much to the credit of her muscles, was getting the other women back into line. Marianne, who had flung herself to the ground for safety, found herself yanked to her feet more quickly than she could have wished. Then, almost immediately, the accusations broke out.
'La Tricoteuse was only defending herself, sister! This little sneak half throttled her!'
'It's not true,' Marianne protested. 'I only slapped her because she kept treading on my heels.'
'Ho, indeed! Dirty liar! You tried to finish us.'
'Then what about the knife?' Marianne cried furiously. 'I suppose that was mine, too!'
'Sure it was!' screeched a tall, thin girl whose unnaturally red cheeks proclaimed consumption. 'It was all she could do to get it away from you!'
These bare-faced falsehoods inflamed Marianne to such a pitch that she forgot even the most elementary rules of caution. These women were like dangerous animals and instinctively she reacted to them as such. She was about to turn and rend the worst of them, while la Tricoteuse snivelled realistically and whined that the
'That's enough!' the sister's voice said sternly. 'To chapel, everyone! And try and ask God to forgive you. As for you, the new one, Mother Superior will deal with you after mass! We have punishment cells for troublemakers.'
Satisfied with the thought that 'the new one' could pay for all, the prisoners went quietly to their places while Marianne, to her intense fury and indignation, found herself marched after them, held firmly in the sister- wardress's strong grip. She was not released until they reached the big, cold grey chapel where she was safely shut up in one of the small box-like stalls filling the nave, each of which contained room for only one person and commanded a view of nothing but the altar. Each prisoner was locked into one of these contraptions with no communication with any other, thus avoiding the possibility of any disturbance and allowing the nuns to gather peaceably in their appointed places in the choir.
Marianne heard nothing of the mass. She was burning with rebellious indignation, having concluded from the wardress's attitude that she, and she alone, was to be held responsible for what had happened. She forgot even the hideous fear she had endured and was far too angry to have any thought of humbling herself, even to the Almighty, and too certain of the justice of her own cause to ask for help. Ever since that dreadful wedding night, Marianne's ideas of justice, human and divine, had been very well defined. In a world where wrong invariably triumphed, it was necessary to fight tooth and claw in order to survive. Christian resignation had never been her strong point but from now on, she meant to have nothing more to do with it.
'Oh Lord,' was her only prayer, 'don't help those who want to hurt me when I have done no harm to them! If you are really the God of justice, now is the time to show it. Or if not, in a few minutes they will drag me down into some horrid, black dungeon and you alone know when I shall get out.'
Strong in this injunction to the Almighty and determined to defend herself to her last ounce of strength, Marianne admitted to being hustled out of her box, the last of all the prisoners, and, with a sister-wardress on either side of her, led off to see the Mother Superior. Outside a lofty door with peeling chocolate coloured paint, they came to a halt and one of the wardresses knocked.
'Come in,' said a sharp voice which to Marianne boded no good. The door was opened. One of the sisters gave Marianne a gentle push and closed it again behind her. She was then able to discover that although, as the number of holy pictures and objects scattered about the room indicated, she was certainly in the Superior's office, it was no nun she had to deal with. The owner of the sharp voice was a man of medium height and slim build who stood by the window with his hands clasped behind his back.
'Come in,' he said' again as Marianne paused at the edge of the big, worn carpet that covered the floor, 'and sit down.'
'I was told I was to see the Mother Superior,' she said with as much confidence as she could muster.
'I am not she, as you have no doubt realized. I trust however, you will have no complaint to make about the change since you appear to have been demanding me all night.'
A wave of gladness brought a sudden flush to the girl's cheeks.
'Oh! You are—'
'The Minister of Police, precisely. And now, since I am here to listen to you, suppose you tell me what you have to say.'
To Marianne, her spirits already lowered by previous events, this, spoken in a harsh, dry voice, seemed an unpromising beginning. There was something about this man in the green coat with a red ribbon which made a complexion the colour of old ivory look paler still, something unbending and self-contained which impressed her. His hatchet face with the thin lips and heavy, drooping eyelids, was a curious mixture of alertness and imperturbability. The chin that rested on the abundant folds of a silk neckcloth was resolute but the expression in the eyes beneath the fringe of grey, almost white hair clustered in short curls about his brow, was quite unreadable. The length of his body and narrowness of his shoulders, which not even admirable tailoring could disguise, gave to his appearance a curious fluidity which was not without its own indefinable charm. And Marianne, whose idea of a policeman was of some kind of half-educated lout, an idea based largely on the novels of Tobias Smollett, decided inwardly that here was a person worthy of the name, one who might well be dangerous but who as an erstwhile revolutionary carried his ducal title with a certain air.
Fouche had begun to stroll slowly up and down the room, his hands still clasped behind his back, waiting to hear the girl's story. When nothing happened, he paused before her, inclining a little forward.
'Well?' he enquired sardonically. 'What have you to say for yourself? You would have had the good sisters chasing through the streets in the middle of the night to find me and now that I am here you can't open your mouth. Must I help you?'
Marianne looked a little fearfully up into his face.
'I should be very glad, if you would not dislike it too much,' she said sincerely. 'I don't know where to begin—'
This innocent avowal extracted a smile from the Minister. He drew up a chair facing the prisoner and sat down.
'Very well. I am willing to admit that to one of your age police interrogations may be something of a novelty. What is your name?'
'Marianne, Anne, Elizabeth d'Asselnat de Villefranche—'
'So, you are an emigree. That is serious.'
'I was only a few months old when I was taken to England, after my parents went to the guillotine, to my aunt, who was the only close relative left to me. Does that really make me an emigree?'
'The least one can say is that you did not become one of your own free will. Go on. Tell me your whole story.'
This time, Marianne did not hesitate at all. Nicolas had advised her to be completely frank with the Duke of Otranto. He himself had given the gist of the situation in his letter but since this letter had been left at the Compas d'Or and might well be lost altogether, it was better to make a complete confession. This she did.
When she finished, she was surprised to see her interrogator put his hand into his pocket and take out a piece of paper which she recognized at once. It was Black Fish's letter. Smiling faintly, Fouche dangled it in his long, slender fingers.
'But—' Marianne almost choked. 'That is my letter! Why did you make me tell it all when you knew already?'
'To see if you would tell the truth. Having read this, young lady, I am entirely satisfied with the examination.'
'Oh,' said Marianne. 'I see. The gendarmes must have searched my room. They found that letter and gave it to you.'
'By no means! It did not occur to them. But don't blame them. No, simpler than that, your baggage was brought to me at the ministry at daybreak this morning by someone who was present at your arrest and appeared to feel strongly about it.'
'Monsieur Bobois! Oh, how good of him! He cannot have understood at all and—'
'Don't jump to conclusions, young woman! Who said anything about Bobois? He would certainly never have contemplated the liberty indulged in by your cavalier. The devilish fellow actually burst into my bedchamber,
