Joseph took out my bags, set them by this door and shouted: “Jeanne.”

A maid appeared and I noticed the startled look in her eyes when she saw me. Joseph told her that I was Mademoiselle Lawson, I was to be taken to the library and my arrival was to be made known. The bags would be taken to my room later.

I was so excited at the prospect of entering the castle that I felt quite reckless. I followed Jeanne through the heavy studded door into a great hall on the stone walls of which hung magnificent tapestries and weapons. I quickly noticed one or two pieces of furniture in the regence style one of these a magnificent table of carved gilt wood, with the delicate lattice work which became so popular in France during the early eighteenth century. The tapestries, which were exquisite and of the same period as the furniture, were in the Beauvais style with Boucher-like figures. It was wonderful; and my desire to pause and examine almost overcame my fear, but already we had turned off the hall and were mounting a flight of stone steps.

Jeanne held aside a heavy curtain and I was stepping on a thick carpet in great contrast to the stone steps. I stood in a short dark corridor at the end of which was a door. When this was thrown open the library was disclosed.

“If Mademoiselle will wait…”

I inclined my head. The door was shut and I was alone.

The room was lofty, the ceiling beautifully painted. There would be great treasure in this place, I knew; and I could not bear to be sent away. The walls were lined with leather-bound books and there were several stuffed heads of animals which seemed to guard them ferociously.

The Comte is a mighty hunter, I thought, and imagined him relentlessly pursuing his prey.

A clock with a carved cupid poised above its face stood on the mantelpiece and on either side of it were two delicately coloured Sevres vases. The chairs were upholstered in tapestry and their framework was decorated with flowers and scrolls.

But impressed as I was by these treasures, I was too apprehensive to give them my full attention. I was thinking of my coming interview with the formidable Comte and rehearsing what I would say to him.

There must be no loss of dignity on my part. I must remain calm, yet I must not appear too eager. I must disguise the fact that I longed to be allowed to work here, that I might succeed and so move on to win further commissions. I believed that my future hung on the next few minutes. And how right I was.

I heard Joseph’s voice.

“In the library, monsieur….”

Footsteps. Any moment now I should face him. I went to the fireplace.

Logs were laid there but there was no fire; I looked at the painting above the Louis XV clock, not seeing it; my heart was beating fast and I was gripping my hands in an effort to stop them trembling, when the door opened. I pretended not to be aware of it so that I might gain a few seconds’ respite in which to compose myself.

There was a brief silence, then a cool voice said: “This is most extraordinary.”

He was about an inch taller than I, but I was tall. The dark eyes were at the moment puzzled, but they looked as though they could be warm; the long aquiline nose suggested arrogance; but the full lips were not unkind. He was dressed in riding clothes which were very elegant a trifle too elegant. His cravat was ornate and there was a gold ring on the little finger of each hand. He was fastidious in the extreme and not as formidable as I had imagined him. This should have pleased me, but I felt faintly disappointed. Yet this man was more likely to be sympathetic towards me than the Comte of my imagination.

“Good day,” I said.

He took a few steps forward. He was younger than I had thought he would be, for he could not have been more than a year or so older than I . perhaps my own age.

“No doubt,” he said, ‘you will be good enough to explain. “

“Certainly. I have come to work on the paintings which are in need of attention.”

“We understood that Monsieur Lawson was to arrive today.”

“That would have been quite impossible.”

“You mean he will come later?”

“He died some months ago. I am his daughter, and am continuing with his commitments.”

He looked rather alarmed.

“Mademoiselle Lawson, these paintings are very valuable …”

“It would scarcely be necessary to restore them if they were not.”

“We could only allow an expert to handle them,” he said.

“J am an expert. My father was recommended to you. I worked with him.

In fact the restoration of buildings was his forte . pictures were mine. “

This is the end, I thought. He is annoyed to have been placed in a distasteful situation. He will never let me stay. I made a desperate effort.

