He was in a hurry now, fiddling nervously with the heaps of papers and portfolios in red morocco which littered his enormous desk. But Marianne herself was too lost in thought to feel offended. Madame Hamelin's reference to the Golden Fleece had reminded her of the companion of her adventures and the recollection was not a pleasant one. He had been hurt, he might be waiting for her and she would have to break the word she had given him. It was an uncomfortable thought. But then, she was so happy. She could not help preferring that slight sense of guilt to the regret that would have been hers had she left France. Jason would soon forget the girl he had won at cards in one night's madness.
Napoleon tweaked her ear. 'You might at least kiss me instead of standing there dreaming,' he reproached her. 'The time will go slowly for me, until tonight. But I must send you away.'
Fortunee had gone discreetly to look out of a window but even so Marianne was conscious of her presence and gave herself to his embrace with some timidity. Napoleon, though still in his dressing-gown, was Emperor once more. She slipped from his arms and swept him a deep curtsey.
'Your majesty's to command and, more than ever, his faithful servant.'
He laughed. 'I love you when you put on your court airs,' he told her. Then, in a different voice, he called out; 'Rustan!'
On the instant, the mameluke appeared, dressed in a splendid costume of red velvet embroidered with gold and a white turban. He was a Georgian of great size, formally sold as a slave by the Turks and brought home by General Bonaparte with a hundred others from his Egyptian campaign. Although he slept each night across the emperor's door, he had been married for two years to the daughter of an usher at the palace, Alexandrine Doubille. No one could have had a more peaceable nature but Rustan, with his brown skin, his turban and his great, curved scimitar, was an impressive figure, although it was his exotic character which most impressed Marianne.
Napoleon now told him to conduct the two ladies to their carriage and, with a final curtsey, Marianne and Fortunee left the imperial presence.
As they went down the little private staircase behind Rustan, Madame Hamelin slipped her arm through her new friend's, enveloping her in the scent of roses.
'I predict that you will be all the rage,' she said gaily, 'that is unless his majesty enjoys playing sultan and keeps you shut up too long. Are you fond of men?'
'I – I am of one man,' Marianne said in astonishment.
Fortunee Hamelin laughed. She had a warm, open, infectious laugh that showed a gleam of sharp, white teeth between her red lips.
'No, no, you don't understand! You do not love a man, you love the Emperor! You might as well say you love the Pantheon or the new triumphal arch at the Carroussel!'
'You think it is the same thing? I don't. He is not so imposing, you know. He is—' She paused, hunting for the word that would best express her happiness but, finding nothing strong enough, she simply sighed: 'He is wonderful!'
'I know that,' the Creole exclaimed. 'And I know too, how attractive he can make himself; when he wishes to take the trouble, that is, because when he cares to be disagreeable—'
'Can he be?' Marianne cried, genuinely astonished.
'You wait until you have heard him tell a woman in the middle of a ball room: 'Your dress is dirty! Why do you always wear the same gown? I have seen this one twenty times!' '
'Oh no! It cannot be true!'
'Oh yes, it is, and if you want me to tell you what I really think, it is that which makes his charm. What woman is there who is truly a woman who does not long to know what this boorish Emperor with his eagle look and boyish smile is like in bed? What woman hasn't at some time or other dreamed of playing Omphale to his Hercules?'
'Even – you?' Marianne asked a trifle wickedly. But Fortunee answered with perfect sincerity.
'Yes, I admit it – for a while at least. I got over it very quickly.'
'Why was that?'
Once again that irresistible laugh rang through the palace corridors and out to the steps.
'Because I am too fond of men! And believe me, I have good reason. As for his majesty the Emperor and King, I think that what I have given him is worth as much as love.'
'What is that? Friendship.'
'I wish,' the other woman said in a voice grown suddenly thoughtful, 'I wish I could be really his friend! Besides, he knows I am fond of him – and more than that, that I admire him. Yes,' she added with sudden fervour, 'I admire him more than anyone in the world! I am not sure, if, in my heart of hearts, God does not take second place to him.'
The sun was just rising, painting the Venetian horses on the new triumphal arch a delicate pink. It was going to be a lovely day.
Madame Hamelin lived in the rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, between the former barriere de Porcherons and the new barriere des Martyrs, cut in the wall of the Fermiers Generaux, in a charming house with a courtyard at the front and a garden at the back where, before the Revolution, the Countess de Genlis had brought up the children of the Duke d'Orleans. For neighbour, she had the inspector of the Imperial Hunts and opposite, a dancer from the Opera, Margueritte Vade de l'Isle, the mistress of a financier. The house itself had been built in the previous century and recalled the clean lines of the Petit Trianon, although with substantial outbuildings and while the wintry garden was silent and melancholy, there was a fountain singing in a pool in the courtyard. Marianne liked it at once, and especially because the sloping street lay a little out of the common way. Even at this hour of the morning, with servants going to and fro about their work and the cries from the streets as Paris woke once more, there was something quiet and restful about Fortunee's white-walled house which made her feel much happier than all the luxurious splendours of the Hotel Matignon.
Fortunee conducted her guest to a delightful room done up in pink and white pekin silk with a bedstead of pale wood hung with full white muslin curtains. This room, which was close to her own, belonged to her daughter Leontine, then away boarding at Madame Campan's famous school for girls at St-Germain. And suddenly, Marianne realized that the Creole's vagueness was only apparent and that she was, on the contrary, a person of great energy. In no time at all, Marianne found herself presented in succession with a flowing robe of lace and batiste, a pair of green velvet mules, a lady's maid all to herself (all these being possessions of Leontine Hamelin) and a substantial breakfast. To this last, she was very soon sitting down by a good bright fire in company with her hostess, who had also shed her walking dress. Marianne was amused to see that the former
The two young women set to with enthusiasm to consume new bread, butter, preserves and fresh fruit, washed down with quantities of tea drunk very hot and strong with milk in the English fashion, all served on an exquisite pink service of exotic pattern. When they had eaten, Fortunee sighed contentedly.
'Now,' she said, 'let us talk. What would you like to do now? Bathe? Sleep? Read? For myself, I mean to write a note to Monsieur de Talleyrand to let him know what has become of you.'
'If you please,' Marianne broke in earnestly, 'there is something which seems to me still more urgent. One of my friends, the man who rescued me yesterday from the quarries of Chaillot, was hurt. He is an American, a sea captain and a most remarkable man, and I do not know what has become of him. The Emperor—'
'—Who, like most Corsicans is subject to terrible fits of jealousy, refused to answer your question! But tell me about this American. I have always adored people from his country because I was born not far away myself. There is a breath of adventure and eccentricity about them I find fascinating. Besides, the Emperor has told me very little about what has happened to you. It sounds just like a novel. You must tell me all about it, for I adore novels!'
'So do I,' Marianne said with a smile. 'But I did not enjoy this one very much.'
Fortunee's eyes sparkled as she listened with rapt attention to all that had happened since the evening of twenty-first of January when Marianne had left the house in the rue de Varennes to go to Butard. Marianne told her about Bruslart and Morvan, of whose fate she was still ignorant, about her friend Jolival, who must also be in
