There were rows of them. I found a peacock blue silk which I thought would tone in well with the sapphires. I asked if she would try it on so that I could see her in it.

She was only too ready to, and when she had done so I decided it was just right.

"That's settled then. Tomorrow morning. Is nine too early?"

"Nine-thirty," she said; and I knew that she would be there.

So began my acquaintance with the Princesse Marie Claude de Crespigny.

It flourished quickly. She apparently liked my attitude to her moods.

I neither complained nor was I subservient; I just maintained a cool indifference. I was there to paint a picture and I wanted to do it as well as I could. Over the first sitting we became quite friendly. She talked a great deal, which was what I wanted. There was something very appealing and feminine about her. I would bring that out in the portrait . a complement to the overpowering bully of a man who was to be her husband. I would make the miniatures a study in contrasts -the overwhelmingly masculine man and the decidedly feminine woman.

They would be an exquisite pair in their diamond and sapphire settings both in blue that lovely shade of blue. No wonder people called it heavenly.

I was enjoying this now. To sit in that room and paint and not to have to do it surreptitiously as I had at Centeville. Ah, Centeville, there could never be another experience such as that! I laughed to think of all the precautions we had taken when all the time the Baron knew.

"You're smiling, Mademoiselle Collison. I know why. You are thinking of' Bertrand de Mortemer."

"Bertrand de Mortemer," I murmured, flushing. She was delighted to see me momentarily embarrassed.

"Oh yes. I heard that he brought you here. And he said he would call on you. He is very good-looking. I suppose you like him a great deal."

"I like him."

"Shall you marry him, Mademoiselle Collison?"

I hesitated and she cried: "Oh, you will. That will be so nice too.

You'll become French. People do change their nationality when they marry, don't they? They take that of their husbands. Why shouldn't men take the nationality of their wives? "

"This is a weighty subject," I said.

"Women are reckoned not to be as good at anything as men. But that is changing. See, here am I ... an artist in my own right, though a woman."

"I heard at first that you just helped your father and that he was the great artist."

"The Baron changed that. He recognized fine art when he saw it-and rightly, he doesn't care who painted it."

"Tell me what you think about the Baron?" Her mood had changed. It was sullen almost. I did not want that expression to creep in.

"He is a very artistic man."

"I don't mean that." She looked at me steadily and then she said: "I don't want to marry him. I don't want to go to his castle. Sometimes I think I'd do anything .. just anything to stop it."

"Why do you feel thus about him? Do you know him well?"

"I have seen him three times. The first was at Court when I was presented to him. He didn't take much notice of me then. But my cousin the Comtesse said that he wanted to marry me. It was a good match and we were in difficulties over the estates. Money ... it is always money. People never worried about it so they say before the Revolution. Now most people have to ... people like us, that is. The Baron is rich. It would be a good thing if we got some money into the family. I am a princess and he likes that. My grandmother managed to escape the guillotine. She went to England for a while and had a baby there. That was my father. He was a prince, so when I was born I became a princess ... without fortune, of course, but our family was a very noble one. You see, the Baron boasts about being Norman, but that does not stop his wanting to marry into the royal blood. It's something to do with children. I shall have to have a lot of children. The Baron thinks it is time he married and produced them, and because I'm a princess, I am the one chosen to bear them."

"It's a familiar story," I said.

"This sort of thing has been happening to people for generations. Very often it turns out well.

Some of these marriages of convenience are very happy. "

"How would you like to marry the Baron?"

I was not in time to hide the look of revulsion which spread across my face.

"There. You have spoken ... although you have said no word. You have seen him, you have spent some time painting his picture, you know what he is like. I dream of him sometimes. I am lying in the middle of a big bed and he is coming towards me. Then he's there ... smothering me and I hate it... hate it..."

I said: "It would not be like that at all. Whatever his faults, the Baron would have good manners ... erin the bedchamber."

"What do you know about his manners in the bedchamber?"

I quickly admitted that I knew nothing.

"Then how can you talk of them? I am so frightened of this marriage.

Even if I got used to him, it would be terrible having all those children . all that discomfort and pain as well as the way of getting them. "

"My dear Princesse, I believe you have been listening to lurid gossip."

"I know how babies are conceived. I know how they are born. Perhaps it is all right with someone you love. But when you hate ... and you know he doesn't really like you ... and you have to go on doing that for years and years ..."

"This is an extraordinary conversation."

"I thought you wanted to get to know me."

"I do, and I understand how you feel. I wish there were something I could do to help you."

She was smiling at me, sweetly, pathetically, and I thought: If I could capture that smile it would be beautiful.

"You might," she was saying.

"Who knows? At least I can talk to you."

That was the nature of our conversation. It meant that our friendship was growing, and I thought she was beginning to like me.

