Unfortunately for Marianne, she was not allowed to enjoy it to the end. Right in the middle of her sonata, there came a timid scratching on the door which opened to make room for the furiously blushing face of a youthful page.
'What is it now?' Napoleon spoke curtly. 'Am I not to have an instant's peace? I thought I said we were not to be disturbed?'
'I – I know, sire,' stammered the wretched boy. It had obviously taken more courage on his part to enter the forbidden room than to storm an enemy redoubt. 'But – there is a courier from Madrid! With urgent despatches!'
'Despatches from Madrid invariably are,' the Emperor commented dryly. 'Oh, very well, let him come in.'
Marianne had ceased playing at the first words and now she rose hurriedly, preparing to withdraw, but Napoleon signed to her briefly to be seated. She obeyed, divining his annoyance at being disturbed and his reluctance to leave his comfortable fireside for the draughty corridors leading to his office.
The page vanished, with significant haste, to return a moment later and throw open the door to allow the entrance of a soldier so liberally plastered with mud and dust that it was impossible to see the colour of his uniform. The soldier advanced to the middle of the room and stood to attention, chin up, heels together, his shako on his arm. Marianne stared thunderstruck at a face fringed with a few days' growth of golden beard, a face she knew from the first moment, even before he fixed his eyes in a blank, military stare on the grey and gold silk covering the wall and spoke.
'Sergeant-major Le Dru, with special despatches from his excellency the Duke of Dalmatia to his majesty the King Emperor. At your majesty's service!'
He it was, the man who had made a woman of her and to whom she owed her first, disagreeable experience of love. He had not changed much in these past two months, despite the ravages of fatigue upon his face, and yet Marianne had the feeling that she was looking at a different man. How, in so short a space of time, had Surcouf's sailor become transformed into this stony-faced soldier, the messenger of a duke? On his green jacket she noted with surprise the brand new mark of the Legion d'Honneur. But Marianne had been long enough in France to realize the kind of magic which surrounded Napoleon. What might have seemed preposterous or absurd elsewhere was the daily bread of this strange country and the giant who ruled it. In no time at all, a ragged sailor out of an English prison hulk could become a hero of the army, galloping like a centaur from one end of Europe to the other.
Napoleon, hands clasped lightly behind his back, walked slowly round the newcomer who, stiff with pride and awe, strove desperately to overcome his weakness under this august scrutiny. Marianne sat wondering how long it would be before Le Dru's glance fell on her and what would happen then. She knew the Breton's impulsive nature too well not to fear the worst. Who could tell how he would react on seeing her? Better to slip away quietly now and disarm Napoleon's probable wrath later.
She rose, intending to make her way unobtrusively to a side door. As she did so, the Emperor stopped in front of Le Dru and put out a finger to lift the cross that glittered on his breast.
'You are a brave lad, it seems. Where did you get this?'
The soldier's set face flushed with pride.
'At Ciudad Rodrigo, sire. From Marshal Ney in person.'
'What for?'
'For – a peccadillo, sire.'
The Emperor's face lit briefly with his rare and wonderful smile. He put up his hand and tweaked the boy's ear. The young eyes filled with tears.
'I like such peccadillos,' Napoleon said, 'and I like your modesty. What is your message, my friend?'
Marianne had stayed where she was, held in spite of herself. After all, she thought, why should she run away? Her past was no secret from the Emperor now and even if Le Dru dared to attack her in his presence, he could not hurt her. Somewhere inside her, there was an irresistible curiosity, tinged perhaps with perversity, urging her to stay and watch this young man of whom at one time she had been so afraid, and towards whom she was no longer very sure what her feelings were. Quietly, she resumed her seat at the harp.
Le Dru was feverishly pulling a large sealed package from inside his jacket. His colour had faded and now he looked to Marianne to be growing paler with every second, as though about to collapse. The spasm of pain that crossed his face as he held out the despatch told her all she needed to know. She found her voice at last, experiencing a sense of excitement in thus challenging the danger.
'Sire,' she said tranquilly, 'this man can hardly stand. I am sure he must be wounded.'
At the sound of her voice, Le Dru turned to look at her. Marianne saw with some amusement the erstwhile sailor's blue eyes widen with astonishment.
'True, by thunder,' Napoleon began. 'Are you—'
The sound of the man's fall cut short his words. Le Dru had only held himself upright by a supreme effort of will but the unexpected shock of finding himself gazing full at Marianne had been too much for his overstrained nerves, and the courier from Madrid had fainted clean away at the Emperor's feet.
'Well, well,' commented his sovereign, 'if my dragoons take to swooning like green girls…'
But even as he spoke he was on his knees ripping open the high collar of the green dolman to give the man air. Blood spread in a widening stain across his shirt near the shoulder.
'You were right,' Napoleon said to Marianne, 'this man is wounded. Come and help me.'
She had already fetched a crystal decanter from a side table and was pouring a little water on to her handkerchief. Kneeling beside the Emperor on the carpet she began bathing Le Dru's temples, but without effect.
'He needs a cordial,' she said, 'and a doctor as well. Have we any brandy?'
'We call it cognac in this country,' Napoleon retorted. 'As for the doctor – '
He went quickly to the hearth and pulled the bell. The frightened page reappeared, his eyes growing rounder than ever with horror as he saw the man he had let in stretched unconscious on the floor.
'A doctor, at once,' the Emperor commanded. 'Also a stretcher and two footmen to see this man put to bed in the soldiers' quarters.'
'Send a wounded man out in the cold in this weather?' Marianne protested. 'Your majesty cannot be serious?'
'You may be right, though my soldiers have tough hides, you know. Never mind. Have a room made ready for him here. Well, go on, hurry, imbecile! What are you waiting for?'
Le Dru must have been in the last stages of exhaustion. He was still deeply unconscious when the palace doctor appeared, accompanied by the servants who were to carry him to bed.
While the medical man made his brief examination, Marianne retired to an armchair and watched Napoleon break the seal on the despatches and cast a quick eye over them. She was disturbed to see him frown and look grim. The news must be bad. When he had finished reading, the Emperor crushed the thick sheet angrily in his fist.
'Incompetents!' he muttered between his teeth. 'I am surrounded by incompetents! Could there not be one person in my whole family capable of making reasonable plans, or at least of carrying mine out with disinterested greatness!'