CHAPTER ONE<br > She moved silently about her bedroom with its high，<br > flower-painted ceiling and old， pine-panelled walls， a shaded<br > candle giving her a glimmer of light. One drawer and then<br > another was opened as Juliette Delahousse hastily selected the<br > garments she needed to take with her in her flight from the<br > house and she turned resolutely from anything that was frivo-<br > lous or unnecessary in the different life she was soon to lead. Her<br > hands shook with tension， and she started violently whenever a<br > floor-board creaked underfoot or a drawer-handle rattled<br > under her touch. Now and again she paused by the communi-<br > cating door into the next room where her chaperone， Made-<br > moiselle Rousseau， was sleeping， intent on making sure that<br > there was no break in the rhythmic， muffled snoring. To be<br > thwarted of escape in the last hour would be beyond endu-<br > rance， for the penalty would be a marriage of convenience to an<br > Englishman whom she had never seen.<br > A shudder went through her again at the thought. With fresh<br > anxiety that nothing should turn against her she went across to<br > the window and held back the curtain to peer out at the<br > weather， wanting to make sure that it was not going to play any<br > last-minute tricks on her. One could never tell with the tail-end<br > of the winter in Sweden. A blinding snowstorm could sweep in<br > without warning off the Baltic to envelop Stockholm， making it<br > difficult to get through the streets on foot and virtually im-<br > possible to cover any distance at speed on horseback along the<br > country roads beyond the city s boundaries.<br > With relief she saw that the night was as clear and still as<br > when she had last looked out. Under a starry sky and beyond<br > the snow-tops of the trees in the grounds below， Stockholm<br >i<br >