my sojourn here in Paris, I must not neglect him. In any event, should I require an introduction, I am sure he can serve me admirably.'

With a parting bow Mr Poyntz walked away, leaving his hostess smiling after him for a moment, tapping her fan thoughtfully against her fingers, until the demands of her guests once more occupied her attention. She moved between the little groups, a word here, a smile there, but she would not be detained. Madame had spotted her quarry, a tall gentleman, standing apart from the main company, and she made her way purposefully towards him.

'Ah, Viscount Davenham,' she gave him her enchanting smile, 'you do not mix, sir. Does the company not please you?'

The gentleman's blue eyes rested upon her, but Madame could not read the thoughts behind his steady gaze. She was aware of a faint tingle of excitement within her: this tall Englishman with his plain dark coat and no jewellery, she was reminded of a blackbird in a flowerbed, yet his very austerity attracted her.

'Your pardon, Madame. My mind was taken up with business. Indeed, I have no fault to find with the company, only with myself for being such a poor guest.'

'No, no my lord, you are not that,' she returned, keeping her dark eyes fixed upon his face, 'I am sorry we do not dance tonight, for you clearly need some diversion.' She smiled invitingly up at him and stepped closer, until the scarlet petals of the roses in her corsage brushed his sleeve. 'Perhaps, my lord, our little poetry reading after supper will help you to forget your business. We have the finest wits in Paris here tonight.'

His smile was perfunctory.

'I shall look forward to hearing them, Madame.'

His hostess sighed visibly, making great play with her fan.

'I am most disappointed in you, m'sieur. I do not believe you wish to be entertained!' Her pouting accusation drew a boyish grin from the viscount.

'I fear that on this occasion our ideas of entertainment do not coincide. A thousand apologies, Madame.'

'Oh I cannot be angry with you! But can I do nothing to increase your enjoyment of this evening? Is there no-one to whom I might introduce you?'

The viscount was about to make his denial when his attention was suddenly arrested by a movement by the door, a late arrival. His eyes widened fractionally.

'You may tell me, an you will, who is the lady just come in. The one dressed en grisaille.'

Madame looked across the room. 'Oh, that is Madame de Sange.'

'From her dress one would suppose her to be a widow.'

'That is correct, my lord. Philibert de Sange has been dead all of fourteen months, yet still she wears her widow's weeds. She never wears anything but grey.'

'Doubtless she was greatly attached to her husband.'

His hostess laughed. 'That is difficult to believe, my lord. He was very old, and word has it that he treated her abominably, although the lady herself never speaks of it.' She observed his interested gaze. 'Pray do not allow yourself false hopes, my lord. No one has yet succeeded in breaching that citadel. In Paris she is known as the Lady of Stone.'

'Indeed?'

'You can well imagine that when de Sange produced such a young and beautiful wife there was no shortage of admirers, all ready to pay court, but is seems the lady is as virtuous as she is lovely. There has never been a breath of scandal attached to her name. Even now she holds herself aloof but I can see it is no use. You are enchanted! Very well, I shall introduce you.' She led him across the room. 'Madame de Sange, I have with me one who is anxious to be known to you.'

'Your servant, Madame,' the viscount bowed over the gloved hand, his lips barely brushing the fingers before letting them go.

Madame Brire watched with no little amusement as the two exchanged civilities, the viscount's attempts to open a conversation bringing little response from the lady. However, when their hostess had moved away he tried a different approach.

'Perhaps, Madame, my mastery of the French tongue is incomplete?'

'On the contrary, sir, it is perfect, as I am sure you are aware,' she replied coolly. 'If you prefer it, we can talk in English.'

'Your tone is not encouraging, Madame de Sange.'

'That is very observant, my lord.'

He regarded her with some amusement. 'It is easy to see why they call you the Lady of Stone. With your powdered hair, that widow's garb and such a cold, unfriendly manner, I am forcibly reminded of a block of granite.'

The lady's green eyes widened a fraction. 'And do you regularly talk to blocks of granite, my lord?' she asked him.

'Not regularly, ma'am, but I feel I am becoming more practised at it now.' He observed a small dimple appear at the corner of her mouth. 'Come that is much better. Even widows are allowed to smile, you know.'

