Removing his hat with a flourish, he gave a low bow before putting his hat on a chair and tossing his cloak over the back of it. When she offered her hand, he held it lightly between his fingers and bestowed a loving kiss upon it. Berenice noticed his glove.

'Oh!' she exclaimed. 'That looks like blood.'

'It is,' he said, examining his knuckles, 'but you need have no fear, my love. It's not mine. It belonged to a man who was foolish enough to try to stop me reaching you this evening.' He pulled off his gloves and dropped them on a little table, holding out both hands for inspection. 'There you are — not a mark on them, as you see.'

Berenice was fully reassured. Still in her early twenties, she was a shapely woman of middle height with exquisite features and complexion. Her blond hair, parted in the middle, fell down both sides of her head in ringlets. Though she was entertaining her lover, she was not wearing night attire in readiness. Her costly blue satin dress had a close-fitting bodice with a trained skirt worn open in the front. The sleeves were short to the elbows with turned-up cuffs and deep ruffles emerging from below. Hitched up at the back to give a bustle effect, the skirt revealed a decorative petticoat. Shimmering jewellery enhanced an already complete portrait of feminine beauty.

Daniel had learnt the rules on his previous visit. Berenice Salignac liked to take her time and savour each moment. They began with wine, poured from a decanter, then sat beside each other on an ornate settee. Daniel kept up a steady stream of compliments in the fluent French he had taken pains to master. He was no longer the sturdy boy from a Dorset farm but a tall, slim, handsome, urbane gentleman, not far short of thirty, with a soldier's bearing that was offset by his natural charm and tenderness. He had courted Berenice studiously for some weeks before she had finally succumbed to his advances.