For a moment he thought that she must be a figment of his own imagination. The light from the chandelier illuminated her very clearly and never, he thought, had he seen her look more lovely. Her dress was white and somehow it made her seem younger and more appealing, and yet it may have been the expression on her face, her eyes very wide and dark against the pale gold of her shining hair.
As he stared, unable for a moment to move or speak, Mistral with a swift movement slipped down on her knees beside him, her little hands clasped together on the arms of his chair.
‘I have come to say something to you,’ she said and her voice was very low and sweet. ‘You asked me to swear to you on my knees, by all that I held holy, that I did not know that my aunt was Madame Bleuet. I did know that she
