Cautious as ever and determined to make quite sure of what Napoleon had in store for her, she asked, after the slightest of hesitations:
'Have I… any choice?'
'No,' Arrighi told her bluntly. 'You have not. The Emperor gives no one any choice where the good of the Empire is concerned. He commands – myself, as well as you. I am to escort you – to be present at your – encounter with the Prince and to make sure the outcome is in accordance with the Emperor's wishes. You'll be obliged to put up with my presence and act in all things as I shall direct. I've had a copy of his Majesty's detailed instructions regarding your mission left in your room so that you may study them tonight. You would do well to learn them by heart and then destroy them. With them is Sebastiani's letter of introduction.'
'And… when I leave the Villa Sant'Anna? Do you go with me to Constantinople? I understood that you have business here?'
Arrighi did not answer immediately. Instead, he studied Marianne's averted face. As always when she was unable to betray her real thoughts, she preferred not to meet his eye, and because of this she missed the smile which flickered across his face.
'By no means,' he said at last, in an oddly detached tone. 'I am merely to escort you to Venice.'
'To—?' Marianne could scarcely believe her ears.
'Venice,' Arrighi repeated blandly. 'It is the most convenient port, being both the nearest and at the same time the most likely. Besides, it is just the place to attract a young and lovely woman who is bored.'
'That's as may be. Yet it seems odd to me that the Emperor should want me to take ship from an Austrian port—'
'Austrian? What gave you that idea?'
'But I thought – that is, I have always understood that Bonaparte gave Venice back to Austria by the treaty of – what was it?'
'Campo Formio,' Arrighi supplied. 'But Austerlitz and Pressburg have happened since then. There is the marriage with Vienna, true, but Venice is ours. Otherwise how could the Emperor have called his daughter, if he had one, the Princess of Venice?'
It seemed obvious enough, and yet something was not quite right. Even Jason, the sea-rover who generally knew what he was talking about, had given her to understand that Venice was Austrian, and Arcadius, that universal fount of information, had not corrected him… Marianne did not have to wait long for the explanation.
'I dare say you were misled', the Duke of Padua was saying, 'by the strong rumours that Venice was to be returned to Austria at the time of the marriage. In any case, the city charter is still rather special. In practical if not in political terms it enjoys a kind of extraterritorial status. That is why there has been no official replacement yet for General Menou, who died recently. He was an odd fellow, by the way, a convert to Islam. The city is altogether much more cosmopolitan than French. You'll find it much easier there to play the part of a rich lady with nothing to do and desirous of travelling than in the stricter atmosphere of other ports. You can wait quietly for a passage on a neutral vessel bound for the east – many such put in to Venice.'
'A – a neutral vessel?' Marianne said faintly, feeling her heart thud as her eyes, this time, sought those of her companion. But Arrighi appeared to have developed a sudden interest in a butterfly which was hovering conveniently at hand.
'Yes… American, perhaps… The Emperor has heard that they are known to anchor in the lagoon.'
This time Marianne had no answer. Surprise had left her speechless. Speechless, but not without the power of thought.
Reaching her own apartments, a few minutes later, she made praiseworthy efforts to recover the shreds of her dignity. She was well aware that this had suffered greatly as, oblivious of time, place, and even the most elementary decorum due to her position, it had finally sunk home what was meant by the junction of those three words: Venice and American vessel. She had quite simply flung her arms round the Duke of Padua's august neck and planted two smacking kisses on his clean-shaven cheeks.
To tell the truth, Arrighi had not shown any undue surprise at this startlingly familiar assault. He had laughed heartily and then as, blushing furiously, she had attempted to stammer some kind of apology, had hugged her back and kissed her in a most fatherly way, saying:
'The Emperor warned me you would be pleased but I hadn't hoped to find my mission so pleasantly rewarded. All the same, one final word: you must realize the gravity of your mission. It is very real and important. His Majesty is counting on you.'
'His Majesty is perfectly right, Duke. As always, surely? For my own part, I would rather die than disappoint the Emperor when he not only takes such pains for my welfare but even concerns himself for my future happiness.'
Sweeping him a final curtsey, she had left Arrighi to enjoy the delightful shades of the Boboli Gardens on his own. She was overflowing with gratitude and sped back towards the palace, her feet in their pink satin slippers barely touching the sanded paths.
With three words Arrighi had ripped apart the storm clouds, banished her nightmares and opened a great shining passage through the looming mists which hid the future, enabling her to step out confidently towards it. Everything had become wonderfully simple.
With General Arrighi to protect her, she need have nothing to fear from her strange husband and, more to the point, she could stop worrying about how to get rid of the tiresome Benielli.
She was to be delivered practically into Jason's arms, and Jason, she knew, would not refuse to help her carry out a mission laid on her by the man to whom they both owed so much. They would have such a wonderful voyage together, on that great ship which she had watched with such an aching heart as it vanished into the mist off the coast of Brittany. But now the Sea Witch would soon be heading for the scented shores of the east, bearing its cargo of lovers lightly over the blue waves, through days of burning sun and nights ablaze with stars. How good it must be to make love underneath the stars!
Lost in her shining dream, her imagination already slipping its cable, Marianne did not pause to wonder how Napoleon could have come to know of her most secret thoughts, a plan whispered hastily into her ear in that last passionate embrace with her lover.
She was quite used to his habit of knowing everything without having to be told. He was a man endowed with superhuman powers of reading what lay in men's hearts. And yet…? Was it possible, after all, that this miracle too was the work of François Vidocq? The ex-convict turned policeman seemed possessed of a remarkably acute hearing, when he took the trouble to use it.
Wholly wrapped up in themselves and in the grief of this fresh separation, neither Jason nor Marianne had thought to notice whether Vidocq had been within earshot. Well, true or not, this betrayal, if betrayal it were, was the source of too much happiness for Marianne to feel anything but heartfelt gratitude.
She reached the palace still bubbling with happiness and floated up the great stone staircase without paying the slightest attention to the activity going on all around her. Footmen and waiting-women hurried up and down, bearing everything from leather travelling cases and carpet-bags to curtains and articles of furniture. The staircase echoed to the din and clatter of a removal on a princely scale.
The Grand Duchess would not return to Florence before the winter and in addition to an extensive wardrobe she liked to carry with her all the familiar objects of her everyday life. Only the guards on the doors maintained their accustomed rigidity, in hilarious contrast to the domestic upheaval going on around them.