The laws regarding emigrees were severe and it was necessary to find out whether Ellis Selton's niece fell under their prescriptions.
The worthy lawyer agreed that the Compas d'Or was a sound, respectable place. He himself was bound for the Cheval Vert in the rue Geoffory Lasnier, famous as the inn where Danton had put up on his arrival from Arcis- sur-Aube. He was expected there, otherwise he would have given himself the honour of escorting Mademoiselle Mallerousse to the Compas d'Or but she might have perfect confidence in the porter who was one he had employed himself many times. He was even conscientious enough to suggest to her how much she ought to pay the man, then, raising his beaver hat, he bowed, expressed the hope that they would meet again before long and disappeared into the crowd. Marianne prepared to follow her guide. 'Is it far to the inn?'
'Ten minutes on foot, mam'zelle! Just down the rue Riquetonne and we'll be there in no time. Just wait while I put up the heavy brolly for you. In this rain, you'll be sopping wet before we're there.'
Fitting the action to the words, the porter, who was a stocky, red haired lad with a cheerful countenance and a snub nose, opened an enormous umbrella above his client's head and led her out into the street.
There were few people about, the darkness and the bad weather combining to keep the people of Paris within doors. The big oil lamps slung on wires across the street threw little light and although she was bursting with curiosity, Marianne was obliged to give most of her attention to watching where she put her feet. There were no pavements and the big round cobblestones did not make for easy walking. Without her companion to point out the bad places and show her the planks set like small bridges across the swollen gutters, she would have ricked her ankle time and time again. All the same, some of the shop windows looked enticing and among the passers by were a number of well dressed women, prosperous looking men and lively children.
The porter gave a warning shout and, just in time, he dragged her back against the wall of a building, to avoid a glittering officer on horseback who galloped blindly past and almost rode them down. Marianne had a brief glimpse of a fine black horse, a green coat with white trimmings, white buckskin breeches in long, gleaming boots, a dazzling brass helmet adorned with leopard skin and a long black plume, above a moustached face, red and gold epaulettes and white gloves, a vision at once dashing and colourful.
'Who's that?' she asked, shaken but admiring.
'One of the Empress's dragoons. They're always in a hurry.' Suddenly noticing her dazzled expression he added: 'Handsome fellows, eh? But they're not the best! Anyone can see you're just up from the country, but wait 'till you see a chasseur of the Guard, or a mameluke, or a Polish lancer or a hussar! Not to mention the marshals with all their gold braid and medals! Oh, the little Corporal knows how to dress his men all right!'
'The little Corporal? Who's that?'
The boy's astonishment as he looked at Marianne was quite genuine. His eyebrows rose until they reached his hair.
'But – the Emperor, of course! Where've you come from, not to know that?'
'A convent!' Marianne retorted crisply, not to lose her dignity. 'You don't meet many dragoons there – or corporals, big or little!'
'Oh, so that's it!'
Very soon they turned into the rue Montorgueil and Marianne forgot all about the dragoon. The chief interest of the street centred on a large, brilliantly lit restaurant with another, more modest establishment close by. Elegant carriages with gleaming paintwork, drawn by high bred horses with glittering harness, drew up before the doors to disgorge no less exquisite diners, many of them in splendid uniform.
'That's the Rocher de Cancale,' the porter told her with pride. 'They have the best whale pate in Paris, and the best fish and the best oysters! They come fresh each day by special delivery. For those who can afford it!'
This time, Marianne made no attempt to hide her admiration. Her ideas about the French were having to undergo a certain amount of revision. Through the lighted windows of the famous restaurant she caught sight of men of stately bearing, shimmering satin, diamonds gleaming on white throats and thought how gorgeous were the uniforms, how rare and precious the fur wraps of the ladies.
'Of course,' the boy went on with a slight sniff, 'it's not the Chord! Company's a bit mixed, for all it's so showy! You don't find many duchesses there but their menfolk like it – it's a great place for birds of paradise!'
The smells wafting out of the great restaurant were none the less titillating to Marianne's nostrils. She realized suddenly that she was very hungry.
'Is it far to the Compas d'Or?'
'No. This is it!'
He indicated a handsome renaissance building, now a substantial inn. There was bottled glass in the low, small-paned windows and fine carving on the front. The general air was one of comfort and respectability. A diligence clattered through the wide arch with a great ringing of bells.
'The Creil diligence,' the porter said. 'That and the Gisors both leave from here. Well, this is it, mam'zelle.'
He called out to the landlord, Bobois, who was just turning back indoors after presiding over the departure of the diligence.
'Hey! Landlord! A customer for you!'
The innkeeper's regal bearing unbent considerably at the sight of the well dressed young woman. At the name of Nicolas Mallerousse a great smile spread over his plump, clean-shaven cheeks, revealing a gleam of gold teeth between thick pepper and salt whiskers.
'Consider yourself at home, little lady! Any niece of Nicolas's is more to me than my own daughter! Hey, Marthon! Come and take mademoiselle's bag!'
A servant girl in a starched cap came running out and Marianne settled her score with the porter, handing a tip which called forth an expression of high delight from the boy.
'Thank you, mam'zelle,' he said, tossing his blue cap in the air. 'If you've any more errands, any time, just say to anyone round here that you want Gracchus-Hannibal Pioche and I'll be right there!'
With this, Gracchus-Hannibal departed whistling, apparently no whit troubled by his sternly Roman name, while Bobois and the maid escorted Mademoiselle Mallerousse into the inn. The place was very full and seemed admirably well run. This was the busiest time of the evening and waiters and serving maids were flying in all directions serving those guests who were eating downstairs and carrying food up to others supping in their rooms above. Bobois suggested this latter course to Marianne and she agreed gratefully, feeling somewhat alarmed by such a press of people.
They made their way to the polished oak staircase. Two men were at that moment coming down and Marianne and her escort were obliged to wait until there was room to pass.
One of the men was about forty, of middling height but strong build, elegantly dressed in a blue coat with engraved silver buttons. He had a broad face with strongly marked features framed in dark sideburns, and very bronzed like that of a man who had lived much in the sun. His blue eyes were bright and twinkling and he wore his tall grey hat rakishly on one side. He was twirling a gold knobbed cane idly in one large, ridiculously gloved hand.
Fascinated by the extraordinary impression of power which emanated from this man, Marianne watched him come downstairs without paying much attention to his companion who was, in any case, a little behind. But when she did look at him, it was with a sense of shock. There before her, clad in a severely buttoned dark suit, was Jean Le Dru.
Left alone in the pretty little chamber with its old-fashioned chintz hangings and windows looking out on to the main courtyard of the inn to which Bobois had conducted her, Marianne struggled to put some order into her thoughts. The sight of the young Breton had come as a complete shock to her. She had only just managed not to cry out. It would have been unwise to court recognition, since he knew her real identity. She congratulated herself now that he had certainly not recognized her. She had not been standing directly in the light and the brim of her bonnet had thrown her face into shadow.
Le Dru had followed the man in the blue coat without a glance and Marianne overheard the latter say to Bobois:
'We dine at the Rocher de Cancale, Bobois. You can send word there if anyone should want me.'
