"I'm married and that's the end of it!" She had got up.

"Wait! It's not the end, my child, to give you absolution you must admit your sins, to come before Him blameless! How can I give you absolution?"' "Their God is the same as our God, my God," she had said, tears of rage and frustration blinding her, "I can worship him in their Church as well as here."

"You risk damnation and Eternal Torment.

Excommunication, the sacraments withdrawn from you. Beware, your mind has been taken by the heretics, pray for forgiveness..."

She had fled.

Andr`e and Seratard were in the congregation. Later Andr`e had asked what the trouble was and she had told him. He said, "Thousands of Catholics are happily married under Protestant dogma, and visa versa, whatever Church hierarchies claim."

"Andr`e, am I married or am I not?"' "You are, according to British law, and British naval law, until a British court says you are not."

"But not according to the Church?"' "To their Church, yes, subject to the above, to ours, no. You already know the answer to that, no."

"I hate that man."

"He's a priest. Not all of them are good, we both know that too. Listen, Angelique, about your, your time, please, as soon as you know, one way or another, please tell me privately so we can begin to plan. Henri expects any day to have the French Ambassador's approval that you are a Ward of the State. Don't worry, I promised we will guard you and your interests and we will," he said and left her to brood.

Not married according to the Church? Then to hell with the Church of Rome, she had thought, sick with apprehension. Beware! Never admit that openly, never. You are French, French people understand about Catholic Rome, its corruption and heresy and about misguided popes. Every night in her prayers she asked, implored the Blessed Mother for guidance and succor.

Monday and all the other days dragged, always eyes and unspoken questions so she went out less and less. To pass the time she read and slept and read and wrote letters and began a story about a French girl who was cast ashore in Yokohama. This stopped abruptly and she burned the pages as she started to relive Kanagawa and him and the nights and days with Malcolm and their one night on Prancing Cloud.

Prancing Cloud had left. She had been glad to see that harbinger of ill wind disappear into the distance.

Since her promenade when she had talked again with Gornt--learning nothing new--by mutual consent they had decided not to meet for a few days.

Twice she had invited Maureen Ross to tea, the second time deliberately receiving her in bed to encourage rumors that she had a fever. Their chats were gossipy, ordinary, about fashion, the problems in the Settlement, the life here, nothing serious. Later these visits would be fun when they could discuss more intimate matters and thoughts. Not now. But she liked Maureen who had brought welcome books and magazines and told about Jamie's new office, how he was working all hours, and, shyly, her hope that they would be married soon.

The only person she had enjoyed seeing was Phillip Tyrer. He had been sent by Sir William with best wishes for a quick recovery, bringing the latest London papers with him and presenting her with flowers he had purchased in the village. "By Orders of Her Majesty's Government," he had said in French with a flourish, his boyish grin and joie de vivre infectious.

For an hour or more he had chatted, mostly in French, relating the latest rumors. About his trip to Yedo, about Nakama-Hiraga who had vanished without a trace, creating a diplomatic problem for Sir William, and about his Captain, Abeh, "who's still waiting and seething at the North Gate."

"What's going to happen, Phillip?"' "Don't know. We hope the problem's going to go away. Pity of it is we had to describe Nakama, what he looks like now so there's not much chance for him escaping. Damn nuisance, 'cause he was a fine fellow and he helped me greatly.

I don't believe a word about him being an assassin. We didn't get a sausage of info out of the other fellow, Nakama's friend, whose family are shipbuilders in Choshu. I got him a look around one of our frigates. Nice enough fellow but fairly dumb. He knew nothing about Nakama or would say nothing. Sir William didn't want to give him to the Bakufu so he let him go. Damn nuisance, Angelique, Nakama aided me tremendously --not only with Japanese, and if it wasn't for him..."

Later they had soup together and at her probing he had admitted, first swearing her to secrecy, that he had a girl, a special girl in the Yoshiwara, "Oh she's so beautiful and nice, Angelique, I think I can swing the money for the contract without straining the old Exchequer, the liaison is so comfortable..." and she had been amused how young he seemed, envying him his simple love, and, compared to him, how adult and sophisticated she felt.

"One day I'd like to meet her," she had said. "I can easily sneak into your Yoshiwara.

I'll dress up as a boy."

"Oh my God, no, you couldn't.

Angelique, you mustn't."

It might be amusing to do that, she thought, chuckling, and turned over in her bed, almost asleep. Andr`e will take me. I'd like to see this Hinodeh I've so much invested in. I wonder how she looks.

On the threshold of sleep her stomach spasmed.

Another cramp, different. Another. Wide awake now. Apprehensively she rubbed her stomach and loins to take the ache away but it did not go away and now she realized for sure it was the old familiar ache with the slightly bloated feeling.

It had begun. The bleeding followed. Andwiththe flow all of her longing and worry and hoping burst.

In abject grief she began to cry and buried her head in her pillows, "Oh Malcolm I had hoped so much, so much, now I've nothing left to give you, nothing left of you, nothing left to give you, oh Malcolm Malcolm I'm so sorry, so awfully sorry... oh God, I'm so awfully sorry... THY will be done ..."

Crying and crying, after an eternity, crying herself to sleep, no more tears to shed.

"Missee, wakee! Missee-tai-tai, cawfee, heya!"

In her waking mists Ah Soh banged the tray on the side table and Angelique smelled the warm, heavenly smell of fresh-brewed coffee --a present from Seratard and one of the few services Ah Soh would and could do properly-- wafting around her, bringing her into the day without hurt.

She sat up in bed and stretched, astonished and delighted she felt so alert and so well. The cramps had gone, the ache had subsided into its normal pattern, better than usual, the bloated feeling less than usual.

And best of all, despair had left her. It's HER miracle, she thought, reverently. During the last month in nightly prayers to the Blessed Mother talking, asking, pleading, one night exhausted by anxiety, she had listened. "Leave it to me, child, it is MY decision not thine," she heard, not hearing with her ears but with her innermost self, "MY decision, all of it, rest in peace." The anxiety had left her.

It was her decision, how wonderful!

Angelique would accept HER verdict. The Will of God. And she had.

Impulsively she knelt beside the bed, closed her eyes and blessed Her and gave passionate thanks, and again how sorry she was but thanked her for lifting the burden, Thy Will Be Done, then slid again under the covers ready for coffee and the world.

Coffee at this time, nine, was custom on a Sunday, just enough time to bathe and dress for church.

Church! Why not? she thought, I must give proper thanks, but no confession. "Ah Soh, bring my bath and..." Ah Soh was staring at her, glazed. Abruptly she realized her maid must have seen bloodstains on the back of her nightdress.

Hastily Ah Soh said, "I get bar'f," and waddled for the door but Angelique was there before her and pushed her back. "If you tell anyone I'll scratch your eyes out!"