Camille comes home to find Duchess Tremaine sitting at tea with Euphrasie, and they are laughing and chatting as if they have known each other for ages.

''Duchesse.'' she curtsies.

The Duchess stands up, smiles. Her polonaise jacket and skirt are aquamarine-blue, shot with sea-green. The sleeves fit her arms tightly, the peplum of the jacket edged in frills and flounces, like the skirt, which forms a slight protrusion in back. Her golden hair is pulled back in tight ringlets and topped with a blue-green hat adorned with flowers, most likely artificial.

''I'll be leaving now, mademoiselle. It was lovely chatting with you, Euphrasie.'' she smiles at Camille's sister, and sweeps out of the room.

''Well?'' Camille questions, popping a lemon meringue tart into her mouth. Her sister is a good cook. And lemon meringue is her favorite.

''She's a lovely conversationalist. She told me all about how she went to the ball and how she met Duke Christopher.'' Euphrasie sighs. ''It was so romantic.''

Romance, ha! Euphrasie should know better, but she does not. She is only fifteen, after all. She will know better when she's older. Camille herself knows better. Not everyone marries for love. Her parents were an exception, but that is all.

''Euphrasie, take up your sewing.''

Euphrasie obliges, and fetches her embroidery. Returning to her chair, she threads her needle, and Camille watches her sister sew for a time, needle flashing in and out of the silk, forming patterns of flowers on the fabric with colored thread of pale pink and spring-green.

''Is there any letter from Raoul?'' Euphrasie looks up after a time.

''No, Euphrasie. I know you miss him, but it takes time for letters to arrive.'' Camille reassures her sister. She swallows the last of the lemon meringue tart, and picks up a currant scone, and dips it into her tea.

A knock sounds at the door. Camille calls for the butler and tells him to answer it.

Time passes in silence as the butler lets the new visitor in, and then footsteps enter the room. Euphrasie raises her head, gasps. ''Camille!'' she exclaims. So Camille turns her head, and stares in shock.

It is Meg Giry, now Destler. Their brother's old fiancee. She has not changed much over the years, although her features are a little older.

Her shining yellow hair is wrapped up in a braided coronet with curls falling out of it elegantly, showing off her neck and it is adorned with a deep-green satin bow.

Her polonaise jacket and skirt is deep-green too, a lace trim adorning the collar and sleeves folded up at the end to show white undersleeves puffed out at the wrist. The skirts are pulled back slightly, the fabric stenciled with gold flowers.

''Bonsoir.'' She says, softly, hesitantly. ''You have not changed in years.''

''Neither have you.'' Euphrasie says kindly, putting her sewing aside.

Camille dislikes Meg Giry. She has never liked her, and she dislikes her even more now after what she did to Raoul, breaking his heart so.

What did Raoul see in this girl besides her dancing, really? She wants to order her to leave this house and never return.

''Camille, I think it would be best if you were to go to your room.'' Euphrasie says gravely. She may be the youngest child, but sometimes she is more understanding than her older sister.

Camille looks shocked at being ordered around, but leaves the room as quickly as she can, her light-blue chambray skirt swishing behind her as she leaves.

Euphrasie smiles at Meg. ''Do come and sit down.'' She indicates the chair her sister has just vacated.

''I won't be long.'' Meg says timidly. She doesn't mean to be a housebreaker. ''Your brother is gone, isn't he?''

Euphrasie nods. ''Yes. I'm awaiting a letter from him.''

''There is always people we miss, I think, when they go away.'' Meg says somberly. She thinks of Christine. How good a friend she was, and then she left so abruptly. Meg misses her. But at least Raoul understands why she chose Erik. And she has her Maman, and Erik, and little Melodie. And Meg has not told anyone yet, but she thinks another could be on the way.

A boy, she hopes.

''Do you want a cup of tea?''

''No. I imagine you'd rather not have me here. Not after what I did to Raoul.''

Euphrasie gets up from the chair again. ''Oh, no! I don't mind! Mama and Papa have forgiven you! And so have I and Raoul, even if Camille hasn't.'' She takes Meg's hands in hers. ''I may be only five-and ten years of age, but I understand such things as love! Mama was only a year or two older then me when she married Papa!'' she exclaims, and Meg's face takes on an expression of happiness.

''It is good to know that. I am glad to know that. Maman says Raoul has gone to Louisiana. Erik and Melodie and I plan to go soon. Perhaps in a month or two. He wants to promote his new ballet!'' she says delightedly.

Euphrasie raises a delicate eyebrow. ''Ballet? I thought your husband only wrote operas. What's the story?''

''The Winter's Tale by Shakespeare. I'm to play Perdita.''

The other girl sighs. ''Oh, that shall be lovely.''

Meg agrees. She is overjoyed to dance in it, with it's lovely music.

''I cannot wait to see it.'' Euphrasie laughs. ''I will convince Mama and Papa to take me when it premieres.''

''Good.'' Meg smiles.

''I suppose your husband is designing your costumes.''

Meg laughs. ''Oh, yes.''

Euphrasie makes a gesture to the table. ''You must help yourself to some refreshments.'' Meg shakes her head.

''Would you like to come over for tea one day?'' Meg asks. ''I'm sure Erik would like to meet you.''

Euphrasie shrugs. ''Sure. You will not stay?''

''No. Good-bye.'' Meg stands, turns, and walks out of the room. That was nice, Euphrasie thinks. She certainly intends to take up Meg's offer to tea. She wants to meet little Melodie.