Vulkan breast stroked out to her, taking care to remain out of reach of her wildly flailing arms as the demented countess tried to grab hold of him as she went down for the third time.

On the lakeshore, the appalled footman ran back and forth in a blue funk, waiving his hands to no one in particular, finally letting out a great yell and running off toward the neighbouring woods rather than face having to watch the watery death of his mistress.

Vulkan could hardly speak for laughing and for the cold, which was making his teeth chatter uncontrollably.

"Kick out your bloody legs you silly bitch!" he called to her, "follow me, like this," and he sailed close by her so that she could see his action.

"Don't leave meeeeeeeeee!" she screamed, her voice echoing across the water in a shriek that had the fleeing footman picking up his rheumatic knees like a teenager as he ran helter-skelter for the woods.

Eventually, the countess mastered a rudimentary dog paddle and by dint of furious effort managed to follow Vulkan to the shore where he awaited her, lying on a large expanse of smooth sandstone.

For reasons best known to herself the countess did not go back to the relative sanctuary of the coach, but chose instead to lay down beside Vulkan on the smooth stone.

After a while, the prince levered himself up on to his elbow and looked down at her. He had to admit she was a 'cut above' he mused, as he trailed his finger tip over the bridge of her perfect nose, stroking the fine dusting of freckles she normally kept hidden with powder. He could not imagine another woman who would not have been reduced to a snivelling wreck by now.