Fortunee blinked at this outburst. 'What are you saying?'
'That Napoleon took the Austrian to his bed last night! He slept with her! He couldn't wait for the wedding ceremony and the cardinal's blessing! He was so besotted about her, it seems, that he could not help himself! And now he dares – he dares to order me to go and sing before that woman! I, who only yesterday was his mistress!'
'And are still,' Fortunee observed placidly. 'My dear child, you must understand that to Napoleon there is nothing in the least shocking, or even unusual, in the idea of bringing his wife and his mistress face to face. Let me remind you that he has chosen more than one of his bedfellows from among Josephine's own ladies, and our Empress was obliged on numerous occasions to applaud the performance of Mademoiselle Georges – to whom, moreover, he even made a present of his wife's diamonds. Before your time no concert was complete without Grassini. Our Corsican Emperor has something of the Turk in him. Besides, I dare say he had a secret urge to see how you reacted to his Viennese. Well, he will have to be satisfied with la Grassini!'
'La Grassini?'
'Oh, yes, Duroc's messenger had orders, if the great Maria Stella were unavailable, to settle for the usual stand-by. You were absent, and so it is the opulent Giuseppina who was obliged to sing at Compiegne today. Mind you, I think it may have been just as well. There was to be a duet with Crescentini, the Emperor's favourite castrato, a dreadful, painted creature. You would have loathed him on sight, but Grassini adores him. In fact, she admires him as she does everything Napoleon chooses to honour, and he decorated Crescentini.'
'I wonder why?' Marianne said absently.
Fortunee gave a tinkling laugh which relaxed the atmosphere a little.
'That is the funny part! When Grassini was asked the same question, she said quite seriously: 'Ah, but you forget his disability!''
Adelaide generously echoed Fortunee's laughter but Marianne merely smiled perfunctorily. She was not sorry that she had not been at home. She found it hard to picture herself making her curtsey to the 'other woman' and indulging in a musical flirtation with a man who, apart from his exceptional voice, was no more than a hollow sham and could only make her ridiculous. Besides, she was too much a woman not to hope that, for a few seconds at least, it might occur to Napoleon to wonder where she was that she was unable to attend. Yes, all things considered, it was better so. The next time she beheld the man she loved, it would, she trusted, be in the company of someone who might well give him some anxious moments – supposing him capable of feeling jealousy on her account. The thought made Marianne smile in spite of herself and drew a waspish comment from Fortunee.
The delightful thing about you, Marianne, is that one can say anything to you and be quite sure you are not listening to a word of it. What are you thinking of now?'
'Not what, who. Of him, of course. Sit down, both of you, and I will tell you what I have been doing these last two days. But for heaven's sake, Adelaide, get me something to eat. I am starving.'
While she addressed herself with an energy remarkable in one who had been so ill only the night before to the sumptuous meal which Adelaide conjured up from the kitchen, Marianne described her adventures. But although the account contained a good deal of humour at her own expense, it did not make her two hearers laugh. Fortunee's expression, when she had finished, was extremely serious.
'But this assignation?' she said. 'It might have been important. Should you not have sent Jolival, at least?'
'I thought of it, but I did not want to part from him. I felt – so very desolate and unhappy. Besides, I am convinced it was a trap.'
'All the more reason to be sure. What if it were your – your husband?'
There was silence. Marianne set down the glass she had just drained with a bang that snapped the delicate stem. Her face was so white that Fortunee took pity on her.
'It was only an idea,' she said gently.
'But one that might have been checked. All the same, I don't see what motive he could have for getting me to that ruined castle, although I admit I did not think of him. I was thinking rather of the people who kidnapped me once before. What can I do now?'
'What you should have done straight away: inform Fouche and then wait. Whatever the attempt on you was to have been, whether it was a trap or a genuine rendezvous, there will certainly be another. By the way, let me congratulate you.'
'On what?'
'On your latest Austrian conquest. I am delighted to see you have decided to take my advice. You will find the faithlessness of men much easier to bear when you have another all ready to hand.'
'Not so fast,' Marianne said, laughing. 'I have no intention of doing more than being seen in Prince Clary's company. His great attraction, you see, is that he is Austrian. I like the idea of amusing myself with a countryman of our new sovereign.'
Fortunee and Adelaide laughed gaily.
'Is she really as ugly as they say?' Adelaide asked eagerly, selecting one of the preserved fruits provided for her cousin.
Marianne did not answer at once. She half-closed her eyes, as if it helped her to conjure up the vision of the intruder, and a wicked smile curved the soft lines of her mouth. The smile was all woman.
'Ugly? No, not exactly. It is hard to say, really. She is more – commonplace.'
Fortunee sighed exaggeratedly. 'Poor Napoleon. What has he done to deserve that! A commonplace wife, when he loves only the exceptional!'
'If you ask me, it is the French who have done nothing to deserve it,' Adelaide exclaimed. 'A Habsburg is bound to be a disaster.'
'Well, they do not seem to think so,' Marianne said with a laugh. 'You should have heard the cheering in the streets at Compiegne!'
'At Compiegne, maybe,' Fortunee said meditatively. They have very little excitement there, except for hunting parties. But something tells me Paris will not be so easily impressed. The only people who will welcome her arrival here will be those circles who see her as the Corsican's doom and the avenging angel of Marie- Antoinette. The people are far from delighted; they worshipped Josephine and they have no love for Austria.'
Gazing at the crowd filling the place de la Concorde on the following Monday, the second of April, Marianne reflected that Fortunee might well be right. It was a holiday crowd, dressed in its smartest clothes and rippling with excitement, but it was not a happy crowd. It stretched all along the Champs Elysees and was thickest around the eight pavilions which had been erected at the corners of the square. It washed up against the walls of the Garde-Meuble and the Hotel de la Marine but there was none of the throbbing gaiety of a great occasion.
Yet the weather was fine. The depressing downpour had ceased quite suddenly at dawn, the clouds had been swept away and a bright spring sunshine bathed the opening buds of the chestnut trees in sparkling light. Straw bonnets and hats trimmed with flowers burgeoned on the heads of the Parisiennes and their male escorts were resplendent in pale pantaloons and coats of innumerable subtle shades. Marianne smiled at the outburst of seasonable elegance. The population of Paris seemed bent on demonstrating to the new arrival that the French knew how to dress.
Seated with Arcadius and Adelaide in her carriage near one of the prancing stone horses, Marianne had an excellent view of the scene. Flags and fairy lights were everywhere. The Tuileries railings had been newly gilded, the fountains were running with wine and free buffets loaded with food had been set up in red – and white-striped tents under the trees of the cours La Reine, so that everyone might have a share in the imperial wedding feast. Orange trees, glowing with fruit, stood in tubs round the square in readiness for the night's illuminations. Later, when the wedding ceremony had been performed in the great
Jolival sighed and helped himself delicately to a pinch of snuff. 'By tonight, their majesties will reign over a
