in his matrimonial exertions. A few prostitutes in daring gowns with outrageously painted faces roamed from group to group in search of custom and Marianne hurried past, hoping not to be mistaken for one of them.
Once past the Hotel de l'Empire, she came to a darker patch by the house of the banker Martin Doyen, when suddenly a garden door opened and Marianne ran straight into a man just coming out. He grunted with pain.
'You bloody fool!' he said, pushing her back roughly. 'Can't you look where you are going?'
Then, almost at once, he saw who his assailant was and chuckled.
'My apologies. I did not see you were a woman. But you hurt me.'
'Do you think I enjoyed it?' Marianne retorted. 'I am in a hurry.'
Just then another group of revellers passed by, armed with a lantern. The light fell on Marianne and on the unknown man.
'By God!' the man said, 'you're a beauty! Perhaps this is my lucky day, after all. Come here, my sweeting, you are just what I've been looking for.'
Dazed by his sudden change of tone, Marianne saw that the stranger, who wore a black coat flung hastily over an ill-fastened white shirt, had a military air, that he was tall and lithe with an arrogant, slightly plebeian cast of features, framed by thick, dark hair, so curly as to be almost frizzled. Too late, she realized that the sight of her low-cut bodice and the black curls round her brow had made him take her for a woman of the streets. His hand drew her irresistibly through the door from which he had emerged while with the other he slammed it fast behind them, thrusting her back against the wooden panels, his body close to hers. He was kissing her ardently, while his hands were restlessly exploring the fastenings of her dress.
Angry and half-stifled Marianne reacted instantly, biting the lips that forced themselves on hers and pushing desperately at her assailant. She struck out as hard as she could with what little strength she had left and found to her surprise that the man stepped back with another gasp of pain.
'You little bitch! That hurt —'
'Good,' Marianne said grimly. 'You brute!'
With all her might, she delivered a ringing slap to her attacker's cheek. He staggered under the blow, allowing Marianne, who was feeling for the latch with her other hand, to wrench the door open and tumble out into the street. As luck would have it, a band of students and their girls from the boulevard were passing, filling the street, and tossing about the medals they had won. Slipping among the noisy throng, she managed, at the cost of a few knocks and kisses, to find herself at last outside the doors of Notre-Dame de Lorette, with her attacker nowhere in sight. From there, she was able to make her way painfully up the steep hill, arriving, somewhat out of breath, at Fortunee's house.
All the windows were ablaze with light. Crystal chandeliers shone through the windows between the long, golden-yellow curtains. The sound of voices and laughter wafted out into the street against a soothing background of violins. Casting her eye over the waiting carriages to see if hers was among them, Marianne, with a sigh of relief, hurried up the steps to where Madame Hamelin's enormous Negro major-domo, Jonas, stood impressively on the steps, dressed in his handsome suit of purple and silver.
'Jonas, take me to madame's room and tell her I am here. I cannot appear in public like this.'
The elegant pink dress was torn and crumpled and stained in several places. Marianne's hair was coming down and she looked, indeed, very much what the unknown gallant had taken her to be. The big Negro rolled his eyes at her.
'Lordy, Mademoiselle Marianne. You are surely in some state!' he exclaimed. Whatever happen to you?'
Marianne laughed lightly. 'Oh, nothing very much. I came here on foot, that is all. Take me upstairs, quickly. I should die of shame if anyone were to see me.'
'Yes, mademoiselle. Come this way, quick.'
Jonas led her through a doorway and up a set of back stairs to his mistress's room where he left her to go in search of Fortunee. With a sigh of relief, Marianne sank down on to a soft stool, cushioned in apple green silk, that stood before a tall mahogany pier glass inlaid with bronze. The image reflected back at her from the mirror was pitiable indeed. Her dress was ruined, her hair in a tangled mass of unruly dark curls, and the rouge which she had used on her lips smeared all over her face by the stranger's greedy kisses.
Angrily rubbing her cheeks with a handkerchief which she found lying on the floor, Marianne scolded herself for a fool. A fool to have jumped out into the crowd in her passion for haste, and still more a fool for listening to Arcadius in the first place. It would have been far better to have gone to bed and waited until the morning to visit Fortunee, rather than embarking on this crazy journey across a city full of revellers. How could she hope to find thirty thousand livres tonight of all nights! The only result was that she was tired to death, her head ached and she looked a fright.
Madame Hamelin came hurrying in to find her friend on the verge of tears, scowling at herself in the mirror. Fortunee promptly burst out laughing.
'Marianne! Have you been in a fight? Was it the Austrian, perhaps? If so, she must be in a fine state, and you are heading for the Vincennes prison!'
'I've been fighting his majesty's worthy subjects,' Marianne retorted, 'and with some maniac who tried to rape me behind a garden door!'
'My dear, what fun!' Fortunee clapped her hands delightedly. 'Tell me all.'
Marianne glared at her friend. Fortunee was looking more than usually radiant tonight. Her dress of yellow muslin trimmed with gold embroidery set off the warm colour of her skin and her rather full lips to admiration. Her dark eyes were shining like coal-black stars beneath her long, sweeping lashes. Her whole being radiated warmth and happiness.
'There is nothing to laugh at,' Marianne said bitterly. 'Apart from my wedding day, this has been the worst day of my life! I – I am half-dead with worry and so dreadfully unhappy —'
Her voice broke and great tears rolled from her eyes. Fortunee stopped laughing instantly and put her arms around her friend, enveloping her in a powerful scent of roses.
'You are crying? And I was laughing at you! Oh, my poor pet, I am sorry. Quickly, tell me what has happened. But first, you must take off that rag and let me find you another dress.'
She was unfastening the ruined dress as she spoke when all at once she paused with a cry, pointing to a dark stain on the crumpled fabric.
'Blood! You are hurt?'
'Good heavens, no,' Marianne said in surprise. 'I don't know where it can have come from. Unless —'
Suddenly, she recalled the exclamations of pain which she had drawn from her attacker, and the disorder of his dress, with his coat flung over his half-open shirt. He could have been wounded.
'Unless what?'
'Nothing. It does not matter. Oh, Fortunee, you must help me or I am lost.'
In quick, broken sentences, but growing calmer as she talked, Marianne described her terrible day, Francis's threats and demands, the abduction of Adelaide and, finally, the impossibility of laying hands on thirty thousand livres in the next forty-eight hours, short of selling her jewels.
'I can lend you ten thousand,' Madame Hamelin said soothingly. 'As for the remainder…' She paused for a moment, regarding Marianne's reflection in the mirror through half-closed eyes. While Marianne had been talking, Fortunee had stripped off the rest of her friend's clothes and, fetching a sponge and a flask of Cologne from her dressing-room, had busied herself wiping away the dust of the streets and rubbing her friend down comfortingly.
'What of the remainder?' Marianne asked, when Fortunee still said nothing.
Madame Hamelin gave a slow smile and, picking up a huge swan's-down puff began gently powdering her friend's breast and shoulders.
'With a fine body like yours,' she said coolly, 'that should not be difficult to come by. I know a dozen men who would give that much for a single night with you.'
Marianne gasped. 'Fortunee!' She had recoiled instinctively and was scarlet to the roots of her hair. Her indignation had no effect on the Creole's smiling calm. She only laughed.
'I keep forgetting your obsession with the idea of a single love and your regrettable faithfulness to a man who, for the present, is doing all he can to get another woman with child. Little fool, when will you learn that your
