If there is a living embodiment of the word “charm” at Wimbledon this year, then its name is Marion Bartoli. Just one week ago few on the Centre Court could have put a name to her face.

Today they called out their love for her, laughing when she conducted them in a Mexican Wave to pass the time while Venus Williams had her left thigh strapped by the trainer at courtside. “Come on, Maid Marion!” called out one wit in the crowd. Bartoli smiled at that one, but wagged her index finger in mock disapproval when another in the crowd selected the old joke of calling encouragement to a player not present on court: “Come on, Tim!”

Yet this was not a crowd turning its back on Venus. Her star is rising again, and the Centre Court’s admiration for her was plain. How curious that this ungainly, unlikely pair should find themselves lining up for the Wimbledon final.

When 22-year-old Bartoli lost the first set no one gave it much of a thought – by now the magnificent comeback was expected of the Frenchwoman, after her feats against Justine Henin and Jelena Jankovic. But this was a match too far for the player who had never been beyond the fourth round of any Grand Slam tournament before this one.

Perhaps she was thrown by the unaccustomed experience of actual warmth from the sun this Wimbledon. Maybe it was the absence of her Friday inspiration Pierce Brosnan from the Royal Box. The name of the former James Bond actor appeared on the official guest list for an unusual second successive day, but he never appeared. No doubt he was indeed at a wedding, as he had said he would be. Perhaps she was fazed by the sheer size of Venus, and the fact that she was giving away six inches (15cm) in height and reach.

In any case, this time Bartoli could not come back, and a fourth Wimbledon title belonged to Venus. In previous years the older Williams sister has capered about the court in wild celebration at her moment of victory, arms windmilling. Not today. This was an older, more reflective Venus, who simply couldn’t stop smiling.

“Four!” she called out to her father Richard, holding up four fingers in celebration of her Wimbledon collection. A few yards away Bartoli sat on her chair at courtside, smiling no more, and quietly wept. Sweetly, just before the match began, she told the BBC: “I’m just so exciting (sic) to be here.” Truly, there are few sounds more charming to the British ear than to hear slightly imperfect English in a French accent. But in the immediate moments after her defeat, that earlier excitement was pushed aside. Defeat is bitter, especially on the greatest stage.

She was emotional in her speech, generously acclaiming Venus as the best player on grass in the world. Then as her voice shook, she said she had “one person to thank and one person only – my dad”. Dr Walter Bartoli, who introduced his daughter to tennis at the age of six, nodded at her from the players box, and then covered his eyes as his loving pride in his daughter overtook him.

The 2007 Official Media Guide to Professional Tennis helpfully tells us that Bartoli’s most memorable tennis experiences have been winning the US Open juniors and playing Lindsay Davenport on the Arthur Ashe Stadium. Possibly she might want to list a new most memorable experience in next year’s guide.

Of course, the day belonged to Venus. She, too, was big-hearted to her opponent, praising Bartoli’s astonishing achievement in reaching the final. As ever she thanked her “team” in the relatives’ box – her mother, father, and of course Serena “who inspires me – I want to be like her”. There may be a lot wrong with modern sport, but we can’t quite be facing Armageddon when sport’s highest achievers make it plain that family is at the root of all triumph.