faint glow of a night light. Outside, all was still, the only sound the steady rattle of torrential rain upon the window-panes. Marianne shivered. She was bathed in sweat but her fever seemed to have abated.
Sleep in that sopping bed being out of the question, she got up and stripped off the sodden sheets and the nightgown that clung damply to her body. Then, wrapping herself in the blankets, she lay down on the bare mattress and pulled the big red eiderdown over her. Not once had she turned to look at the white shape of the palace opposite. Her strange dream still had her in its spell and her mind reached back to it almost with regret. She had not thought of the American for a long time but now it came to her suddenly that her present trials would have been easier to bear if he had been there. In spite of all that had occurred to drive them apart, she had grown to value the feeling of quiet strength that clung to him, the love of adventure and excitement, even the cool, un- romantic practicality which had so repelled her at first. With a wry smile, she thought that if there was one man with whom she might actually have enjoyed making Napoleon jealous, that man was Jason. But would she ever see him again? Who could tell where on the high seas his fine new ship might be sailing at that moment? A ship whose name she did not even know.
Better to try and put him out of her mind. Besides, the Austrian Prince would serve her purpose just as well, or any one of her many admirers.
Sighing, Marianne fell asleep again, to dream this time of a tall ship flying under full sail over a grey sea. And the figure carved at the prow bore the hawk-like features of Jason Beaufort.
CHAPTER THREE
Imperial Wedding
Marianne returned home the following evening in the carriage of Prince Clary und Aldringen, having left Arcadius de Jolival to see to the horses. She was not yet fully recovered from the high fever brought on by her long ride in the rain but she was possessed by a frantic haste to leave Compiegne behind her. The mere sight of the palace was so intolerable to her that she would have faced another long ride in the wet if necessary to escape from a town which had been buzzing since daybreak with speculation about Napoleon's amazing disregard of protocol.
She was so distraught that Arcadius set out immediately after breakfast to find her a carriage. He had no need to go farther than the inn yard. The Emperor had kept Leopold Clary at his side until the arrival of his new bride, but now the Prince was bound with all speed for Paris, carrying despatches from his sovereign to the Austrian ambassador, Prince von Schwartzenberg. Hearing that the beautiful songstress who had aroused his admiration on the previous evening was in search of a vehicle to carry her to Paris, the young Austrian's delight knew no bounds.
'Say to Madame Maria Stella that my carriage and myself are hers to command.'
An hour later, Marianne drove out of Compiegne in the young diplomat's company while Jolival directed his steps somewhat gloomily towards the stables. The fact was that Marianne's faithful mentor was more than a little perplexed. There was nothing inherently suspicious in this sudden friendliness towards a young man who, only a few hours earlier, had been a total stranger to her, and yet it was so unlike Marianne's usual behaviour that Arcadius could not help wondering if there were more behind it than met the eye.
Meanwhile, Clary's big travelling chaise was speeding through the wet and dripping woods on its way to Paris. The rain showed no signs of slackening. The low sky overhead was a depressing yellowish grey colour but neither of the vehicle's occupants appeared to notice it. Marianne, still very tired, sat huddled against the soft, red cushions, wrapped in the black, hooded cloak which Jolival had procured for her that morning, staring at the rain with unseeing eyes, her mind full of the scenes of the previous day. She recalled Napoleon's rapturous expression when he flung open the carriage door and beheld the Archduchess's plump cheeks framed by the absurd parrot feathers. She recalled the way he had held out his arms to hand her out into the courtyard at Compiegne.
Clary sat silently contemplating his companion's exquisite face, now white with exhaustion, the dark smudges round her green eyes, so touchingly shadowed by the soot-black lashes, and the perfection of the ungloved hand lying like a pale flower on her dark cloak. The diplomat could not help a feeling of surprise that this Italian nobody, an opera singer, should show such evident signs of breeding. The girl carried herself like a duchess, and her hands were those of a queen. And this air of secret sorrow, as if she bore some mysterious grief in her heart – it was this sense of mystery as much as Marianne's beauty which attracted Clary, and inspired him to behave towards her with the utmost respect. Throughout the long journey, he spoke only to assure himself that she was not cold or that she would not prefer to make a short stop, feeling almost absurdly pleased if she only smiled at him.
Wrapped in her own angry misery, Marianne was grateful to him for not intruding and she did not need any speeches to measure her effect on him: his eyes spoke eloquently enough.
It was long past nightfall when they entered Paris by way of Saint-Denis but Clary had not taken his eyes off Marianne, even when her face was no longer more than a vague blur in the dim interior of the chaise. He longed to know where his fair companion lived but, faithful to his self-imposed discretion, he said: 'Our way leads past the embassy. With your permission I will leave you there but my carriage will take you wherever you wish to go.'
His eyes said so clearly what he would not permit his lips to utter that Marianne could not resist a tiny smile.
'I thank you, Count, for your chivalry. I live at the Hotel d'Asselnat in the rue de Lille… and I shall be happy to receive you if you should care to call.'
The chaise was drawing up outside the Austrian embassy at the junction of the rue du Mont-Blanc[1] and the rue de Provence. Blushing furiously, the diplomat bowed over the hand held out to him and brushed it with his lips.
'Be sure I shall give myself that pleasure tomorrow, madame. I trust I shall find you fully restored to health.'
Again, Marianne smiled. She had felt the young man's lips tremble against her hand and she was sure, now, of her power over him. She meant to make the fullest use of it. So it was with a great deal more cheerfulness that she re-entered her own house, to find Adelaide entertaining Fortunee Hamelin.
The two women were sitting in the music room talking earnestly when Marianne entered. Clearly, they had not expected her and both turned to stare at her in amazement. Madame Hamelin was the first to recover herself.
'Now, where have you sprung from?' she cried, hurrying to embrace her friend. 'Do you know everyone has been looking for you for a whole day?'
'Looking for me?' Marianne said, removing her cloak and hanging it on the big, gilt harp. 'Who has been looking for me, and why? Adelaide, you knew that I was obliged to go out of town.'
'Yes, indeed!' the old maid said indignantly. 'You were remarkably discreet about it, too, hinting that you were called away on the Emperor's business. So you may imagine my surprise when a messenger came here yesterday from the Emperor himself, inquiring after you.'
Feeling as if the ground had opened under her feet, Marianne sank down on the piano stool and stared at her cousin.
'A messenger from the Emperor? Inquiring after me? But why?'
'Why, to sing, of course! You are a singer are you not, Marianne d'Asselnat?' retorted Adelaide, with such a sting in her voice that Fortunee could not help smiling. It was clear that the thing which galled the aristocratic old lady most about Marianne's new life was the fact that she earned her living as a singer. To cut short these recriminations, the Creole stepped quickly over to Marianne and sat down, putting an arm about her friend's shoulders.
'I don't know what you have been up to,' she said, 'and I do not wish to pry into any secrets, but one thing is quite certain: yesterday an official request came from the Grand Marshal of the Palace for you to sing before the Court at Compiegne today.'
Marianne sprang to her feet with a sudden spurt of anger.
'Before the Court, was it? Or before the Empress? Because she is the Empress, you know, ever since last night, even before the wedding ceremonies have been completed!'
