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like the one that surrounded the nearby pasture, it looked about to. She noted the strip of linen handkerchief that held two pieces of the fence together and wondered if there were nails and a hammer anywhere about, for she might be able to effect some repairs. Someone had to, for if the fence fell, the chickens would be lost to foxes, dogs, and heaven only knew what else.
    Tess continued to follow the path, past another pen, the barn, and the stables. The path continued on, winding down sharply to the sea, but Tess followed it no farther. Instead, she changed direction, heading down another path that curved between untrimmed boxwood hedges through overgrown rose gardens and potagers. This chateau must have been a beautiful place at one time, but now it seemed a deserted, melancholy place, rather a fitting home for the man who owned it.
    After a midday meal of more bread and cheese, followed by a short nap, Tess explored the upper floors of the chateau itself. Most of the rooms were easily accessible, but two, located side by side at the end of a long corridor, were locked. She couldn’t help wondering why, but an image of Dumond’s black, unreadable eyes came into her mind, and knew she’d probably never learn the reason from him.
    Every room she entered seemed musty and undisturbed, every room but one—Alexandre's studio. It was located at the very top of the only tower in the château and consisted of one huge room, exactly square, with tall windows in all four directions. Tess paused at the top of the spiraling corner staircase and caught her breath, appreciating at once that for an artist, this was the perfect place for a studio. The windows let in the light, no matter what the time of day.
    She walked slowly to the center of the room, stepping around tables littered with pots of paint, brushes, sketchbooks, and charcoal. Below the windows, sheet-covered canvases leaned against the walls of whitewashed stone, but not a single painting or sketch adorned the limited wall space. There was no need. The view was adornment enough.
    Tess turned slowly in a circle, taking a moment to admire the incredible views of sea, cliffs, vineyards, and distant village before turning her attention from the view outside to what lay within. Although far from tidy, this room seemed to be the only one in the chateau without a thick layer of dust, cobwebs, and neglect. In the far corner, by one of the windows facing the sea, was an easel holding a half-finished painting in oils. Tess walked over to study it.
    A burning sea of orange and blue and black raged around the barely discernible white sails of ships engaged in battle. Columns of smoke and plumes of fire swirled upward into a gray sky. Though not complete, the painting conveyed clearly the pain and passion of war. Anger seemed to emanate from the canvas. Tess admired it, but she wasn't certain she liked it.
    Still, she discovered that there were other paintings much more to her liking hidden beneath layers of linen sheeting. An airy landscape, all pinks and greens and blues. A still life of wine, cheese, and grapes that was so French, she smiled. A portrait of a woman in a blue dress.
    Curious, Tess pulled it out from the paintings leaning against the wall to study it more clearly. A lovely girl, with milk-white skin, blue eyes, and spun-gold hair stared back at her. There was so much laughter and joy in the girl's expression, so much life to her that Tess could almost imagine her breathing or opening her mouth to speak. Who was she?
    Tess stepped back from the painting and glanced down at the blue muslin dress she wore, comparing it to the one in the portrait. No, it wasn't the same gown, but it was of a similar color and style and conveyed a similar taste in dress. She had wondered about the clothes Alexandre had given her and who they belonged to. Now she knew.
    But who was this girl? A sister? A wife? And where was she now?
    Suddenly feeling as if she had intruded on something very