Standing, Marie-Louise was taller than her bridegroom by half a head. They made an ill-assorted couple, she all soft, Germanic heaviness, he with his pale skin and Roman nose and all the superficial nervous energy he owed to his Mediterranean blood. Perhaps the only thing that did not jar was the great difference in age, for Marie-Louise was too big to convey any impression of delicate youth. Moreover, neither seemed aware of any incongruity. They were gazing at one another with an apparent rapture that made Marianne suddenly long to commit murder. Only a few days ago this man had been making passionate love to her, swearing with all sincerity that she alone possessed his heart: how could he stand there looking at that great blonde cow like a child at his first Christmas present? She ground her teeth and dug her finger-nails into the palms of her hands to stop herself from screaming aloud.
On the other side of the railings, the newcomer was exchanging kisses with the ladies of the imperial family: the exquisite Pauline, barely able to preserve her countenance in the face of that appalling hat; sober Elisa with her stern, classical features; the darkly beautiful Queen of Spain and fair, graceful Queen Hortense, dressed with faultless elegance in a white silk gown and softly-glowing pearls that stood in glaring contrast to the tasteless clothes of the new Empress.
For an instant, Marianne forgot her own grief in wondering what Josephine's gentle daughter, Hortense, must be thinking, seeing this woman dare to seat herself on her mother's still-warm throne. Surely it was unnecessarily cruel of Napoleon to have forced her to be present to welcome this stranger into a French palace? Unnecessary, yes, but characteristic of the Emperor. Not for the first time, Marianne realized that his native kindness was sometimes marred by a streak of inhuman coldness.
'Now will you let me take you indoors out of the cold?' Arcadius's friendly voice spoke in her ear. 'Or do you mean to spend the night clinging to these railings? There is nothing more to see.'
Marianne came to herself with a shiver and saw that he was right. Except for the carriages, the grooms and servants already leading the horses away to the stables, the court was empty. The windows were closed and the crowd in the square was drifting slowly, almost regretfully away, like an ebbing tide. The face she turned to Arcadius was still wet with tears.
'You think I am mad, don't you?' she said softly.
He smiled affectionately and slipped a brotherly arm about her shoulders.
'I think you are very young, wonderfully and terribly young. You rush to wound yourself with the blind determination of a frightened bird. When you are older you will learn to avoid the iron spikes that life strews in the path of human beings to tear and wound them, you will learn to keep your eyes and ears shut so as to preserve your illusions and your peace of mind at all events. But, not yet…'
The hostelry known as the Grand-Cerf was full to bursting point when Marianne and Jolival entered it. At first the landlord, running hither and thither like a frantic chicken, was too busy even to attend to them. In the end Arcadius had to lose patience and arrest the worthy man in mid-career by putting out a hand and getting a firm grip on the knotted handkerchief he wore about his neck.
'Not so fast, my friend. There is a time for everything and now you will kindly listen to me. This lady' – he indicated Marianne who had wearily removed her hat, allowing her hair to tumble down her back – 'is, as you can see, extremely tired, wet and hungry. And since she is a person close to His Majesty you will be well advised to exert yourself to find her a place to rest and dry herself, even if it has to be your own bedchamber.'
There was strength in Arcadius's slender fingers and the poor man turned all colours of the rainbow. At the mention of the Emperor he let out an anguished moan. His short, fat arms flailed desperately and he rolled his eyes at Marianne like a drowning man.
'But, my prince, I have no bedchamber. I was obliged to give up my own room to the aide-de-camp of the Duc de Rovigo. At this very moment Madame Robineau, my wife, is making a bed up for me in the pantry. It would not be proper to offer that to madame – or should I say Her Highness?' His evident distress wrung a smile from Jolival. The unhappy landlord was clearly asking himself feverishly if this could be yet another of the Emperor's sisters: the Bonapartes were so numerous.
'Madame will do, but find something.'
Just as the unfortunate Robineau was contemplating the desirability of unconsciousness as a way out of his dilemma, an Austrian officer in the handsome light brown uniform of the Landwehr, who for some moments had been studying Marianne's beautiful pale face with some intentness, approached and clicked his heels. Marianne, her eyes closed, was leaning back against the wall, paying no attention to the discussion.
'Allow me to present myself: Prince Clary und Aldringen, special envoy of his Majesty the Emperor of Austria. I have taken two rooms in this hostelry: the lady will do me a favour by accepting one…'
Jolival was bowing stiffly as this speech was interrupted by an exclamation from Robineau.
'Mon Dieu! Milor' returns so soon! I understood milor' to be dining at the palace?'
The Austrian prince laughed easily. He was a tall man in his early thirties with a fine-boned, intelligent face surmounted by thick fair hair.
'Well, my good landlord, I am afraid you will have to find me something to eat. I do not dine at the palace because there is no dinner at the palace for anyone.
'Has the cook committed suicide?' inquired Jolival with a smile.
'No, indeed. The whole court was actually assembled in the great salon ready to go in when Marshal Duroc came to tell us their majesties had retired to their own apartments – and there would consequently be no dinner. But if I was cursing a moment ago, now I bless the unexpected turn of events which has allowed me to be of some small service to madame.'
The last words were addressed, of course, to Marianne who, oblivious of the gallantry implied, did not even remember to thank him. One thing only had she grasped from what the Austrian had said and the question it raised in her mind impelled her to ask:
'Their majesties have retired? Does that mean – but surely —' The words died on her lips, but Clary was laughing again.
'I fear it does. It appears that the Emperor's first action was to inquire of his uncle, Cardinal Fesch, if he were truly married – that is, whether the proxy wedding in Vienna made the Archduchess lawfully his wife.'
'And?' Marianne's throat was dry.
'And the Emperor informed the – the Empress that he would shortly do himself the honour of visiting her in her apartments. He merely wanted time to take a bath.'
Every vestige of colour drained from Marianne's face.
'So —' Her voice was so hoarse that the Austrian glanced at her with surprise and Arcadius with alarm.
'So their majesties retired and I promptly came here to your service, madame – but how pale you are! You are not ill? You, Robineau, let your wife at once conduct this lady to my own room, it is the best in the house… Good God!'
This last exclamation was caused by Marianne who, drained of her last ounce of strength by the blow which he had unwittingly dealt her, had suddenly swayed and would have fallen if Jolival had not caught her in time. A moment later, carried by Clary and preceded by Madame Robineau in a starched muslin cap and armed with a large brass candlestick, Marianne ascended the well-polished staircase of the Grand-Cerf in a state of total unconsciousness.