“You had heard of my father. Then that means you had heard of me. We worked together.”

“You did not explain …”

“I believed the matter was urgent. I thought it wiser to obey the summons without delay. If my father had accepted the commission I should have come with him. We always worked together.”

“Pray be seated,” he said.

I sat down in a chair with a carved wooden back which forced me to sit straight while he threw himself on to a settee, his legs stretched out before him.

“Did you think. Mademoiselle Lawson,” he said slowly, ‘that had you explained that your father was dead we should have declined your services? “

“I believed that your object was to have the pictures restored and was under the impression that it was the work which was important, not the sex of the restorer.” Again that arrogance, which was really the outward sign of my anxiety! I was certain that he was going to tell me to go. But I had to fight for a chance, because I knew that if only I could get it I could show them what I could do.

His brow was wrinkled as though he were trying to come to a decision; he was watching me covertly. He gave a little laugh which was quite mirthless and said: “It seems strange that you did not write and tell us.”

I rose to my feet. Dignity demanded it.

He stood up. I had rarely felt as wretchedly miserable as I did when I haughtily walked to the door.

“One moment, mademoiselle.”

He had spoken first. It seemed a small victory.

I looked over my shoulder without turning.

“Only one train leaves our station each day. This is at nine o’clock in the morning. It would be necessary for you to drive some ten kilometres to catch a mainline train for Paris.”

“Oh!” I allowed dismay to show on my face.

“You see,” he went on, ‘you have placed yourself in a very awkward situation. “

“I did not think that my credentials would be slighted without scrutiny. I have never worked before in France and was quite unprepared for such a reception.”

It was a good thrust. He rose to it.

“Mademoiselle, I assure you, you will be treated as courteously in France as you would be anywhere else.”

I raised my shoulders.

“I suppose there is an inn a hotel where I could stay the night?”

“We could not allow that. We can offer you hospitality.”

“It is good of you,” I said coldly, ‘but in the circumstances . “

“You spoke of credentials.”

“I have recommendations from people who were very i9

pleased with my work in England. I have worked in some of our great houses and have been entrusted with masterpieces. But you are not interested. “

“That is not true, mademoiselle. I am interested. Any thing connected with the chateau is of the utmost concern to me.” His face had changed as he spoke. It was illumined by a great passion his love for this old house. I warmed towards him. I should have felt as he did if such a place were my home. He went on hurriedly: “You must admit that I am justified in my surprise. I expected a man of experience and am confronted by a young lady …”

“I am no longer young, I assure you.”

He made no effort to refute this, still seeming preoccupied with his own thoughts his emotions where the chateau was concerned, his indecision as to whether to allow me, whose skill he doubted, near his wonderful paintings.

“Perhaps you would show me your credentials.”

I walked back to the table and from an inner pocket of my cloak took a bundle of letters and handed them to him. He signed for me to be seated. Then he too sat and began to read the letters. I folded my hands in my lap and clasped them firmly. A moment before, I thought I had lost; now I was not so sure.

I watched him while pretending to study the room. He was trying to make up his mind what he should do. This surprised me. I had imagined the Comte to be a man who was rarely in doubt, who made quick decisions, having no difficulty as to the wisdom of them since he would believe himself always to be right.

“They are very impressive,” he said as he handed them back to me. He looked full at me for some seconds, then went on rather hesitantly: “I expect you would like to see the pictures.”

“There seems little point if I am not to work on them.”

“Perhaps you will. Mademoiselle Lawson.”

“You mean …”

“I mean that I think you should stay here at least for a night. You have had a long journey. You are tired, I am sure. And as you are such an expert’ he glanced at the letters in my hand ‘and have been so highly congratulated by such eminent people, I am sure you would at least wish to see the pictures. We have some excellent examples of painting in the chateau. I do assure you that it is a collection worthy of your attention.”

“I am sure it is. But I think I should be getting to my hotel.”