"Have you forgotten the reason for our marriage? When my old friend Gauthier de Chazay spoke to me of his goddaughter she was with child by Napoleon. In making her my wife I was gaining an heir worthy to continue our ancient line, the child I had ceased to hope for and had always refused to beget for fear of handing on the curse that lay on us. That child you lost as a result of the fire at the Austrian embassy a little over a year ago. But now you are carrying another."
Marianne's face flushed and she sprang up as if she had been stung. She saw it all now, she saw a great deal too much, things it frightened her to see.
"You don't mean that you want—"
"Yes. I want you to keep this child. I have had a watch kept on the Jewess's house from the moment I arrived here. There is no one else you could have gone to for a service of that kind without grave risk to your life. And I was not going to have it. You see, as soon as I realized that you were going to have a child again, I saw fresh hope—"
Marianne stiffened angrily. "Hope? You can call it that? But surely you know—when you seem to know so much—who fathered it?"
Prince Sant'Anna merely bowed his head in answer but showed no other hint of emotion. In the face of that impassive countenance, Marianne's anger blazed up uncontrollably.
"You know!" she cried. "You know that that—that lackey Damiani raped me, that he forced himself on me—on me, your wife—again and again, week after week until I thought I should go mad, and you dare to tell me that my ordeal gave you hope? Don't you see that it's out of the question?"
"No," came the cold retort, "I don't. Damiani has paid for what he did to you. For what he did to you, I killed him and I killed his three witches also—"
"For what he did to me or for what he did to you? Was it my shame you were avenging, or the death of poor Donna Lavinia?"
"For you and you alone, and that you may believe since for my part I am still very much alive and so, for that matter, is dear old Lavinia. She had the good sense to feign death when Damiani attacked her and he thought in good faith that he had killed her. But she is still alive and so far as I know is at this moment governing our house at Lucca. But to return to Matteo. It is still a fact that, criminal wretch though he was, he comes of the same blood as I myself. A bastard maybe, but far more of a Sant'Anna than Napoleon's son could ever have been."
Marianne's anger had given way for a moment at the good news that Donna Lavinia was still alive but it flared up again at the injury contained in this last remark.
"Well, I loathe even the memory of the man!" she cried. "And it sickens me, this thing inside me that I will not even call a child! I do not want it, do you hear? I won't have it! Not for anything in the world!"
"Be sensible! Whether you like it or not, this thing, as you call it, is still a human being, already there, at this moment, and it is your own flesh and blood that is going to the making of him. He is a part of you, made of the same substance—"
"No! No!" Marianne was protesting like a child arguing in the face of all the evidence. " It's not possible! It can't be! I won't have it—"
"Come now. You know that isn't true. You wouldn't be fighting it so desperately if your heart were not engaged, if—if Jason Beaufort had never entered your life. It's because of him, and him alone, that you want to be rid of this child."
It was not said as a reproach, simply as a quiet statement of fact, but in the eyes that were fixed on hers Marianne could read such sadness and resignation that, on the point of proclaiming aloud the power of her love and her right to live it, she remembered just in time that Jason had once condemned this man, whose name she bore, to die under the lash. A little ashamed, she let her eyes fall.
"How did you know?"
He made a vague movement with one hand and shrugged again.
"I know a great many things about you. From your godfather, firstly, for whom I have a great love, for he is kindness and understanding itself. And surely it was natural for me to feel some interest in your life? No," he added quickly, seeing her movement of protest, "I have not had you spied on—or not directly, at any rate. To have done so would have been to demean us both. But someone else did, against my orders and indeed without telling me everything. But most of my information comes from the emperor himself."
"The emperor!"
"Why, yes. Considering the circumstances of our marriage, it was common courtesy for me to inform him of it personally and to give him certain assurances concerning you, since I was to give my name to his son. I wrote to him and he wrote back—more than once."
There was a pause while Marianne thought over what she had just heard. It was not hard to guess who it was who had set spies on her. Matteo Damiani, of course. But that there had been correspondence between Napoleon and the prince came as something of a surprise to her, although when the emperor had told her after François Vidocq had brought her back from Normandy that he wished her to return to her husband, he had mentioned a letter from Sant'Anna. She was not sure whether to interpret this as a sign of affection or of distrust and decided it was best to probe no further for the moment. There were too many other points on which she desired enlightenment.
Corrado, respecting her silence, had been looking out at the gathering darkness in the garden. The sun had sunk behind the trees, outlining them dramatically against long streaks of purple and gold. A faint chill was creeping into the room and the air was vibrant with the muezzins' high-pitched calls.
Marianne hitched up the green silk shawl which had slipped from her shoulders.
"And was it the emperor who told you that Jason Beaufort would be in Venice?" she asked at last, with a little hesitation.
"No. By that time I was in no position to discover anything at all. I learned of the trap which had been laid for you—and of what followed, from Matteo himself. In the end, I think, his ambition had driven him mad. I was chained and helpless and he had great satisfaction in describing it all to me. Thinking about it later, it seemed to me that it was for the pleasure of that he kept me alive."
"Then how did you come to be aboard the Sea Witch?"
Again, that faint, bleak smile.
"That was pure luck. When first I managed to escape my one idea was to see justice done and set you free without your seeing me. Damiani had told me that you thought I was dead and at that time I saw no reason why you should ever learn otherwise."
"But he had told you he wanted me to give him the Sant'Anna heir he needed?"
"Yes, but I could see that he was sick, drugged, practically insane. I did not think that he could do it. So I struck out and fled to escape any awkward questions on the part of the authorities. I wanted to get to Lucca, the only place where I could show myself with any safety. I'd found money in Matteo's room—enough to pay a boatman to take me to Chioggia. And it was there that luck took a hand. I caught sight of the American brig—and the figure on the prow. I'd known for long enough whose ship she was, but your face on that figurehead told me I was not mistaken and I wanted to find out if she had come for you. I think you know the rest… And I want to ask you pardon."
"My pardon? What have I to forgive?"
"For yielding to the impulse which took me aboard that vessel. I had sworn that I would never stand in your way but that day I could not help myself. I had to see this Beaufort, know what kind of man he was. It was something stronger than myself…"