'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 Würzburg, 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, she was obliged to repeat her curtsey to the one woman whom she detested above all others. But before sinking into her reverence, she had time to note the discontented pout that accentuated the famous Habsburg lip.
'How do you do?' said the Empress sulkily.
That was all. Had she recognized the woman who had made the shocking scene at the Tuileries on the day following her wedding? The woman she had found sobbing at the Emperor's feet and called 'that wicked woman'? Marianne could have sworn that she had. As she rose, she could not prevent her eyes from meeting those of Marie-Louise in a silent challenge. A fierce joy surged up in her. There was an almost electric shock. Marianne was certain that the Austrian woman loathed her and she felt a delirious sense of triumph at the thought. Hatred vibrated between the two women, hatred which gave the measure of the fear which inspired it. Marianne was aware of people around her holding their breath in cruel anticipation. Was this the first encounter between the new bride and the latest mistress to become a confrontation?
No. With a nod, Marie-Louise passed on to join her husband who, in this brief interval, had managed to traverse half the room.
'There!' Duroc's voice murmured in her ear. 'That went off better than I hoped. As soon as this is over, you are to come with me.'
'What for?'
'Why – because you are now to be granted a private audience. The Emperor instructed me to take you to his private office after the reception. You did not imagine that a few polite words would be the end of it, did you?'
Alone. She was to see him alone. Marianne's heart leaped joyfully. All this had been merely a formality, a necessary ceremony due to her new rank, but now she was to be alone with him again, have him to herself for a little while. Perhaps all was not lost.
The amused Duroc found himself gazing into a pair of eyes bright with a thousand stars. He laughed.
'I knew that would please you better. All the same, do not hope for too much. The name you bear has protected you from an open scandal. That does not mean that all will be honey in private.'
'Why should you think that?'
Duroc took out his snuff-box, helped himself to a pinch and nicked the fallen grains off his splendid suit of purple velvet and silver. Then he gave another laugh.
'The best answer to that question, my dear, is in the fragments of one of the finest Sèvres vases in the palace, shattered by his majesty's own hand on the day he learned of your marriage.'
'Are you trying to frighten me?' Marianne said. 'Far from it, you cannot think how happy you have made me! I was frightened, I confess, but that was just now…'
It was true. She had been frightened of his formal politeness, his social smile, his indifference. The worst of his rages, yes, but not that! It was the one thing before which Marianne felt helpless.