Marianne and the Crown of Fire

whom he had always had a particularly soft spot. He was almost in tears.

'Mademoi—Princess, I should say! Your Serene Highness! This is an unexpected pleasure! But by what happy chance—?'

'Later, my dear Constant, later. I want to see the Emperor. Is it possible?'

'But of course! There has been no time yet to establish protocol. And he will be so happy. Come! Come quickly!'

Several doors, a succession of rooms, another door and Marianne found herself precipitated into a large chamber, littered with an assortment of baggage, with Constant's voice announcing her in ringing tones, as if she had been another victory. Beside the great tented bed, surmounted by the double-headed eagle and an imperial crown, Napoleon was engaged, with Duroc's assistance, in hanging up the portrait of a fair-haired child.

Both men turned and Marianne dropped into her curtsy.

There was a moment's astonished silence, so profound that Marianne, almost on her knees, could not even bring herself to raise her head. Then she heard Napoleon's voice.

'What? Is it you?'

'Yes, Sire, it is I! Forgive me for bursting in on you like this, but I have travelled a long road to come to you.'

Once again there was silence, but this time she gathered the courage to look up. And as she looked at him she was suddenly conscious of a wave of disappointment, and even of a vague disquiet. After what Murat had told her, after Trobriant's warm welcome and Constant's ecstatic one, she had expected him to show pleasure, to be really glad to see her. But that seemed to be very far from the case. The Emperor's face had set in its most forbidding expression. He was frowning at her grimly, kneading his hands behind his back, and since he showed no disposition to give her leave to rise she repeated softly: 'I ventured to tell Your Majesty that I had travelled a long road. I am very weary, Sire.'

'You are – oh, yes, very well. You may get up. Off with you, Duroc. Leave us, and see that I am not disturbed.'

The smile which the Grand Marshal of the Palace bestowed on her in passing was some comfort to Marianne as she rose, not without effort for it was some time since she had been obliged to perform a full court curtsy.

Meanwhile Napoleon, falling naturally, in this strange palace, into his old habits of Saint-Cloud and the Tuileries, had begun pacing up and down the thickly carpeted floor, glancing now and then out of the windows which commanded a view of the Moskva and of the whole of the southern part of the city beyond. Not until the soft click of the latch told him that he was alone with Marianne did he pause for a moment in his pacing and look at her.

'You seem to be got up very oddly for a court lady,' he observed drily. 'Upon my word, your dress is full of holes. And dirty into the bargain. And if your hair is not too bad, no one could say that you were looking your best. What do you want?'

Stung by the harshness of this address, Marianne felt the blood rush to her face.

'My dress is like myself, Sire! It has travelled three-quarters of the way across Russia, all the way from Odessa, to reach you! There may be holes in it, but it has served at least to keep this safe!'

From its inner pocket, she drew out the letter and the Tsar's note which she had managed to preserve unharmed through so many vicissitudes, as she had also the diamond still sewn inside her chemise.

'What's this?' Napoleon asked gruffly.

'A letter from the Swedish crown prince to his good friend the Tsar,' Marianne said, speaking very clearly so that he could not possibly seem to misunderstand her. 'For a one-time general of the Republic, Your Majesty will see that he has some strange counsel to give. You will see also, Sire, a note from the same source, making clear the prince's ambitions and the price he is willing to pay for their fulfilment.'

He almost snatched the letter from her hand and, after a sharp glance at her, began to read it. As he read, Marianne saw his nostrils tighten and a little vein swelled in his forehead. Knowing his temper, she expected him to give vent to an angry outburst, but he did nothing of the kind. Instead, he tossed both papers on to the bed, as if unwilling to soil his hands with them. 'Where did you get these?' was all he asked.

'From the Duc de Richelieu's desk, Sire – after seeing him suitably drugged, and shortly before setting fire to a number of vessels in the port of Odessa.'

Now he was looking at her in frank amazement, an eyebrow lifted alarmingly.

'Drugged?' he said faintly. 'Setting fire to—' Then, without warning, he gave a shout of laughter and held out his hand to her. 'Come and sit here by me, Princess, and tell me all about it. Truly, you are the most astonishing woman I have ever met! I send you off on one mission in which you fail magnificently and then you carry off another on your own initiative and make an unbelievable success of it.'

He was just sitting down beside her when a timid knock at the door made him start up again.

'I said I did not wish to be disturbed,' he shouted.

Constant's head peered cautiously round the door.

'It's General Durosnel, Sire. He insists that you must see him. He says it is a matter of the utmost importance.'

'Another of 'em! Everything seems to be vitally important this morning. Very well, send him in.'

The general entered and saluted. Then, remaining stiffly at attention, he said: 'Sire, I ask your forgiveness. But it is right that your Majesty should know at once that I have insufficient men to keep order in a city of this size. Fires have broken out during the night and everywhere we find desperate-looking fellows with weapons who fire upon my men—'

'Well, what do you suggest?'

'Appoint a governor at once, Sire. The Gendarmerie is not enough. With your Majesty's permission, I should advise giving the post to the Duc de Trevise—'

'Marshal Mortier?'

'Yes, Sire. The Young Guard under his command have already taken up positions in and around the Kremlin. It is vital that he should be given overall control of Moscow.'

Napoleon thought for a moment, then: 'Very well. Send Berthier to me. I will instruct him accordingly. You may go.' The Emperor turned back to Marianne. 'To come back to you, my dear. Tell me the story of your adventures. I shall enjoy hearing it.'

'Sire,' Marianne cried, beseechingly, 'I beg you, let that wait, for I have something much more serious to tell you.'

'More serious? Good Lord, what's that?'

'You are in danger in this city, Sire – in very great danger. Believe me, you should not stay another hour in this palace – or in Moscow! For by tomorrow there may be nothing left of Moscow, or of your army either—'

Napoleon rose so abruptly that he almost toppled the sofa, and Marianne with it.

'What is this nonsense? Upon my word, you must be out of your mind!'

'I wish I were, Sire. Alas, I fear that I am all too sane.'

Then, since he made no answer, she went on hurriedly to tell him all that she had learned in the Rostopchin palace, of the arsenal at Vorontsovo, the balloon, the emptying of the prisons and the dangerous felons at large and of the abandoned city.

They will not return, Sire. Already, last night, fires have broken out. It will happen again tonight, at any moment, perhaps, and since there is not a single fire engine left in Moscow you are in deadly danger. Listen to me, Sire, I implore you! Leave this place! Leave before it is too late! I know that all those who value their lives must have left the city before tonight.'

'You know, you say? How do you know?'

She did not answer immediately and when at last she spoke it was slowly, choosing her words carefully so as not to risk involving her godfather.

'The night before last, I was obliged to seek shelter in the house of a catholic priest. There were refugees there – emigres, I suppose, for I overheard one of them pressing his companions to quit Moscow before tonight at all costs.'

'The names of these people?'

'I do not know, Sire. I have only been here for three days. I know no one.'

He was silent for a moment, evidently thinking, then he turned back to her and sat down again with a