Marianne

dark curtains, the room breathed an atmosphere of privacy and peace.

Marianne sat on the edge of her chair, hardly daring to breathe for fear of disturbing the silence, broken only by the faint scratching of the prince's pen on the paper. Talleyrand finished his letter, then, throwing down his pen, raised his pale eyes to look at her. There was something cold and enigmatic in his expression which made Marianne uneasy without quite knowing why.

'The Countess de Perigord seems to hold you in great esteem, Mademoiselle Mallerousse. That is no mean achievement, you know. What witchcraft did you employ to gain that victory? Madame de Perigord is too young to give her friendship by halves. Is it – your voice?'

'That may be so, my lord, but I do not think so. It is simply, that I speak German. It is not only the sound of my voice but that of her native town which pleases the countess.'

'I can believe that. You speak several languages, I believe?'

'Four, my lord, not counting French.'

'Indeed! Girls are well taught – in Brittany. I should never have believed it. However, that decides me to ask you whether, in view of your education, you would agree to act as my secretary from time to time. I need someone to translate certain of my letters. You could be very useful to me and the princess would be quite willing to lend you.'

The proposal took Marianne by surprise and she felt the colour flood into her cheeks. What Talleyrand was suggesting to her was quite impossible. If she were to become his secretary Fouche would know of it at once. He would be delighted and instantly demand vastly more detailed and interesting reports. Marianne had absolutely no desire to record anything beyond the society gossips and small, day to day, household items to which she had prudently confined herself so far. Fouche had been satisfied with that and that was how it must go on. But if she were to be admitted to a sight of the prince's correspondence, Fouche would no longer be satisfied with it and then Marianne would be obliged to become the one thing she was determined not to be and believed at present she was not, which was a real spy. She stood up.

'My lord,' she said, 'I am deeply sensible of the honour your serene highness does me, but I cannot accept.'

'And why not, if you please?' Talleyrand said sharply.

'I – I am not a fit person. Your highness is a statesman, a diplomat, I am fresh from the country and in no way fitted for a post of such importance. Even my handwriting—'

'You write an excellent hand, I believe. At least, if this is anything to go by, eh?'

He took some sheets of paper from a drawer as he spoke and, to her horror, Marianne saw that what he held in his hand was the report she had given Floquet that morning. She knew then that she was lost. For an instant, the mahogany furniture seemed to dance before her eyes as though the house itself were falling and she had a momentary impression that the bronze lustre had fallen on her head. But it wasn't in Marianne's nature to go to pieces in a crisis. All her instincts were to stand up and fight. The blood drained from her face with the effort it cost her but she managed to show nothing of the desperate fear which possessed her. With a little curtsey to the prince, she turned on her heel and walked collectedly towards the door.

'In that case,' she said calmly, 'I have nothing more to do here. I am your most serene highness's servant!'

Talleyrand had a long familiarity with the ways of women but it had not prepared him for this.

'Where do you think you're going?'

'To pack,' Marianne answered frigidly. 'I shall then take myself off before your most serene highness decides how to punish me.'

Talleyrand could not help laughing.

'Good God, how should I punish you? I can't even ask my friend Fouche to have you arrested, since it was he who sent you. And I can scarcely see myself doing away with you discreetly in my own library or calling the world to witness the frightful blackness of your little heart. Come back here and sit down and listen to me.'

Marianne obeyed reluctantly. The steady gaze of the prince's pale eyes made her uncomfortable. There was a kind of humorous penetration in them which made her feel as though they could pierce through her clothes, and even her skin, to lay bare her very heart and soul. She was also slightly apprehensive about what was to follow. But, when she was seated once more, Talleyrand smiled.

'My dear child,' he began, 'I have known our Minister of Police, and his methods, for too long not to have learned to beware. We have cordially detested one another for years and our – mutual affection is much too recent, and a great deal too interesting, not to require handling with some degree of caution. So you see, mademoiselle Mallerousse – by the way, are you really called Mallerousse?'

'No,' Marianne replied shortly. 'But you will gain nothing by questioning me further. I shall not soil my true name by dragging it into this business. You may do what you like with me!'

'A tempting offer, eh? Never mind. I am glad to see I was not mistaken in my judgement of you. As for your real name, that does not greatly concern me. You are undoubtedly an Emigre who has re-entered the country illegally and been obliged to accept our dear Fouche's – er – protection. He has a gift for making such bargains. Keep your secret, then, you will tell me of your own accord some day. Now, what are we going to do with you?'

He rose and began walking slowly about the room. Marianne stared down at her green velvet reticule, partly to conceal what was passing in her mind and partly to avoid having to look at the tall black figure moving to and fro across a patch of sunlight. From time to time, the figure would move out of sight and then Marianne was acutely conscious of the eyes resting on her. She controlled her nervousness with an effort. What was he waiting for? What, precisely, did he want with her? Why did he not speak?

She realized suddenly that he had come to a halt behind her. A hand, light yet commanding, rested on her shoulder, almost brushing her cheek.

'I think,' he said at last, 'We shall continue with our plan. There are certain things in which you can be of invaluable assistance to me. As for those services required of you by his grace the Duke of Otranto – well, you will simply go on as though nothing had happened.'

Marianne gave a start.

'What? You – your highness, I mean, wishes me to go on—'

'Most certainly! You will, naturally, show me your letters before giving them to Floquet. It is most desirable from my own point of view that certain exalted circles should be well informed of what takes place in my house. It shows the Emperor is still interested, whatever he may think. Go on, my dear, go on. One way and another, I think, you will be kept very busy. All the same—'

He paused. The hand on Marianne's shoulder seemed to grow a shade heavier, almost threatening. But only for an instant. The next second it had become gentle and caressing, running lightly over the girl's slender neck to the warm nape. Marianne held her breath.

'All the same, I may perhaps request some services – of another kind.'

Instantly, Marianne had torn herself free of the caressing hand and sprung to her feet to face the prince, scarlet with anger. She understood now what he wanted of her, the kind of services he expected in exchange for his promised silence. It was blackmail worse than Fouche's!

'Do not count on me for services of that kind!' she cried fiercely. 'I have spied on you, yes, although my reports contained nothing worth reading! But I will not buy my freedom in your bed!'

Talleyrand's lips quivered, then he laughed outright.

'Are you not, as the princess would say, a little lacking in respect? For shame, Mademoiselle Mallerousse! These are notions and expressions, that go only too well with your foreign name! I meant merely – to ask you to sing, for one or more of my friends, when and where I shall request.'

'Oh. Is that—'

'All? Certainly. Nothing more. My dear Marianne – may I call you by that charming name that suits you so well? – you are very lovely, but I have never enjoyed making love to a woman who yielded to anything but her own desires. Love is like music, an ineffable harmony, and the body merely an instrument, although the most wonderful of all instruments beyond a doubt. If one of the two is out of tune, then that harmony is broken. I dislike false notes – as much as you do yourself.'

'May – may your highness forgive me,' Marianne said in a low voice, feeling horribly ashamed. 'I behaved foolishly and I beg your pardon. Naturally, I should be glad to be of service.'