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lean, rangy grace of an athlete as well as an arrogant air of authority, and that the combination of the two with his particular brand of craggy masculinity was quite staggeringly effective.
    'Good morning, mademoiselle,'*
    The greeting was cool and impersonal and somehow faintly irritating to Charlotte after her mental summary of his attributes, but she did her best to make her own greeting equally impersonal. *Good morning. Monsieur Raoul.'
    He looked impeccably businesslike in a dark grey suit and tie and a cream shirt, and she fully expected him to simply walk on into whichever of the offices he was making for. The fact that he did not was vaguely disconcerting, and there was something about die way he stopped in hoot of her suddenly, as if he had noticed something untoward about her appearance, that made her look at him curiously.
    His eyes seemed to have setded on her mouth with disturbing steadiness and there was a definite frown between his black brows; the gleam in his eyes as bright as steel. *Have you seen Monsieur Michel this morning, mademoiselle?^ he asked, and the very ordinariness of the question took her by surprise, so that she stared up at him.
    'No,' she said without hesitation, 'not this morning.
    monsieur.*
    It seemed he was satisfied with her answer, for he was nodding his head, although she could not imagine why at the moment 'TThen you have seen Jean Cordet, yes?'
    Puzzled and increasingly irritated by his manner, Charlotte nodded again. 'I saw Monsieur Cordet when he was

    leaving your office just now,' she told him. *But we were talking for only a few minutes, monsieur J*
    Now that he had established who it was she had been talking to he seemed no longer interested and the frown had disappeared, although it was asking too much that it should be replaced with a smile, she thought ruefully. He inclined his head briefly and turned aside with the obvious intention of c(mtinuing on his way. But to Charlotte, who hated mysteries, there was still a question to be answered.
    *I don't quite see why you asked me ' she began.
    'It is of no consequence, mademoiselle !' he interrupted quickly, but once more Charlotte delayed his departure, this time by placing a hand on his arm when he would have moved off.
    He looked down at her fingers curled lighdy over his arm and for a moment she anticipated a brusque rejection, but instead he reached out suddenly and pressed the cushion of his left thumb against the comer of her mouth. Charlotte gasped, stepped back and stared at him frown-ingly until he turned the thumb over and showed her the inside of it. A smudge of pink Upstick smeared the hard brown skin and she looked at it for a moment uneasily.
    *It is to be hoped,' Raoul said in a voice that mocked her swift colour, *±at Jean Cordet does not blush as easily as you do, mademoiselle !'
    He was gone, striding across the hall and disappearing into oat of the other doors before Charlotte recovered sufficiendy to realise why he had asked that question about seeing Michel. Automatically she glared across at the door through which he had disappeared, indignant at the idea of his thinking she would allow Michel to kiss her. But then she realised that he had implied no more than Jean Cordet had done when he questioned her, and she shrugged uneasily. It was lucky that she had taken the precaution of avoiding Michel that morning, for she doubted if Raoul

    Menais would have sought an alternative otherwise.
    Lizette looked vaguely surprised at being consulted about whether or not Charlotte should be given the evening oflF, and she realised that it must be a rare occurrence for her opinion to be asked on anything. She looked at Charlotte with her pale, vague eyes and blinked. *Why are you asking ine?' she said, and Charlotte smiled patiendy.
    'Because you're my employer, Madame Lizette. Of course I have to ask you.'
    Lizette regarded her for several seconds with that same rather blank look, then she shook her head slowly. *I