Marianne

'Nothing. You will see. But whatever happens, I will come back before daylight and lock this door, whether you have returned or not. Then, all will be safe. And, take my advice and leave that light shawl behind. Even in the dark, you could be seen.'

Letting fall the heavy lace, Marianne went quickly to one of the beds, stripped off a brown blanket and wrapped it closely round her. She was trembling with cold and excitement. She turned to Perinnaic again.

'How can I thank you for what you are doing for me?'

'Easily!' The smile on his face was replaced by a look of sudden ferocity. 'See to it that Morvan's head rolls and I shall be repaid a hundredfold!'

Marianne repressed a shudder at the twisted hatred that showed in the hunchback's face.

'I don't see how I can do that. I don't even know his face—'

'Nor I. But he is absent very often and I know he goes to Paris. There, he must surely discard his mask. Try and find out who he is – and, if you succeed in sending him to the scaffold he has eluded for so long, then know you will have avenged countless unhappy souls! Go quickly now, I have talked too much and words are perilous.'

Marianne glided swiftly out of the room. Periannaic had given her a taper in a crude holder to light her but she remembered the way to the kitchen perfectly and soon found herself in the big, still warm room. The fire was still alight and judging that this would give her light enough, Marianne put out her candle and left it on the overmantel. She made her way into the little room, climbed on the table and set about opening the window, praying to heaven that it would not creak too much. To her great relief, it opened easily. Marianne leaned out.

It was a black night and the wind was blowing strongly but her eyes soon grew accustomed to it. Immediately facing her, she was able to make out a large squat building that could only be the barn. Quickly pushing out the encumbering blanket, she wriggled her slender body through the tiny opening. It was only just big enough and she scraped herself painfully in the process but the will that drove her was stronger than the pain. Then she was standing outside. The ground was hard with frost and the grass quite dry so that her feet did not get wet, but even so it was not very warm and Marianne was glad to wrap the blanket round her again. She hurried over to the barn, her light shoes making no sound. There was no one in sight and she had little fear of meeting anyone. She knew already from the way old Soizic had grumbled at having to take the prisoner's supper out to him that the Bretons were not fond of going out after dark for fear of encountering the ghosts of the dead.

She reached the barn and felt for the key but she had to stand on tiptoe to reach the narrow crack between two stones. At last her fingers closed on the cold metal. Even then, however, it was not easy to discover the lock. Her hand shook with excitement and her heart beat as though it would leap out of her breast but when the key finally slipped into place she found that someone must have oiled the lock recently because it turned easily and without making a sound. Somehow, Marianne found herself inside, blown in with a gust of wind. She had to lean on the door with all her strength to close it. Overcome by excitement, she closed her eyes and once again had the feeling that all this was somehow unreal and absurd, as though she were playing a part.

From somewhere inside the barn a voice spoke. 'So you've come? It's about time, I was just going to blow out my candle.'

Comfortably ensconced in a heap of straw, Jean Le Dru sat with folded arms looking at Marianne. The candle she saw was still alight although almost burned down. It was stuck to the tray beside the remains of the meal. She understood however why Perinnaic had told her that if she meant to escape she would have to do so alone. Jean seemed to have suffered no ill treatment. Far from it. He had obviously been allowed to wash because his fair hair shone like gold and the beard had gone from his chin. He had been given dry clothes as well but there was a broad iron band around his ankles linked by a heavy chain to a massive ring embedded in the masonry of the wall. There must be a key to unfasten that chain, but Marianne had not got it.

Her face was such a picture of disappointment that Le Dru began to laugh.

'Yes, your friends have anchored me good and fast. But maybe, if they've given you a key I can see in your hand they've been good enough to give you the one that opens this little trinket as well?'

She shook her head. 'They're are not my friends,' she said unhappily. 'I found out where they hid this key – I was hoping that we could escape together, tonight.'

'Escape? Why do you want to escape? Aren't you happy here? I saw you trotting off like an honoured guest on the arm of that masked devil and, I will say, they've got you up like a princess. A Bretonne princess, of course, but then, in my view they're the best of all! And there's no denying it suits you. You look quite lovely in it.'

'Stop teasing me! We are not in a drawing room. We must find some way to escape, I tell you, or both of us are lost!'

'I am, at any rate. As for you, although I don't quite see how you are in danger my dear – marquise, is it? I am not stopping you running about the countryside on this charming night. For my own part, with your permission, I am going to sleep. It's not so bad here in this straw, all things considered. So I'll just wish you a good journey. Don't forget to shut the door when you go. There's a devil of a wind!'

'But you don't understand!' Marianne wailed almost in tears.

She went down on her knees beside him. 'I am not what these people think.'

'Not an aristocrat? Who do you think will believe that? One's only to look at you.'

'It is true, I am an aristocrat, but I am not an agent of the king. Ever since I came, they have talked about nothing but conspiracy, the princes' agents and the Emperor's spies, but I don't understand a word of it. I know nothing about it – nothing, I swear to you!'

In her desperate longing to convince him, she had clasped her hands in a childish gesture of supplication. He must believe her. He must be her friend again, as he had been last night in the storm. She needed his man's strength so badly! And now, his beardless face made him look so unbelievably young, much closer to her than he had been before. There was something open and clean about him which was both attractive and reassuring. Running out of argument, she said in a small, frightened voice which all unknown to herself, touched a chord in the boy's locked heart.

'You see – I'm only seventeen.'

The grey eyes which had been so cold a moment before, softened suddenly. Stretching out his arm, Jean folded the girl's clasped hands in his one big one and drew her forward until she was sitting on the straw.

'Now,' he said quietly, 'tell me what made you run away from England. You were running away, weren't you?'

She did not answer immediately, uncertain whether or not to tell him the truth. Her experience with the duc d'Avaray had shown her how fantastic and unconvincing her story sounded. On the other hand, she needed Jean too much to wish to deceive him. If she made up a story, he would know somehow that she was not telling the truth. And besides, she had had enough of lying. Abruptly her mind was made up.

'I killed my husband in a duel on our wedding night!'

'What?'

Marianne realized that she had succeeded in breaking through the shell of mocking indifference with which Jean surrounded himself. She saw, with a degree of innocent pride, his eyes widen and appear to change colour. She was vaguely conscious that he was altering his estimation of her. His lips barely moved as he said softly:

'Do you know what you are saying?'

'I know,' she said sadly, 'it does sound incredible but it is true.'

Encouraged by the instinctive trust which he inspired in her and by a deep longing to confide in someone at last, she told him all about the terrible events of her wedding night. She kept nothing back, and told her story with an honesty to which the Breton's own uncompromising nature responded. She knew he would not turn away from her and when, at the end, he nodded and put out one finger timidly to stroke her cheek, she was sure of his sympathy.

'Pity you're a girl. You'd have made a splendid boy! Held your own anywhere! But now, tell me why you are in danger and why you have to escape from here? What has that masked man done to you?'

'Nothing yet,' she assured him, touched by his concern, 'but we must find some way of leaving here, both of us, because we can do nothing alone. Meanwhile, I have come to ask you to stick to the same story. The chief of the wreckers thinks that—'

She embarked on the tale of her dealings with Morvan. Jean listened, as before, but this time when she