Her old resentment against Fouche, as the man who had coldbloodedly made use of her when she was a friendless fugitive, made her by no means reluctant to inform Napoleon of the secret machinations of his trusted Minister of Police.
'I think you would be making a mistake,' Arcadius said seriously. 'I realize, of course, that you are shocked to find one of the Emperor's ministers so exceeding his authority, but an agreement with England would be the best thing that could happen for France. The continental blockade has brought a host of troubles: the war in Spain, the imprisonment of the Pope, incessant levies of troops to defend our ever-growing frontiers.'
Marianne had no answer to this. She never ceased to be surprised at Arcadius's extraordinary ability to acquire information on all subjects, yet, this time, he seemed to her to be going a little far. To have such knowledge of state secrets, he must have been intimately concerned in them. Unable to conceal her thoughts, she said point blank: 'Tell me the truth, Arcadius. You yourself are one of Fouche's agents, are you not?'
The Vicomte laughed outright, but it seemed to Marianne that there was something guarded in his laughter.
'But my dear girl, all France dances to the minister's piping: you, me, Fortunee, the Empress Josephine…'
'Don't laugh at me. Tell me the truth.'
Arcadius stopped laughing and, crossing to his young friend's side, gently patted her cheek.
'My dear child,' he said softly, 'I am no one's agent but my own, except perhaps for the Emperor and yourself. But when I need to know something, I take steps to find it out. And you cannot imagine how many people are involved in this business already. I would swear, for example, that your friend Talleyrand is not unaware of it.'
'Very well,' Marianne sighed irritably. 'In that case, since Lord Cranmere is so powerful, how can I protect myself against him?'
'For the present, I have told you: pay up.'
'I shall never find thirty thousand livres in three days.'
'Exactly how much have you?'
'Beside these twenty thousand, a few hundred livres. There are my jewels of course – those given me by the Emperor.'
'Out of the question. He would never forgive you if you sold them, or even pledged them. The best thing would be to ask him to make up the sum. As for your day to day expenses, you have a number of engagements offered you which will take care of that.'
'I will not ask him for the money at any cost,' Marianne broke in, so decisively that Jolival did not press the point.
'In that case,' he sighed, 'I see only one way —'
'What?'
'Go and put on one of your prettiest dresses, while I get into knee breeches. I think Madame Hamelin gives a party tonight and you are invited.'
'But I do not mean to go.'
'But you are going, that is, if you want your money. For there we shall certainly find our charming Fortunee's lover, Ouvrard, the banker. Apart from the Emperor, I can think of no quarter where you are more likely to obtain money than from a banker's coffers. This one, moreover, is extremely susceptible to the charms of a pretty woman. He may agree to advance you the sum and you can repay him with the next proof of the Emperor's generosity, which will soon be forthcoming.'
Marianne could not like Arcadius's plan. The idea of using her charms to extract money from a man was repugnant to her, but she told herself firmly that Fortunee would be there to oversee the transaction. Besides, she had no choice. Meekly, she departed to her room to change.
Marianne had never thought that it could take so long to travel the distance from the rue de Lille to the rue de la Tour d'Auvergne. The streets were crowded and the carriage moved forward at walking pace through a city illuminated by fairy lights and the coloured sparks of towering firework displays.
'We should have done better to go on foot,' Jolival remarked. 'It would have been quicker.'
'It is much too far,' Marianne retorted. 'It would be morning by the time we got there.'
'I am not sure it won't be, as it is.'
Yet even they yielded at last to the beauty of Paris that night. The pont de la Concorde was a flaming avenue, its eighty columns garlanded with coloured baubles and surmounted by shining crowns of stars, linked by more lights. All the trees in the Champs Elysees were decked with multicoloured lights and strings of lights bordered every alley. The noble buildings were illuminated and the streets were bright as day. It was thanks to this that as they crossed the place de la Concorde Gracchus was able to avoid running down a few drunkards who had been rather too freely patronizing the fountains running with wine. Things were a little quieter in the rue Saint-Honore but they were held up for some time in the vicinity of the Conseil d'Etat where the wedding banquet was in progress.
The Emperor and his bride actually appeared on the balcony, accompanied by the Austrian chancellor, Prince Metternich. Amid scenes of wild enthusiasm, the Prince raised his glass and cried:
'I drink to the King of Rome!'
'The King of Rome?' Marianne said petulantly. 'Who is that?'
Arcadius laughed. 'Have you never heard of the Act of the seventeenth of February last? That is the title which the Emperor's son will bear. You must confess that for a minister of the erstwhile Holy Roman Empire, Metternich displays a grandeur of ideas.'
'He displays a total want of tact! A strange way of reminding that poor little goose that she has been married only for the children she may be expected to bear. See if we can get on a little faster, do. We shall never get there!'
Jolival refrained from comment, guessing that this fresh view of the newly-wedded pair had done nothing to calm Marianne's excited nerves. Gravely, he urged the youthful coachman to 'spring the horses', to which Gracchus replied, with equal gravity, that short of driving over the heads of the crowd this was impossible, but that the stream of traffic was beginning to move again. They reached the boulevards where a new form of distraction intervened. Heralds in gilded livery were throwing handfuls of commemorative coins among the crowd, so that it was impossible to shift the mob that surged about their horses, trying to catch hold of the medals. Marianne's carriage was trapped in the centre of a human tide.
'We shall never get through,' Marianne exclaimed, finally losing patience. 'And we must be almost there. I would rather go on foot.'
'In a satin gown, through that mob? You will be torn to pieces.'
But as she spoke, Marianne had flung open the door and, whipping the pink and gold train of her satin dress over one arm, leaped down among the crowd. She slipped away like a snake, without heeding the frantic cries of Gracchus from his box.
'Mademoiselle Marianne! Come back! Don't do it!'
Jolival had no alternative but to leap out after her, but a handful of medals cast at random by one of the young heralds bounced off the brim of his hat and instantly he found himself buried by dozens of loyal subjects of the Emperor, all avid for medals. As he disappeared from view, Gracchus sprang down and rushed to his assistance, brandishing his whip and shouting.
'Hold on, Monsieur le Vicomte! I am coming!'
Marianne, meanwhile, had succeeded in reaching the entrance to the rue Cerutti without any other damage than the ruin of her coiffure and the loss of her long scarf of quilted satin. However, the evening was exceptionally mild for the time of year, so she ignored this and began to run as fast as the uneven cobbles and the filth in the street allowed to one whose feet were shod in dainty pink satin slippers. The crowd here was much thinner than on the boulevard but even so there were plenty of people walking up and down. However, no one paid much attention to the young woman in her low-cut evening gown. Groups passed by with linked arms, singing for the most part bawdy songs at the tops of their voices, all, directly or indirectly, urging the Emperor to greater prowess
