They were all in evening dress and they laughed for the food had been abundant English fare and especially delicious--a side of roast beef, trays of pork sausages and fresh crabs brought in on ice from Shanghai in the mail ship's ice room as part of the diplomatic pouch and therefore not subject to customs inspection or duty. These were served with boiled vegetables, roast potatoes, also imported from Shanghai, with Yorkshire pudding and followed by apple pies and mince pies with all the claret, Pouilly Fum`e, port and champagne the twenty guests could drink.

"And when Madam Lunkchurch threw a crab at her husband I thought I would die," she said to more laughter but Tyrer, embarrassed, said, "I'm afraid some of the so-called traders, and their wives are inclined to be boisterous. Please don't judge all Englishmen, or women, by their behavior."

"Quite right." Pallidar was beaming, delighted that he also had been accepted as part of her escort and conscious that his evening dress uniform and plumed cap made Tyrer's drab frock coat, his old-fashioned and abundant silk cravat and top hat seem even more funereal. "Dreadful people. Without your presence, the evening would have been awful, no doubt at all."

High Street and its side streets were still busy with traders, clerks and others weaving their way home to their dwellings or strolling the promenade, the odd drunk lying by the oil lamps that lit the length of it. An occasional cluster of Japanese fishermen, carrying oars and nets, and paper lanterns to light their way, trudged up from the shore where their boats were beached, or headed down from the village for their night's fishing.

At the front door of the Struan Building she stopped and held out her hand to be kissed.

"Thank you and good night, dear friends, please don't bother to wait, one of the servants can see me back to the Legation."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Pallidar said at once, taking her hand and holding on for a moment.

"I--we'd be glad to wait," Tyrer assured her.

"But I may be an hour or a few minutes, depending how my fianc`e is."

But they insisted and she thanked them, and she swept past the liveried, armed night watchman, up the stairs, crinoline billowing, trailing her shawl--still caught up in the excitement of the evening and the adoration that surrounded her. "Hello darling, just wanted to say good night."

Struan wore an elegant red silk dressing gown over a loose shirt and trousers with soft boots, cravat at his throat and he got up out of the chair, the pain deadened now by the elixir Ah Tok had given him half an hour ago.

"I feel better than I have for days, my darling. A bit wobbly, but fine--how lovely you are." The light from the oil lamp made his gaunt face more handsome than ever, and her more desirable than ever. He put his hands on her shoulders to steady himself, his head and body feeling strangely light, her skin creamy and warm to his touch. Her eyes were dancing and he looked down, loving her, and kissed her. Gently at first, then, as she responded, glorying further in her taste and welcome. "I love you," he murmured between kisses.

"I love you," she replied, believing it and weak with pleasure, so happy that he seemed truly better, his lips strong and seeking and hands strong and seeking but within bounds, bounds that suddenly, deliriously, she wanted to cast aside.

"Je t'aime, cheri... je t'aime ..."

For a moment they stood in their embrace and then with a strength he did not know he had, he lifted her and sat again in the big, high-backed chair and cradled her in his lap, lips touching, one arm around her tiny waist, a hand quietly on her breast, the silk seeming to enhance the half-cupped warmth beneath. Wonder filled him. Wonder that here where every part of her was covered and forbidden, in the night, all was open and offered and as young, but now he was more euphoric and stimulated than he had ever been, yet at the same time controlled, no longer frantic with lust.

"So strange," he murmured and thought, but not so strange, the pain's masked by the medicine. The rest isn't, my love for her.

"Cheri?"

"Strange that I need you so much yet I can wait. Not long but I can wait."

"Please not long, please." Again her lips sought his, nothing in her mind but him, heat welding her memory closed and worry closed and never a problem anymore. For both of them. Then the sudden sound of a nearby gunshot from outside.

Their mood shattered, she sat upright on his lap and before she knew it was hurrying for the half-open window. Below she could see Pallidar and Tyrer--damn, I'd forgotten them, she thought.

The two men were looking inland, then they turned, their attention directed towards Drunk Town.

She craned out of the window but saw only a vague group of men at the far end, their bleary shouts wafted on the wind. "It seems to be nothing, just Drunk Town..." she said, guns and fights, even duels, not rare in that part of Yokohama. Then, feeling strange and chilled and at the same time flushed, she came back and looked at him. With a little sigh she knelt and took his hand and pressed it to her cheek, her head in his lap, but his gentleness and his fingers caressing her hair and the nape of her neck no longer drove the devils away. "I should go home, my love."

"Yes." His fingers continued their stroking.

"I want to stay."

"I know."

Struan saw himself, out of himself, the perfect gentleman, calm, quiet, helping her to her feet, waiting while she straightened her bodice and hair and draped her shawl around her. Then, hand in hand, walking slowly with her to the head of the stairs where he allowed himself to be persuaded to stay, permitting a servant to lead her below. At the door she turned once and waved a loving farewell and he waved and then she was gone.

It seemed to take him no effort to walk back and undress, letting his servant pull off his boots. Then into bed with no help at all, lying back at peace with himself and the world. Head fine, body fine, relaxed.

"How is my son?" Ah Tok whispered from the doorway.

"In the Land of the Poppy."

"Good, good. No pain for my son there."

The servant blew out the flame and then left him.

Down the High Street, the French soldier sentry, his uniform as sloppy as his manner, opened the Legation door for her, "Bonsoir, Mademoiselle."

"Bonsoir, Monsieur. Good night Phillip, good night Settry." The door closed and she leaned against it a moment to collect herself. The delight of the evening had vanished. In its place, the spectres were crowding for attention.

Deep in thought she walked across the hall towards her suite, saw a light under Seratard's door. She stopped and, on a sudden impulse that this might be a perfect time to ask for a loan, she knocked and went in. "Oh! Andr`e! Hello, excuse me, I was expecting Monsieur Henri."

"He's still with Sir William. I'm just finishing a dispatch for him." Andr`e was at Seratard's desk, many papers spread around. The dispatch dealt with Struan's, their possible arms deal with the Choshu, and the possible help that a possible French wife might render their fledgling arms industry. "Did you have a good time? How's your fianc`e?"

"He's much better, thank you. The dinner was huge, if you like to eat heavily. Ah to be in Paris, yes?"

"Yes." My God she's beddable, he thought, and that reminded him of the infectious vileness eating him away.

"What is it?" she asked, startled by his sudden pallor.

"Nothing." He cleared his throat and fought to control the horror. "Just out of sorts--nothing grave."

He seemed so vulnerable, so helpless that abruptly she decided to trust him again and closed the door and sat near him, pouring out her story.

"What am I going to do, dear Andr`e? I can't get any cash... what can I do?"