'Not just my voice and my person?'
'Idiot!'
Then, at last, she gave in. Suddenly, her nerve broke. Shuddering, she pressed herself against him and with her head on his shoulder she began to cry in great tearing sobs, like a little girl who has been punished and forgiven. The tears eased her and tenderly, with patience, Napoleon waited until she should be calm again, holding her with most brotherly gentleness. Still cradling her close, he led her over to a small sofa and sat her down. When her tears had died away a little, he began murmuring in Italian, the fond words she had loved so much that first time. Little by little, his kisses and caresses calmed her. After a while, she freed herself from the arms that held her and sat up, wiping her eyes with Duroc's handkerchief which he had put into her hand earlier.
'Forgive me,' she said unsteadily. 'I am very stupid—'
'Perhaps, if you really think so – but you are so lovely not even tears can make you ugly.'
He went over to a large silver-gilt wine cooler standing on a small table with some clear glasses and a small cold supper, took out a bottle of champagne and filled two glasses. Then he brought one to Marianne.
'Now, we must set the seal of our reconciliation. We will begin again from the beginning. Only this time, we know who we are and why we love one another. Drink, mio dolce amore, to our happiness.'
They drank, gazing into one another's eyes, and then Marianne let her head fall on to the back of the sofa with a little sigh. For the first time, she looked around her at the exquisite fabrics, the gilt bronze and satinwood furnishings, all these strange and magnificent surroundings. What had he told her a moment ago? That this was the Trianon?
'Why here?' she asked. 'Why this journey, all this comedy?'
'There too I have an excellent reason. I am going to give myself a little holiday – comparatively speaking. I remain here a week – and I am keeping you with me.'
'A week?'
'Yes. Do you think it's too long? Don't worry, you will have plenty of time afterwards for your audition with the Director of the Opéra. You are engaged in advance. Rehearsals begin on your return. As for your house—'
He paused and Marianne held her breath, not daring to interrupt. What was he going to say? Surely their stupid argument was not going to begin all over again after all? lie looked at her, smiling and then, dropping a light kiss on the fingertips he had taken in his own, he finished calmly:
'As for your house, Percier and Fontaine do not need you to carry out their work. Don't worry, they have orders to act strictly in accordance with your wishes. Does that make you happy?'
For answer, she offered her lips and dared for the first time to say the words.
'I love you.'
'You've taken your time about saying it—' he observed between kisses.
Much later in the night, a log falling in the fire woke Marianne from a light doze. Lifting herself up on the pillows, she flung back the heavy mass of hair out of her eyes and leaned on her elbow to look at her lover as he slept. He had gone into sleep in an instant after their lovemaking, and now he lay across the bed as naked as a Greek warrior on the field of battle… For the first time, Marianne was struck by the perfection of his body.
Stretched out like that, he looked taller than he really was.[10] The firm muscles showed through the smooth, ivory-coloured skin in the manner of some ancient marble. Napoleon's chest and shoulders were broad, almost hairless, and his arms and legs modelled on the strictest canons. He had excellent hands and took the greatest care of them, as of all his person. Marianne laid her face softly against his shoulder, stroking it with her cheek and breathing in the faint smell of eau-de-Cologne and Spanish jasmin, softly taking care not to wake him.
A great Venetian mirror over the fireplace gave her back their two reflections. She saw herself, pink in the soft candle-light, half shrouded in the gleaming wave of her hair and was pleased with what she saw. It made her glad and triumphant because if she was beautiful tonight it was for him, and because of him. Happiness had given her a glow which she had never had before, and which filled her at the same time with joy and humbleness. There, in that quiet room that still throbbed to their caresses, Marianne offered to the man she loved a more total and absolute submission than any he had asked of her earlier, a submission which she herself perhaps would deny him when daylight came again.
'I'll give you all the love you want,' she whispered softly, 'I'll love you with all my heart, and all my strength – but I will always speak the truth to you. You can ask anything of me, my love, any suffering and sacrifice, anything except lies and servility—'
The fire in the hearth was almost dead. The room which had been warm a moment before was growing chilly. Marianne got up quickly, and opening the white and gold rail that enclosed the bed, ran on bare feet to the hearth and stirred up the glowing embers. Then, piling on a few more logs, she waited for them to catch and burn up again.
She glanced at her naked image in the mirror and smiled to think of the picture she would present should any of the four men who, according to etiquette, slept in the ante-chamber dare to open the door.[11]
Faithful Constant also slept in a little room close by, ever ready to answer a ring at the bell, and then there was the impressive Rustan, barring the door with his great, sleepy body.
Marianne stood on tiptoe and leaned forward to examine the new woman she had become. It was something to be the mistress of an emperor! No doubt, the servants and officials, like the Grand Marshal of the Palace, would treat her with the greatest respect during her brief stay here, a stay which might well be unique because the new Empress—
She thrust back the unpleasant thought as hard as she could. She had suffered enough for one night. And now, she was going to have him all to herself for a whole week. In a way, she would be Empress herself and she meant to extract every last ounce of happiness from those few days. She did not mean to waste a single second.
She walked with her light step back to the bed and pulled up the covers softly over the sleeping man. Then with infinite caution, she slipped in beside him, and cuddled up close to him, drawing his warmth into her own shivering body. He turned in sleep and put his arm around her, murmuring something indistinct. With a happy sigh she pressed close against his chest and fell asleep, satisfied with the pact she had concluded with herself and with the sleeping master of Europe.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
So Brief a Happiness
The Grand Trianon, a huge, shimmering, translucent soap bubble of crystal and rose-coloured marble set amongst immemorial trees, unreal and splendid as a dream ship anchored to the shores of heaven, was covered in the early hours of the morning by a soft silent mantle of snow. Far more than the remote splendours of the Tuileries or the rather sophisticated charm of le Butard, it came to stand in Marianne's mind first as an ideal and then, afterwards, as the symbol of paradise lost.
She very soon discovered, however, that Napoleon had his own peculiar ideas of what he called a holiday. When the first ray of cold, wintry sunshine struck through the windows of the Imperial bedchamber, which faced East, like all the private rooms the Emperor had set aside for his own use in the Palace, she found that she was alone in the big bed and that Napoleon was nowhere to be seen. The fire was blazing cheerfully in the hearth, and a frothy lace wrapper lay over the back of a chair but there was no-one else in the room.