She certainly came punctually to her sittings and wanted to go on talking after I had laid down my brushes.

I now had meals with the Princesse and the Comtesse. I had heard the Princesse telling the Comtesse that artists must be treated with respect. God made them and men made kings.

She was a serious girl. I think she had probably had a sad upbringing and as an orphan had been passed from one member of the family to another her great asset being her title.

After each sitting she would look at the portrait. I was pleased that she liked it.

"My nose looks inches shortci," she commented.

"If that were true it would not be there at all. On a tiny picture like that a fraction of an inch can decide whether your nose is hooked or retrousse."

How clever you are! You have made me look much prettier than I am.

"That is how I see you. You are prettier when you smile."

"That's why you want to make me smile all the time, is it?"

"I like a smile for the portrait, but I like it anyway, and if I were not painting your portrait I should still want to make you smile."

She did not say that she enjoyed the sittings, but it was obvious that she did. There were no more broken appointments and once she said: "Don't finish it too soon, will you, Mademoiselle Collison?"

She wanted to know what I was going to do when I finished here. I told her that first I should go home. I described Collison House to her and the neighbourhood as well. She listened avidly.

"But you will come back to France," she said.

"I have several commissions."

"And you will marry Bertrand de Mortemer."

"That's for the future."

"You are lucky. I wish I were going to marry Bertrand de Mortemer."

"You don't know him."

"I do. I've met him at several houses. He is handsome and charming .. and kind. I suppose you're in love with each other."

"That would seem a very good reason for marrying."

"Not a marriage of convenience for you."

"I have no grand titles and I don't think he has vast wealth."

"Lucky people!" She sighed and was sad again.

The next day she came to her sitting in a mood of excitement.

"I'll tell you right away. We are invited to a.Jete champetre. Do you know what that is?"

J.

"My knowledge of the French language makes it perfectly clear to me."

"What do you call it in English?"

"Oh ... an al fresco party ... a picnic."

"A picnic. I like that. Picnic." She repeated the word laughing.

"But a. fete champetre sounds far more beautiful."

"It does indeed. But tell me about this party to which you and the Comtesse are invited."

"It is at the house and gardens of the family L'Estrange. Evette L'Estrange invites us. The house near St. Cloud is very charming. The fete is an annual event with them. We have ... what is it ... a picnic? ... in the gardens and fields. And there is the river and little boats and swans. It is very charming. Evette L'Estrange engages the best musicians to play for us."

"You will enjoy it."

"And so will you."

"I?"

"When I said we, I did not mean the Comtesse. I meant you and me. They are anxious to meet the famous artist. They have heard of your fame."

"I don't believe it."

"Do you tell me I lie, Mademoiselle? Let me tell you that the Baron is so pleased with the picture you did of him that he is telling everyone about it. It seems as though a great many people want to meet you."

I was overwhelmed. I did not know whether I was pleased or not. I did not want too much to be expected of me until I had proved myself. I had had my success with the Baron's picture, but first I wanted to make sure that I could repeat it. I wanted to build up gradually. At the same time all this appreciation was very sweet.

"What shall you wear?" demanded the Princesse.

"You haven't &nyfite champetre clothes have you?"

I agreed that that was very likely, and she said that she thought her seamstress could make a dress for me in an afternoon. It had to be rather simple . it was that sort of occasion.

"Rather like Marie Antoinette playing at being a country girl at the Hameau."

"You seem to know a great deal about our history. More than I do."

"You would find it interesting to know more perhaps."

"What I do know is the sort of dress you must have. Muslin with sprigs of flowers on it... green for you ... and a white straw hat trimmed with green ribbons."

She was as good as her word and the next day the dress was made. The material was not muslin but fine cotton and the decoration little green bells not sprigs of flowers. It didn't matter. It was charming to see the Princesse so pleased and determined to make me look right for thejete champetre.

She and I went off together in the carriage. There was a certain air of recklessness about her which puzzled me. I thought how childish she was since the prospect of an entertainment like this could drive all thoughts of her marriage from her mind; she certainly knew how to live in the moment, which was perhaps just as well.

It was a very pleasant afternoon. I was warmly received by Evette L'Estrange a young woman with a much older husband. There was a stepson, Armand, who must have been about twenty years old.

Several people came up to tell me that they had heard of the wonderful portrait I had done of the Baron de Centeville, and they hoped they might be allowed to see the one I was painting now.

It was all very enjoyable.

And then I had my surprise. The food was about to be served and tables had been set up in the large field. Flunkeys were running about in all directions and the white tablecloths looked very pretty fluttering in the light breeze. They were undoing the hampers and taking out cutlets, cold venison, chicken and pies with a variety of sweetmeats. Wine was sparkling in the glasses.

Someone from behind me said: "Shall we find a place and sit together."