Marianne and the Crown of Fire

'It will make me drunk—'

'As if that mattered! Once we are upstairs you can be put to bed and sleep. The thing is to get there.'

Marianne meekly swallowed a thimbleful of the aromatic spirit. A trace of colour came into her cheeks but it was at Vania that she smiled gratefully.

'Very well then,' she said simply.

While Madame Bursay made a bundle of their provisions in the remains of the torn-up petticoat and added as many cushions as she could carry, Marianne and Vania made their way with slow, cautious steps towards the door. The Florentine singer's arm was firm and steady and with her help Marianne was able to walk better than she had feared. However, she found that she had an odd, instinctive confidence in her new friend, and with it a feeling of having known her all her life. It may have been something to do with the scent of roses that clung about the dark red robe, reminding her of Fortunee Hamelin.

In the courtyard they found Lekain struggling, with the assistance of two young women, one dressed as an ingenue, the other in a page's costume, to lift into place the heavy iron bar which secured the palace against intruders at night. By the time they had finished, they were all three very red and out of breath but this did not prevent them throwing themselves enthusiastically at the main doorway of the palace itself, consisting of an imposing pair of oak leaves framed by a colonnade. Lekain got the better of it without much difficulty with the aid of some tools he had picked up in the store room and, without pausing for introductions, the little band of fugitives swept inside. Their voices rang through the huge and splendid vestibule as though in a cathedral.

Impressed, despite herself, by the grandeur of the place, Madame Bursay chuckled and said softly: 'We must look a weird sight in our stage finery against all this marble and gilt.'

'Indeed?' Vania took her up at once. Tor myself, I feel perfectly at home here. One has only to know the right way to go about it.' And she proceeded to demonstrate how perfectly at ease she found herself in her surroundings by embarking on a spirited rendering of Don Alfonso's aria from Cost fan Tutte:

'Fortunato I'uom che prende

Ogni cosa per buon verso...'

all the while continuing to support Marianne up the length of the monumental staircase.

Louise Fusil, the girl dressed as a page, who had been nicknamed Rossignolette, or Little Nightingale, by her companions, joined her sweet voice to the Italian's for the fun of it and in a moment all the others had been carried away by one of those moods of collective hilarity which beset theatre people sometimes at the gravest moments, almost like a need for reassurance, and were playing away at imaginary instruments to accompany them. Marianne tried to join in but her injured shoulder hurt her too badly and she was forced to give up.

All the same, it was on the whole a gay little procession which made its way up to the attics and the servants' bedrooms. These, naturally, did not compare with the splendour of the rooms below and they found only plain deal furniture, straw mattresses and common earthenware ewers and basins. Even so it was a relief to Marianne to be able to stretch herself on a bed which, although unmade, was at least clean, which was not the case with all of those they found.

Vania remained with her and the others took possession of rooms near by, while Lekain went downstairs again and took it upon himself to explore the cellars of the palace, which he had been unable to do while the caretaker remained in residence, and procure food for the uninvited guests.

He came back bowed down with the weight of two enormous baskets, one of which contained the wherewithal to make a fire and an assortment of kitchen utensils, and the other a supply of food. From this second basket protruded the necks of a number of venerable, dusty bottles boasting some noble waxen seals.

'I have found marvels,' he proclaimed triumphantly. 'Look here! Champagne, caviar, smoked fish, sugar – and coffee!'

The word and its associations were enough to rouse Marianne who, overcome with pain and weariness, had been on the point of falling asleep.

'Coffee?' she cried, raising herself on one elbow. 'Is it true?'

'True? Only smell this, fair dame,' Lekain told her, waving the little canvas bag he had been opening under her nose. 'And I've brought everything we need to roast it and make enough for everyone. You shall have a cup of it upon the instant. Only trust me and you'll see that when it comes to coffee I am something of a genius.'

Marianne smiled, in amusement and gratitude.

'You are certainly a wonderful man. I don't know if this will be my last night on earth but at least I shall have you to thank for being able to face it with a cup of coffee inside me. There's nothing I like better.'

She drank, indeed, a second and even a third cup, for Lekain had not exaggerated his skill, disregarding Vania's not unreasonable warnings that it would keep her from closing her eyes all night. But Marianne had already passed one sleepless night in Ivan Borisovitch's inn and she fell asleep almost as soon as the third cup was empty.

She woke to a sustained noise and a strong sense of danger in the blackest part of the night, with the feeling of terror that comes of waking in a strange place. She could not remember in the least where she was, but then she made out Vania di Lorenzo's figure etched, with its diadem and plumes, against the lighter square of the window.

'What's happening?' she asked, instinctively keeping her voice low.

'We have visitors. It was only to be expected. This is one of the richest and most beautiful houses in the city.'

'What time is it?'

'One o'clock, or a little after.'

Marianne slipped out of bed, finding it less painful than she had feared, and joined the singer at the window but there was little to be seen beyond lights from below shining out over the trees in the garden. The noise, however, was growing louder all the time: shouts, laughter, a good deal of drunken singing and now and then the crash of breaking glass or a heavier thud announcing that some large piece of furniture had been overturned.

'How did they get in?' Marianne asked, for their window looked out over the garden and not towards the main courtyard and she had no means of telling.

'Over the stable roof,' came Lekain's voice from behind her. He sounded worried. 'I saw how they did it. There were two of them with ropes and grapnels and once inside they lifted the bar and let in the rest.'

'What are we going to do?' This from Louise Fusil who had followed him into the room. 'I wonder if we were wise to hide up here. How do we know they won't come up to look at the servants' quarters when they've finished plundering downstairs? We might have done better to hide in the garden—'

'In the garden? Look—'

A fresh mob had appeared on the lawn which lay below the terrace giving on to the main salons. In the light of the torches they carried, the watchers above could make out men with fierce, bearded faces clad in ragged blouses and bits of blankets tied with string. They were armed with pitchforks, knives and guns and they were advancing silently, like hunting cats, upon the palace which must have been shining like a vast lantern in the night.

'They must have climbed over the railings or over a wall somewhere,' Lekain said gloomily. 'That's cut off our retreat.'

'Not necessarily,' Vania answered him. 'There are two sets of back stairs, one at each end of this passage. I will stand by one and you by the other and if either of us hears anyone coming up we will try to escape by the other and out into the garden.'

'Very well. We can only hope that if they do come it won't occur to them to do it by both stairs at once.'

'Always the optimist, I see,' Vania retorted, and she swept off, as regally imperturbable as ever, to take up the post she had assigned to herself.

The four women who were left separated also. Madame Bursay and Mademoiselle Anthony went into one of the rooms facing the front of the building while Marianne and Louise Fusil stayed where they were, listening with thudding hearts.

Before long, the uproar had swelled to infernal proportions. The yells and screams reached fever pitch and were punctuated by loud, rumbling crashes that shook the whole solidly built edifice as though the earth had moved