Marianne said nothing. The words, she knew, were not addressed to her. For the moment, Napoleon had forgotten her, preoccupied as he was with the new problems raised by the despatch. He was talking to himself and to have risked a reply would inevitably have been to seek a rebuff. In any case the doctor was on his feet again.
'The man may as well be put to bed, sire,' he said. 'I will be able to attend to him more readily there.'
'See to it, then. But make sure he is fit to talk soon. I have several things to ask him.'
While the servants, acting on the doctor's instructions, were getting the unconscious Le Dru on to the stretcher, Marianne approached the Emperor who, with the letter still in his hand, was clearly about to depart for his office.
'Sire,' she said, 'have I your permission to go and inquire how the man does?'
'Are you afraid he will not be well cared for?' Napoleon sounded half angry, half in jest. 'My medical men know their job, I promise you.'
'It's not that. The reason I wish to learn how he goes on is because I know him.'
'What, another? You are as bad as Talleyrand for being intimately acquainted with half Europe! Do you mind telling me how you come to know this fellow who is sent from Spain when you yourself came straight from England?'
'I met him in England, on a stormy night in Plymouth Sound, on board the vessel belonging to Nicolas Mallerousse. He was escaping from the hulks. He had sailed under Surcouf and was with me when I was taken by the wreckers.'
Napoleon frowned. Evidently the story did not altogether convince him.
'I see,' he said sardonically. 'You are old comrades-in-arms! But what intrigues me is what your friend is doing in the dragoons? There is still fighting at sea and Surcouf needs men more than ever. And, I might add, his men are generally so devoted to him they would rather lose their right arms than leave him. So what is he doing on land? Was he seasick?'
Marianne began to wish she had not spoken. Napoleon's ironic tone boded no good and she even had a vague suspicion that he did not altogether believe her. But it was too late now to draw back. She could only go on to the end.
'He was indeed devoted to Surcouf but he loved the Emperor more,' she began cautiously, wondering how she was going to explain the episode at the Compas d'Or without provoking a storm and, still more important, without finding herself obliged to go into the mortifying happenings in the barn. It had not occurred to her that he could ask so many questions and as she paused, searching for a way to go on, she was expecting every instant to hear a dry: 'That is no explanation,' or something equally forbidding.
But to her surprise, the ominous crease vanished from the imperial brow, to be replaced by an indulgent smile.
'There are some such,' Napoleon said complacently. 'Very well, my heart, go and visit your fellow-fugitive whenever you wish, you have my permission. The page on duty, young St Géran, will take you. But don't forget what time we sup. Until then, farewell.'
A second later, to Marianne's intense relief, he was gone. She heard his quick tread fading down the corridor and could not repress a grateful sigh. It had been a near thing and she sank into a chair to recover. She was in no hurry to visit Le Dru. First, she needed time to think what she meant to say to him.
She was certainly under no obligation to go and see a person she had no cause to remember with kindness. If she made no move he might even think when he recovered consciousness that he had been under a delusion and had dreamed her sudden appearance. But the idea no sooner presented itself than Marianne rejected it. Le Dru might be a superstitious Breton, but he would hardly believe in hallucinations of that order. At least he would ask the doctor whether the woman in the green dress he had seen with the Emperor had been dream or reality. And how could she be sure that once he had learned the truth he would not commit some folly in order to see her again? As a result of which Marianne would undoubtedly find herself compelled to furnish explanations infinitely more detailed than those she had already provided… No, her request to visit the injured man had been an inspiration. In that way she had every hope of doing away with misunderstandings and putting matters to rights with him without the Emperor suspecting anything.
Her mind made up, Marianne went to her room to fetch a large cashmere shawl in a mixture of autumnal shades from dark green to palest gold, and with this draped round her shoulders over the low-cut gown, she went in search of young St Géran to ask him to take her to the bedside of the wounded man.
The page was killing time out in the gallery, staring out with a disillusioned air at the sentries marching to and fro in the snow outside with their bearskin hats pulled well down to their eyebrows. He welcomed Marianne with eagerness.
'Do you know where the injured courier was taken?' she asked him. 'The Emperor wishes me to inquire how he does and would have you lead me to him.'
'It will be an honour, madame! He has been put in one of the small rooms upstairs.'
The boy was clearly delighted at the chance and Marianne suppressed a smile as she caught the admiration in his gaze. He could not have been more than fourteen or fifteen, but even at that age boys know beauty when they see it and Henri de St Géran had instantly constituted himself her slave. With the utmost dignity he went before her up the staircase and flung open the door of one of the rooms, then stood back for her to enter, inquiring politely if she wished him to wait for her.
'No, thank you. And I should prefer not to be disturbed.'
'As you wish, madame.'
With a lordly gesture he beckoned to the woman who sat by the bed and went out with her, closing the door behind him. Marianne was left alone with the wounded man. A deep silence reigned in the room and she hesitated a trifle nervously before going forward.
The curtains, patterned with exotic flowers, had been drawn against the early dark outside and the room was unlighted except for the glow of the fire in the hearth and the nightlight burning on a table by the bed.
The bed was placed in such a way that its occupant was unable to see the door and Marianne moved forward softly in case he should be asleep. It would scarcely be wondered at if he were after his long ride, and with his wound and the sedatives which the doctor must have given him. But then she heard a very human sound: someone sniffing hard, like a person who had been crying.
Without more hesitation, Marianne stepped up to the bed and into the pool of light thrown by the nightlight. Once there she saw that the man who had once sailed with Surcouf and was now a soldier of Napoleon was indeed crying like a baby.
At the sight of Marianne, however, Jean Le Dru stopped short and stared at her, without surprise this time but with sudden anger.
'What do you want?' he asked abruptly.
'To know how you feel – and also, perhaps, a little how we stand, you and I. Don't you think it might be time you confessed at last that you were wrong about me? And that we were both serving the same cause, you knowingly, I without yet being aware of it?'
She spoke with great gentleness, firstly because she was dealing with an injured and exhausted man, and secondly because she genuinely wished to make an end of the tragic misunderstanding which had developed between them as a result of the mischievous words of Morvan's vindictive mistress, Gwen. But the boy was determined to regard her as an enemy and no amount of sweetness in her voice could have any effect on him. He gave a short, bitter laugh.
'The same cause? When we know where you came from?'
Marianne shrugged, hugging the big, soft shawl more closely round her.
'When will you make up your mind to understand? Or are you really too stupid to accept the truth? When we met, I was escaping from the English police and you from the hulks. We were equal then. I had nothing left but my life and I did my best to keep that.'