The room had been redecorated and the windows framed by crisp muslin curtains and the furniture had been made and carved locally.
Yet it always seemed to Zita to contain the doll’s house, which had belonged to her and Sophie, the rocking horse on which Henrich had ridden for hours on end, his toy fort, which they were not allowed to touch and a number of dolls which he teased them by hiding or, when he was in a temper, breaking.
‘I suppose when we leave these rooms and live in Palaces of our own we will feel grown up,’ Zita thought with perception.
She wondered if Sophie would be happy in Valdastien with the ghosts of La Belle and other women like her peeping round every corner.
Then she thought it would not be Sophie who would see them – for probably she would never be aware of their
