Marianne

'No doubt that is why you wished to set fire to this house?'

'I could not see the house in which the Asselnats had lived and suffered become the setting for an actress's wanton revels! As for my name—'

'I will tell it you,' Marianne interrupted her, realizing at last who stood before her. 'Your name is Adelaide d'Asselnat. And I will tell you something else as well. When I came in just now, you looked at me with a kind of terror because you were struck by a resemblance—'

'Perhaps, but that was an illusion—'

'Was it then? Look at me more closely!' Now it was Marianne's turn to seize the silver candlestick and hold it near her face. 'Look at my face, my mouth, my colouring! Go and find the picture you took away and put it beside me. You will see that I am indeed his daughter!'

'His daughter? But how—'

'His daughter, I tell you. The daughter of Pierre d'Asselnat, Marquis de Villeneuve and of Anne Selton! Maria Stella is not my real name, only a pseudonym. My name is Marianne Elizabeth d'As—'

She had no time to say more. Mademoiselle d'Asselnat must have had more than her share of excitement for one day. With a little sigh she subsided on to the salon carpet in a dead faint.

***

Marianne succeeded, with something of an effort, in getting the little old spinster on to one of the sofa's standing near the fireplace. Next, she stirred up the fire as best she could, lit some more candles to give a better light, and then made her way down to the kitchen in the basement in search of something to revive her cousin. The evening's melancholy had flown away as though by a miracle, and, all things considered, the discovery of this remarkable Adelaide she had believed confined to the depths of Auvergne under the watchful eye of the imperial police, an eye which now seemed somewhat lacking in watchfulness, might well qualify as a miracle. She had earlier promised to plead her cousin's cause with the Emperor but, with the selfishness of all those in love, she had let it go out of her mind during the enchanted days at the Trianon. Yet now that this d'Asselnat had dropped from heaven like a dusty, grey spider, she was suddenly as happy as though she had been given a present.

As she moved about filling a tray at random with a bottle of wine, glasses, plates, a pate which she happened to come across in the larder and a big chunk of bread, she caught herself humming the tune from 'The Vestal' which she was studying at that moment. At the same time she was racking her brains to remember what the duc d'Avaray and then later on Fouché had said about her turbulent relative. 'An old mad creature,' the first had called her, 'the friend of Mirabeau and La Fayette', 'a somewhat undesirable relative for one in your situation,' the second had said. From all this and from her own observations, Marianne concluded that Adelaide was certainly no ordinary person and this pleased her.

Whatever the case, mad or not, dangerous or not, Marianne had firmly made up her mind to try and make friends with this one remaining member of her family. When she returned to the salon with her tray, she saw that the few hearty slaps she had administered to her before leaving had produced their effect. Adelaide's eyes were open and she was sitting upright on the sofa where Marianne had left her lying down, gazing about her with the bemused expression of one who had seen a ghost. She looked up suspiciously at the pale smiling figure coming towards her.

'Are you feeling better now, cousin?' Marianne asked, putting her tray down on a small table.

Mechanically, the little spinster pushed back a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes and stretched out her hand for the proffered glass of wine. She swallowed a full glass with an ease denoting a certain familiarity and then sighed deeply.

'Yes, I feel better now. And so you are his daughter? You are so like him, I should not even have to ask. Except for the eyes. Pierre's eyes were black, and yours—'

'I have my mother's eyes.'

Adelaide's thin face hardened with a look of anger.

'The Englishwoman's eyes! I know!'

'Did you – did you dislike my mother?'

'I hate the English. I never wished to know her. What need had he to seek a wife from among her hereditary enemies?'

'He loved her,' Marianne said gently. 'Does that not seem to you a sufficient reason?'

Adelaide did not answer, but her expression told Marianne much more than any words. She guessed the tragedy of the plain girl, secretly in love with her handsome cousin only to see him one day fall in love with a girl so exquisitely lovely that there was no longer any question of fighting. She understood why Adelaide d'Asselnat had begun to live somewhat apart from her family, why she had sought her friends among the intellectuals whose heads were full of great, revolutionary ideas. The brilliance of Versailles which had suited the young married couple so well must have been painful to this night bird who had sucked in the new ideas greedily as a thirsty traveller coming upon an unexpected spring of fresh water. But then—

'What did you do during the Terror?' Marianne asked suddenly, seized by a terrible suspicion. Surely this old maid's frustrated love would not have driven her to associate with those who had turned the ideal of a revolution into a blood bath? But there was no shadow in the candid blue eyes that looked into hers. Adelaide shrugged.

'What could I do? I went to ground in Auvergne. Those great minds which had worked for the people's good had become the enemies of the Convention. To Robespierre's men, I was simply an aristocrat, and hence meat for the guillotine. I had to go. My house in the Marais was given to a rope-maker from the Faubourg St-Antoine who turned it into a livery stable. And I knew that I had nothing to fear from our peasants at Villeneuve who were all devoted to the family. I had thought to end my days there, but when Bonaparte became Napoleon I, I had a mind to see just what kind of a man he was who could make victory follow at his heels like a well-trained dog. I came back to Paris—'

'To this house?'

'No. That was not possible. But I came here very often to think about – about those who were no more. That was how I came across the portrait in one of the attics. Probably your father had it put away because its warlike subject could not help but remind your mother how often France and England had been at war. I liked coming here. For all its dilapidated condition, it made me feel at home.'

'Where did you live?'

'With a friend. She died, three months ago, and I was forced to look for somewhere else. But while there, I had met someone who had a house nearby and was willing to rent me a pair of rooms—'

She broke off and, for the first time, she smiled, a smile so amazingly young and mischievous that Marianne was astounded. Suddenly, her frowsty cousin was twenty years old.

'—and now I am going to surprise you,' she went on, 'my landlady is English, she is that famous Mrs Atkins, who also tried to save the Royal Family and especially the unfortunate little King Louis XVII. But she was drawn to me by my name and her extraordinary kindness made me forget her nationality.'

'But you have been in this house? I heard you just now come down from the attic. I suppose you must know the secret hiding place?'

'Of course I know it. It was made such a long time ago. And I used to play there as a child. The d'Asselnats have not always been the most obedient subjects and there have been troubles from time to time with the king – or with the Regent as the case might be. The hiding place was useful. I hid there when you came with those others who were with you. But I did not see your face. You wore a veil. What I suffered to think that this old house, so full of memories for me, was to belong to an actress!'