Napoleon now told him to conduct the two ladies to their carriage and, with a final curtsey, Marianne and Fortunée left the imperial presence.
As they went down the little private staircase behind Rustan, Madame Hamelin slipped her arm through her new friend's, enveloping her in the scent of roses.
'I predict that you will be all the rage,' she said gaily, 'that is unless his majesty enjoys playing sultan and keeps you shut up too long. Are you fond of men?'
'I – I am of one man,' Marianne said in astonishment.
Fortunée Hamelin laughed. She had a warm, open, infectious laugh that showed a gleam of sharp, white teeth between her red lips.
'No, no, you don't understand! You do not love a man, you love the Emperor! You might as well say you love the Pantheon or the new triumphal arch at the Carroussel!'
'You think it is the same thing? I don't. He is not so imposing, you know. He is—' She paused, hunting for the word that would best express her happiness but, finding nothing strong enough, she simply sighed: 'He is wonderful!'
'I know that,' the Creole exclaimed. 'And I know too, how attractive he can make himself; when he wishes to take the trouble, that is, because when he cares to be disagreeable—'
'Can he be?' Marianne cried, genuinely astonished.
'You wait until you have heard him tell a woman in the middle of a ball room: "Your dress is dirty! Why do you always wear the same gown? I have seen this one twenty times!" '
'Oh no! It cannot be true!'
'Oh yes, it is, and if you want me to tell you what I really think, it is that which makes his charm. What woman is there who is truly a woman who does not long to know what this boorish Emperor with his eagle look and boyish smile is like in bed? What woman hasn't at some time or other dreamed of playing Omphale to his Hercules?'
'Even – you?' Marianne asked a trifle wickedly. But Fortunée answered with perfect sincerity.
'Yes, I admit it – for a while at least. I got over it very quickly.'
'Why was that?'
Once again that irresistible laugh rang through the palace corridors and out to the steps.
'Because I am too fond of men! And believe me, I have good reason. As for his majesty the Emperor and King, I think that what I have given him is worth as much as love.'
'What is that? Friendship.'
'I wish,' the other woman said in a voice grown suddenly thoughtful, 'I wish I could be really his friend! Besides, he knows I am fond of him – and more than that, that I admire him. Yes,' she added with sudden fervour, 'I admire him more than anyone in the world! I am not sure, if, in my heart of hearts, God does not take second place to him.'
The sun was just rising, painting the Venetian horses on the new triumphal arch a delicate pink. It was going to be a lovely day.
Madame Hamelin lived in the rue de la Tour d'Auvergne, between the former barrière de Porcherons and the new barrière des Martyrs, cut in the wall of the Fermiers Généraux, in a charming house with a courtyard at the front and a garden at the back where, before the Revolution, the Countess de Genlis had brought up the children of the Duke d'Orléans. For neighbour, she had the inspector of the Imperial Hunts and opposite, a dancer from the Opéra, Margueritte Vadé de l'Isle, the mistress of a financier. The house itself had been built in the previous century and recalled the clean lines of the Petit Trianon, although with substantial outbuildings and while the wintry garden was silent and melancholy, there was a fountain singing in a pool in the courtyard. Marianne liked it at once, and especially because the sloping street lay a little out of the common way. Even at this hour of the morning, with servants going to and fro about their work and the cries from the streets as Paris woke once more, there was something quiet and restful about Fortunée's white-walled house which made her feel much happier than all the luxurious splendours of the Hôtel Matignon.
Fortunée conducted her guest to a delightful room done up in pink and white pekin silk with a bedstead of pale wood hung with full white muslin curtains. This room, which was close to her own, belonged to her daughter Léontine, then away boarding at Madame Campan's famous school for girls at St-Germain. And suddenly, Marianne realized that the Creole's vagueness was only apparent and that she was, on the contrary, a person of great energy. In no time at all, Marianne found herself presented in succession with a flowing robe of lace and batiste, a pair of green velvet mules, a lady's maid all to herself (all these being possessions of Léontine Hamelin) and a substantial breakfast. To this last, she was very soon sitting down by a good bright fire in company with her hostess, who had also shed her walking dress. Marianne was amused to see that the former merveilleuse, who had once dared to appear in public in the Champs Elysées stark naked underneath her muslin gown, happily reverted to her old ways in the privacy of her own apartments. Her filmy draperies, in spite of an abundance of delicately coloured ribbons, did little to conceal her perfect figure and served, in fact, to bring out something of the primitive, southern quality of her dark beauty.
The two young women set to with enthusiasm to consume new bread, butter, preserves and fresh fruit, washed down with quantities of tea drunk very hot and strong with milk in the English fashion, all served on an exquisite pink service of exotic pattern. When they had eaten, Fortunée sighed contentedly.
'Now,' she said, 'let us talk. What would you like to do now? Bathe? Sleep? Read? For myself, I mean to write a note to Monsieur de Talleyrand to let him know what has become of you.'
'If you please,' Marianne broke in earnestly, 'there is something which seems to me still more urgent. One of my friends, the man who rescued me yesterday from the quarries of Chaillot, was hurt. He is an American, a sea captain and a most remarkable man, and I do not know what has become of him. The Emperor—'
'—Who, like most Corsicans is subject to terrible fits of jealousy, refused to answer your question! But tell me about this American. I have always adored people from his country because I was born not far away myself. There is a breath of adventure and eccentricity about them I find fascinating. Besides, the Emperor has told me very little about what has happened to you. It sounds just like a novel. You must tell me all about it, for I adore novels!'
'So do I,' Marianne said with a smile. 'But I did not enjoy this one very much.'
Fortunée's eyes sparkled as she listened with rapt attention to all that had happened since the evening of twenty-first of January when Marianne had left the house in the rue de Varennes to go to Butard. Marianne told her about Bruslart and Morvan, of whose fate she was still ignorant, about her friend Jolival, who must also be in some anxiety on her account, about Gracchus-Hannibal Pioche and, finally, about Jason Beaufort in whose company she should have been setting out for America that very day.
'I would have gone with him without hesitation,' she finished, 'if the Emperor had not made me promise to stay.'
'You would really have gone with him – even after what happened last night at the Tuileries?'
Marianne thought for a moment and then sighed.
'Yes. If I had not been made to promise that I would remain, if I had not been assured that I was needed, I should have gone today without a moment's hesitation.'
'But – why?'
'Because I love him. Now that I know who he is and what must happen in the months ahead, this – this marriage to the archduchess, I am frightened of being hurt. Whatever he may say or do, I know I shall be hurt because I can't help being jealous of her. That is why it would have been better for me to go, even more after those hours of love. Then I should have taken away with me a wonderful memory. And even at this moment, while I am talking to you, I am still sorry I have stayed because I am afraid of what lies in store for me. I even wonder if it would not be better to go against his will. I don't even know what he means to do with me, what kind of life I shall have!'