'Your conversation argues a most unstable mind sir,' she told him, her lips curving into a reluctant smile. 'Now, if you will excuse me-'

'No, please don't run away!' he put out his hand to detain her, and was rewarded with an icy stare.

'I run away from no one, sir!'

'Then prove it to me, Madame. Allow me the pleasure of your company for but a few moments longer. Who knows but that you might melt a little, given time.'

'One does not melt granite, my lord.' She countered, eyeing him warily.

'No, you are quite right. One chips away at it, little by little.'

'That would take a very long time.'

He smiled. 'I am in no hurry.'

At this point Elinor de Sange sensed danger. She had thought herself immune to any man's charms, but as the viscount smiled down at her she was shaken to discover that she wanted to respond, to know more of this tall Englishman who could make her laugh so readily. To cover her agitation, she turned to the mirror behind her and gave her attention to straightening the long strands of pearls that were roped about her throat.

'They are going down to supper,' remarked Lord Davenham, glancing about him. 'Perhaps, Madame, you would do me the honour...' His speech trailed away as he caught sight of her reflection, for the Lady of Stone now bore every appearance of petrifaction. She was still standing before the mirror, but her face beneath its light powdering was quite as grey as her gown. She was staring fixedly into the glass and following her gaze the viscount realized that she was watching the Duc du Bellay and his pink-coated companion as they approached. Slowly, like one in a dream, the widow turned to meet them.

The Duc du Bellay beamed at the lady as he came up to her.

'Your servant, Madame, and Lord Davenham, my dear sir, how goes it with you?' He waved a hand toward his companion. 'Madame, Monsieur Poyntz was very desirous to be presented. I hope you do not object to our interrupting you?'

'Not at all,' she replied mechanically, her fingers gripped tight about her ivory fan.

'It was my hope that I might have the pleasure of taking you to supper,' began Mr Poyntz, 'but I think Lord Davenham has the advantage of me.'

The viscount glanced again at the lady, but she appeared to be having difficulty with her speech, so he gently drew her hand on to his arm, saying: 'You have the right of it, sir. Your luck is quite out tonight. Now, gentlemen, if you will excuse us?'

He led Madame de Sange away, although she seemed unaware of his presence, and it was not until they entered the supper-room that she came out of her trance-like state, for my lord then felt her tremble.

'Are you ill, Madame? Shall I send for our hostess to attend you?'

'No, no. I am quite well, sir. I assure you.'

The viscount led the way to a vacant table.

'You seemed distressed at the sight of the duc and his friend,' he observed casually.

The green eyes flew to his face. 'What? Oh no. I I was feeling a little faint when the two gentlemen came up...' She gave a flutter of laughter. 'A silly thing, but I am quite recovered now. The salon has so little air.'

Lord Davenham looked unconvinced, but he did not pursue the matter. He noted silently the lady's lack of appetite, and although she responded to his remarks, she seemed pre-occupied, and it did not surprise him that she excused herself as soon as they had finished supper. She would go home, she told him. A little rest was all that was needed to set everything to rights. When my lord suggested that he should call upon her the following day, to assure himself of her well-being, the lady would have none of it.

'There is no need for you to trouble yourself, my lord. I shall be quite recovered by the morning and I have no doubt there are any number of things for you to attend to before your return to England.'

'Nothing that cannot be postponed, ma'am.'

'No sir. I will not hear of it.' She met his gaze squarely as she added meaningfully, 'I thank you for your concern, Lord Davenham, but truly there is nothing to be gained by such attention. You would be wasting what little time you have left in France.'

With a faint shrug Davenham bowed.

'As you wish, Madame.'

The viscount returned alone to the salon. Spotting the salmon pink coat across the room, he made his way directly to the wearer.

'Ah Davenham!' Julian Poyntz greeted him cordially. 'What have you done with the lovely widow?'

'She has left by now, I daresay. She was feeling unwell.'

'Pity, I was hoping to try my luck there not that I'd much chance against a handsome young dog like yourself, eh?' He gave a fat chuckle. 'Quite a fetching lady, though, don't you agree? A piece of perfection.'

The viscount assented, and took out his snuffbox.

'What brings you to Paris?' He offered the box to Mr Poyntz, who shook his head at it.

'Oh, a mere whim, sir,' came the casual reply. 'I wanted to look up old friends. Very much like yourself, I've no doubt.'