of their nights together. She knew that she was beautiful, far more beautiful than that other woman, and well able to turn the head of any man. She was out to conquer. It was not the Emperor she was going to see but a man she meant to keep at any cost. It may have been this which made her heart beat so fast when she reached the waiting-room on the first floor where, by custom, the palace chamberlain and four of the Empress's ladies were on permanent duty whenever their majesties were giving audience.
Marianne knew that today she would find there Madame de Montmorency and the Countess de Perigord, for the latter had told her the evening before that she was on duty.
The custom is,' Dorothee had added, 'for one of the palace ladies to present you to the chief lady-in-waiting and to the palace chamberlain before you are admitted to the audience chamber. The chamberlain, the Marquis de Bausset, is a charming man but to my mind the lady-in-waiting, the Duchess de Montebello, is a perfect harpy. Unfortunately, the Empress can think of no one else, listens to no one else, loves and trusts no one else. But never mind. I shall be there and I will present you to her. Madame de Montebello handles me with kid gloves.'
That Marianne could well believe, knowing the young countess well enough to be sure that she would never allow Madame de Montebello to forget that she was born Princess of Courland. It was therefore with a smile of perfect ease that she advanced to meet her friend Dorothee. But before the two young women could utter more than greetings, a third person intervened.
'Is it a ghost come back to us?' It was Duroc's gay voice that spoke. 'And what a ghost! My dear, it is a real pleasure to see you again! And in such beauty! Such elegance! You are – I cannot find words for what you are.'
'Say 'imperial' and you will not be far from the truth,' said Dorothee in her rather mannish tones, while Duroc bowed low over Marianne's hand. Dropping her voice a little, she added: There is no denying that she takes the shine out of our beloved sovereign, and I have always maintained that Leroy's gowns cannot be worn by everyone!'
'Come, come,' the Grand Marshal protested. 'Countess, your tongue will get you into trouble one of these days.'
'Say rather my imperfect French,' Dorothee retorted with her abrupt laugh. 'I meant of course that they do not suit all figures. One has to be slim and lithe, and long-legged,' she added, throwing a complacent glance at her own reflection in a nearby mirror as she spoke. 'And her majesty is a little too fond of pastries.'
Madame de Perigord's own elegance was beyond question. Marianne had been struck the night before by the change in her. The thin, gawky girl with the huge eyes had blossomed into a real beauty. Not even Marianne herself was better able to carry off Leroy's creations. Today, she was displaying a robe made of alternating bands of black velvet and heavy white lace. She slipped her arm through Marianne's in a friendly fashion.
'It is wonderful to see you yourself again,' she said with a happy sigh. We are a long way now from Mademoiselle Mallerouse and from the Signorina Maria Stella!'
For all her self-command, Marianne felt herself blushing.
'I seem to be a kind of chameleon,' she sighed. 'And I can't help worrying a little about what people in general will think of me.'
Madame de Perigord's fine black brows rose sharply. 'People in general will not presume to judge you, my dear. As for those who are your equals, well, they have seen worse. Did you never hear that my grandfather was a groom in the Czarina Elizabeth's stables before he became her lover and married the Duchess of Courland? Yet that does not prevent me from being extremely proud of him – in fact he is my favourite of all my forbears. Moreover, I know a good many of you emigres who have engaged in infinitely less respectable occupations than acting as companion to a princess and giving concerts! Now, stop tormenting yourself and come and be presented to our Cerberus.'
'One moment,' Marianne said. She turned to Duroc. 'Can you tell me, Duke, the reason for my summons? Why am I here?'
The Grand Marshal's round, slightly flabby face creased into a broad smile.
'Why – to be presented to their Majesties, that is all. It is the usual custom. In the normal way, this would have taken place at an evening party, but as we are in mourning…'
'Is that really all?' Marianne said doubtfully. 'You are quite sure?'
'Indeed it is. The Emperor commanded me to invite you and I issued the command in his name. In fact,' consulting his watch, 'it is already time to go into the drawing-room and Madame de Montebello has not yet arrived. The Empress must have detained her. However, I am equally privileged to present new arrivals, so come, madame…'
Two liveried footmen flung open the double doors and the guests moved slowly into the next room and took up positions around the walls, the women in front and the men behind. Duroc, however, remained by Marianne whom he had placed a little apart, not far from the door by which the imperial couple were to enter. There were a great many people present but Marianne hardly gave them a glance, she was too absorbed in her own nervous anticipation and in her eagerness to see again the man whom she still loved. To her, they were merely a faceless mass of gowns and glittering uniforms. She was content with a glance at one of the tall mirrors, in passing, to check that her own appearance was in order. There was room for only one thought in her mind: what would her reception be?
She had thought at first that she was to see him alone, that he would have her brought to his own room, without witnesses. It had not occurred to her that she was in for a formal presentation, and she was bitterly disappointed. It was as though Napoleon were telling her that she was no longer anything to him, merely a woman like any other. Was it really possible that he could have fallen so deeply in love with that fat German? Moreover, Napoleon's reputation for bestowing public insults on a number of ladies was too well established to allow her to welcome the prospect of coming face to face with him in the presence of so many watching eyes and avidly listening ears.
'Their majesties, the Emperor and Empress!' The voice of the master of ceremonies rang out and Marianne shivered. Her nerves tensed. The great doors opened and her heart missed a beat. Napoleon, hands clasped behind his back, trod briskly into the room.
More slowly, a little behind him, Marianne saw Marie-Louise come in, looking pinker than ever in a white gown trimmed with roses of the same colour but edged with silver.
'She is fatter than ever!' was Marianne's first, maliciously gleeful thought.
A number of important people entered in their wake but these remained at one end while the Emperor and Empress made their progress round the room, to a rippling wave of silken gowns and braided uniforms that dipped in endless homage. Marianne recognized Napoleon's sister, the enchanting Pauline, and the Duke of Wurzburg, Marie-Louise's uncle. She was third in line after two haughty-looking dames considerably older than herself but she could not have recalled their names or repeated what Napoleon said to them for the buzzing in her own ears. Only Duroc's deep voice penetrated it.
'In response to your majesty's commands, allow me to present her Serene Highness, Princess Corrado Sant'Anna, Marquise d'Asselnat, de Villeneuve, Countess Cappanori and Galleno…'
The long list of the titles which she had acquired by her marriage fell with the weight of doom on Marianne. At the same time, her knees folded in the deep court curtsey which was far more demanding in grace, suppleness and sense of balance than merely kneeling. The blood was pounding in her temples and there was a mist before her eyes as Marianne heard the last of her titles. Her field of vision was limited to a pair of legs clad in white silk and silver-buckled shoes. There was silence. The Emperor was so close that she could hear him breathing but a sudden terror stopped her from raising her eyes. What was he going to say?
A hand she knew well was stretched out suddenly to raise her and Napoleon's cool voice said: 'Rise, madame. This is, I think, a long-awaited pleasure.'
She dared to look at him then and, meeting the grey-blue eyes, read in them no anger but rather a kind of amusement and wondered suddenly if he were mocking her gently. Certainly, the smile he bestowed on her was full of laughter.
'We are pleased, also, to felicitate you on your marriage, and to note that it has not altered you. You are as beautiful as ever.'
It was hardly a compliment. Merely a statement of fact. His gaze flickered rapidly from the charmingly flushed countenance to the uncovered shoulders and the breast that rose and fell so close to him but she could read nothing there. Already he was turning away to present the young princess to Marie-Louise and, like it or no,
