'A most extraordinary story! Who was attempting to detain the Princess?'
'Your diplomatic colleague from England. He came aboard this morning and recognized her.'
The ambassador smiled thinly.
'Mr Canning is a gentleman who knows his own mind. But you, my friend, who are you?'
'Merely her highness' servant, excellency. I am called Theodore.'
'Damnation! Is she travelling with a retinue? It must be an accomplished one. I notice you speak Turkish. By the way, isn't that faint of hers lasting a rather long time? For I am assuming she has fainted. There hasn't been an accident, I hope?'
'She suffered a shock, excellency,' Theodoros said blandly. 'I greatly regret that I was obliged to – render her unconscious, in order to spare her grief.'
The ambassador's grey eyes looked thoughtful, but not in any way surprised. Years of diplomacy at the Ottoman court had taught him not to be surprised at anything, and especially not at anything that concerned the vexed question of female psychology.
'I see,' was all he said. 'There is water and cognac on that table. See if you can revive your mistress while I go for some salts.'
He returned a few moments later, bringing with him someone else who, as soon as he entered the door, gave vent to a joyful exclamation.
'My God! Where did you find her?'
'So it is she? Ginning was not mistaken?'
'No doubt about it, my dear Comte. By God, it makes me wish I hadn't forgotten how to pray!'
Arcadius de Jolival, his eyes bright with tears of joy, hurled himself at the still unconscious Marianne, while the ambassador, following more slowly, began to wave the sal volatile under her nose.
She gave a long shudder, groaned and made an instinctive movement to thrust away the penetrating smell, but she did open her eyes.
They wandered a little at first and then, almost immediately, fastened on the familiar face of Jolival, who was now weeping unashamedly from sheer relief.
'You, my friend? But how?… Where am I?'
It was Theodoros, standing very correctly in the background as befitted the servant of a noble house, who answered her.
'At the French embassy, your highness, where I felt it best to bring you after your accident.'
'My accident?'
Marianne's brain was still struggling to catch up with recent events. The comfortable, elegantly furnished sitting-room was reassuring, as was the tear-stained face of her old friend, which was comfortingly real, but what was this accident… Then, suddenly, the veil was rent away and once again she saw the battered ship, the door with the red seals on it, the bloodstains and the fierce faces of the janissaries glimpsed in the light of the lantern, and she flung herself against Jolival's chest, and clung to his coat.
'Jason? Where is he? What has happened to him? There was blood on the deck… Jolival, for pity's sake, tell me, is he—?'
Gently, he took her hands in his, feeling them tense and very cold still. He held them close to his breast to warm them, but he did not meet her eyes. The beseeching look in them was too much for him.
'Honestly, I don't know,' he said, and there was a break in his voice.
'You don't… even know?'
'No. But I am being equally honest when I say that I believe with all my heart he is alive. Leighton could not afford to kill him.'
'But how?… Why?'
The questions rose to Marianne's lips so thick and fast that she could not utter half of them coherently.
The ambassador decided it was time to intervene.
'Madame,' he said, 'you are in no state to listen to anything at the moment. You have had a shock, you are exhausted, bruised and very likely hungry. Let me take you to your room and send a little supper up to you. Afterwards, perhaps—'
But Marianne was already on her feet, thrusting aside both the chair and Jolival at once. Only a short while ago, on that empty deck, she had believed that there was nothing in this world left for her to love or hope for, and had felt the life drain away from her like wine out of a leaky cask. She knew now that she had been wrong. Arcadius was here, looking at her, alive and well, and he said that Jason might not be dead.
In a moment all her vitality and fighting spirit was restored to her. It was like a miracle. As though she had been born again!
'I am most grateful to your excellency,' she said in her normal tone, 'for your kind welcome. I shall not hesitate to trespass on your hospitality, I am afraid. But, please, before I go to rest, let me hear what my old friend has to tell me. It is something that matters greatly to me, you understand, and I shall not be able to sleep, I know, until I know what has happened.'
Latour-Maubourg bowed. 'My house and myself are yours to command, Princess. In that case, I shall merely order a light supper to be brought to us here. You will not deny that you could do with it, and so could we. As for your rescuer…'
His not imperceptive gaze went from Theodoros' rigidly controlled face to Marianne's anxious one. Ashamed at having thought only of herself, she instantly besought him to see that her 'servant' was properly looked after, whereat the ambassador smiled fleetingly.
'I hoped that I had deserved your confidence, madame. This man is no more your servant than I myself. The French embassy is neutral ground for such as you – Monsieur Lagos. You are welcome to my house, and you shall sup with us.'
'You know him?' Marianne said wonderingly.
'But of course. The Emperor has great admiration for the courage of the Greeks, and has always urged me to keep myself fully informed concerning their affairs. There are few men as popular among the Phanariots as this klepht from the mountains of the Morea. Or few who could answer to his description. A mere matter of size, my friend. You are welcome here.'
Theodoros bowed courteously, without speaking.
Leaving his visitors to recover from their surprise, the Comte de Latour-Maubourg left the room with a dignity not in the least impaired by his Indian dressing-gown of flowing design and the green silk nightcap on his head.
When he had gone, Marianne turned at once to Jolival.
'And now, Arcadius,' she begged, 'tell me everything that has happened since – since our parting.'
'You mean since that villain overpowered us and took possession of the ship, after as good as throwing you into the sea? Seriously, Marianne, I can still hardly believe my eyes. Here you are alive, thoroughly alive, when for weeks now we have hardly dared to think that you could have survived. Can't you see I'm dying to know—'
'And so am I, Jolival! And dying of apprehension, too, because I know you. If you had anything but bad news to tell, you would have been half-way through it by now. Is it – so very dreadful?'
Jolival shrugged and began pacing up and down the room, his hands tucked under his coat tails.
'I don't know. Weird, more than anything. Everything that has happened since the moment I last saw you seems to have been totally irrational. But listen and you'll see.'
Marianne sat curled up in an armchair, listening with all her ears, and as Jolival proceeded, she soon ceased to see or hear anything but the story he had to tell, which was certainly a very strange one.
After criminally abandoning Marianne, the Sea Witch had turned aside from her original course and set sail for Africa. On the following night she was at a point midway between the Morea and the island of Crete when, just as darkness was falling, she was sighted by the corsair xebecs of Veli Pasha, the formidable son of the Pasha Ali of Yannina.
The Epirote's flotilla had easily overcome a vessel in no better or more experienced hands than those of a megalomaniac doctor and a handful of ruffians. At least, so far as the prisoners lying in irons below decks had been able to deduce from the short duration of the fight. One thing, too, they were now certain of, and that was that Jason Beaufort was no longer in command.