aristocratic captor, who was certain to be the mortal foe of liberalism in any form and, if he possessed even a fraction of the force of character of his illustrious ancestor, might well prove no easy nut to crack.
Marianne could picture him: lofty, arrogant, ruling his vast province with a rod of iron, a lover of luxury and of the arts, highly intelligent almost certainly but distinctly unapproachable.
Her fear of him was growing as she traversed the harbor, overflowing with life and activity. Even in the late afternoon the heat was still tremendous, but the crowd of tradesmen, clerks, peasants, seamen, porters and soldiers grew denser and busier the nearer they got to the long street which ran uphill to the administrative center of the town. There on the top of the cliff, above a handful of elegant pink and white houses built in the style of the preceding century, shone the gilded onion domes and rococo belfry of the brand-new churches.
Buildings were going up on all sides and the sites were all alive with men at work. The biggest seemed to be the arsenal, which was nearing completion. Masons on long ladders were busy carving the Russian imperial eagle above the monumental gateway, and their youthful guide began by leading the two travelers straight up to this, explaining engagingly by means of a great many gestures that before penetrating further into the city they must not neglect the opportunity to admire what was undoubtedly going to be one of the finest monuments anywhere to the glory of Alexander I, Tsar of all the Russias.
'Very well,' Jolival sighed. 'Let's go and admire it. It won't take long and we don't want to offend anyone.'
Standing on a block of stone a few yards away from the scaffolding was a man apparently engaged in supervising the sculptors at their work. He was evidently a person of some importance because he turned from time to time and said a few words to a tall, dark young man carrying a writing block who at once made haste to copy it down.
The man's appearance was sufficiently remarkable. He was tall and thin and his rather aquiline features wore a slightly haunted expression. His hair, uncovered to the evening breeze, was short and wavy, still black in places but completely white in others. He was dressed any which way in a frock coat that had seen better days, well-worn boots and a black neckcloth knotted loosely around his throat. He was puffing away at a long meerschaum pipe which produced as much smoke as a small but lively volcano.
He was turning to toss another word or two to the tall young man between puffs when Marianne, Jolival and their little procession entered his field of vision. A flicker of interest came into his eyes at the sight of a pretty woman, but before he could do more than register her presence his attention was deflected by a frightful clamor of noise and shouting which broke out around him.
In another moment he had leaped down from his block of stone and rushed at them headlong with outstretched arms, mowing the two of them down and collapsing on top of them on a pile of grain sacks awaiting loading.
Before either Marianne or Jolival had time to do so much as gasp, a cartload of stone had thundered past bare inches from their heap of sacks and rumbled madly on to plunge into the harbor with a mighty splash. But for the stranger's prompt and courageous action, the two friends' journey would have ended there and then.
Blenching at the thought of what she had escaped, Marianne accepted her rescuer's hand to help her to her feet. Jolival was brushing dust from his elegant raiment, now irremediably crushed. Automatically straightening her bonnet, which had tipped over one ear, Marianne turned toward the stranger, now rather summarily slapping the dust off himself, a look swimming with gratitude.
'Monsieur,' she began brokenly. 'I don't know how to—'
The man paused in his work and cocked an eyebrow at her.
'Are you French? Have I had the happiness to oblige my fellow countrymen? If that is indeed so, Madame, then I am doubly glad to have preserved your beauty from harm.'
Marianne found herself blushing under his ardent gaze. But by now Jolival had recovered from his fright and decided to take a hand. Bowing with ineffable grace despite his dented hat and crumpled clothes, he introduced himself.
'The Vicomte Arcadius de Jolival, entirely at your service, Monsieur. This lady is my ward, the daughter of the late Marquis d'Asselnat de Villeneuve.'
Again the man raised his left eyebrow in a way that might have indicated either surprise or irony, Jolival could not be sure which. Then, all at once, he started searching through his pockets so feverishly that the vicomte could not help but ask him if he had lost something.
'My pipe,' was the answer. 'I can't think what I did with it.'
'You must have dropped it when you rushed so nobly to our aid,' Marianne said, bending down to look about her.
'I don't think so. I have a feeling it was gone before that.'
It was not far to seek. The necessary appurtenance was restored a moment later by the tall young man who now rejoined them unhurriedly and without losing one jot of his Olympian calm.
'Your pipe, Monsieur,' he said.
The stranger's harassed expression cleared.
'Ah, thank you, my boy. Just go along and see how the work on the guardhouse is coming along. I will be with you in a moment. And so,' he went on, sucking vigorously at his pipe in an effort to get it going again, 'and so… French, are you? Well, what the devil are you doing here, if I may ask?'
'Why of course you may!' Marianne smiled, finding herself liking him extremely. 'I am here to see the Duc de Richelieu. He is still governor of the city, I hope?'
'He is indeed—and of all new Russia. You know him?'
'Not yet. But you, sir, who seem to be a fellow countryman, are you perhaps acquainted with him?'
The man smiled. 'You would be surprised to find how many Russians speak French quite as well as I do, Madame. But you are correct on both counts. I am French and I do know the governor.'
'Is he here in Odessa at this moment?'
'Why—yes, I imagine so. I have not heard that he has gone away.'
'And what kind of a man is he? Forgive me if I seem to be presuming on your kindness, but I need to know. I heard it said in Constantinople that he is a very formidable man and somewhat difficult of access, that he rules here like a despot and is a hard man to cross. They said also that he hates the emperor Napoleon and everything to do with him.'
The smile had faded from the man's face and he was regarding Marianne attentively with a stern, almost menacing expression.
'The Turks,' he said slowly,' have not so far had much cause to love His Excellency, who dealt them several sharp blows during the war. But do I understand, then, that you have come from the land of our erstwhile enemy? Have you no fear that the governor may require an explanation of what you were doing there? The ink is barely dry on the signatures to the treaty, you know. There is little mutual trust as yet and the smiles are still a trifle forced. I can only advise you to be very careful. Where the safety of his province is concerned, the governor is adamant.'
'Do you mean that he will take me for a spy? ' Marianne said in a low voice, coloring with a rush. 'I do hope he won't because what I have to—' She was obliged to break off because the tall young man had come back at a run and was bending to whisper something in his master's ear with an appearance of unwonted agitation. Their new friend uttered an exclamation of annoyance and began to mutter angrily.
'Fools and half-wits! Nothing but fools and half-wits! Very well, I'm coming. Forgive me'—he turned back to Marianne—'but I am obliged to leave you on urgent business. We shall meet again, I am sure.'
Cramming his pipe into his pocket without troubling to extinguish it, he bowed sketchily and was already hurrying away when Jolival called after him.
'Monsieur! Hi, Monsieur! Tell us at least whom we have to thank for saving our lives. Or how are we to find you again?'
The man paused for half a second in his stride and flung back over his shoulder: 'Septimanie! I am called Septimanie!'
Then he vanished through the gateway of the arsenal, leaving Jolival staring after him with a look of astonishment.
'Septimanie?' he growled. 'Why, that's my wife's name!'
Marianne burst out laughing and came to slip her arm through her old friend's.
