In consequence he led Junot to believe that, since he could pass with ease as an Englishman, he had been sent to India by the French Government to assess the possibilities of the French regaining a hold on the territories they had lost there, and of the wealth they might hope to gain if they could succeed in ousting the British from Bengal. He then showed equal eagerness to hear from the young Colonel an account of General Buonaparte's remarkable campaign.
Junot had the heart of a lion, but no great brain, and it had been his conspicuous bravery while a Sergeant at the siege of Toulon that had led the little Corsican to promote him to Lieutenant and make him his A.D.C. Afterwards, he had accompanied his new master to Paris where, during Buonaparte's dark days, when he was out of employment, they had shared a room in a back street hotel, and, by various shifts, Junot had managed to support them both. When the coup d'etat of 13th Vendemiaire had brought Buonaparte with one bound from obscurity to Military Governor of Paris, he had not been slow to show his gratitude, and Junot, who regarded him as little short of God, was delighted to plunge into a panegyric about his triumphs.
'When we arrived in Nice towards the end of March '96,' he said, 'I will confess that I was just a shade anxious about the sort of reception our General would have when he took over the command. He had brought with him from Paris Berthier, to be his Chief-of-Staff, Marmont, Murat and myself. Naturally, we all had absolute faith in him, but he had never before commanded even as much as a Brigade in the field; so we couldn't help wondering how the old hands would like his appointment.
'Serurier was one Divisional Commander. He is a ci-devant Count, you know. He spent years in the old army and only joined the revolution because he had been treated so shabbily; a conscientious man and good at looking after his men, but stuck fast in all the old traditions about set-piece wars. Augereau was another; a sans-culotte if ever there was one, and vain as a peacock, but a skilful tactician and a tremendous fighter. Massena was the third; a dour silent fellow, but by far the ablest of the lot. All of them had victories to their credit, and a much better claim to be appointed General-in-Chief than our little man; but in no time at all they were eating out of his hand.
'You know his immense energy. He gave them no time to talk or grumble. The Army was short of everything but, all the same, within a fortnight of his taking over, we were up in the Ligurian Alps firing our first shots at the village of Montenotte.'
With uncheckable enthusiasm. Junot talked on for over an hour, describing victory after victory fought in the summer heats across the rivers Adda, Po, Mincio and Adige, then during the desperate winter campaign up through the snow-clad Alps into Austria.
Then he spoke of the new army that Buonaparte had forged. 'You'll find it very different from that with which we served at Toulon. It hadn't altered much when the little man took it over. The troops were still just ill disciplined cut-throats who thought themselves as good as their officers. They got no pay and had few clothes; many of them had rags wrapped round their feet because there were no boots. Only a flaming belief that they were fighting to save the revolution kept them going. But the General has altered all that. Money and paintings aren't the only things we've had out of Italy. Every tailor, cobbler and saddler in the country has been made to sweat blood. You'll have seen some of our smart new uniforms in Venice, though.
Another thing: from the beginning he abandoned the practice of calling them “Citizens” and instead always addresses them as “Soldiers”. Among the officers, too, the word “Monsieur” has come back, and woe betide the rough-neck who dares any longer to question an order. All that old business of soldiers' committees, that had to have the situation explained to them and be argued round before they would agree to attack, has long since gone by the board.
'Buonaparte has changed too. Even his closest friends no longer dare “thee” and “thou” him. He keeps himself very much aloof, and rightly so. He is no longer interested in Corsica, either. You'll remember how passionately he used to discourse on the island's right to independence. Now, for him, it has become just one of the Departments of France, and he looks upon himself as a Frenchman. He has even changed the spelling of his name so that it now sounds more French, and signs everything “Bonepart”.'
Roger listened, fascinated, to all this, but he was desperately tired; so, when Junot went off again to dance, he left the Palace, had himself taken back to the French Embassy and there flopped into bed.
Next morning, his face still lined and his eyes deeply shadowed from his recent ordeal, but in excellent heart, he went to his old lodging near the church of the Spirito Sancto. The landlord, naturally, did not at first recognise him, but he told him that he had been living there in disguise, spoke of Captain Battista and the previous day's trial, of which the man had heard, and soon convinced him of his identity. Up in the room he had occupied he retrieved, from under the floorboards, his Bills of Exchange on London, the equivalent of fifty guineas in gold, a small silk bag containing the jewels that the Rai-ul-daula had given him, and the letter from Mr. Pitt.
The first, if his luck turned again, and was found upon him, he would be able to account for, but the last he certainly could not. The letter had served him well, and he was loath to part with it, but to keep it was a risk that he felt he could not afford to take; so, using his tinder box, he burnt it to ashes.
From among the jewels, he selected a star sapphire as big as a hazel nut which, set in a surround of small diamonds, had been used as a hair ornament but could be made into a very unusual brooch, and slipped it into his waistcoat pocket. The other items he disposed of about his person; then he paid the landlord what was due to him and crossed the Grand Canal to wait upon Madame Boneparte in the Doge's Palace.
She received him as an old friend, in negligee, lying on a gilt day-bed while her hair was being dressed and coiled with ribbons high on her head, a la Grecque. With the abandonment fashionable under the Directory, she was wearing only the most flimsy garments, through which he could see a good part of her well-rounded limbs. Her retrousse nose deprived her of real beauty, but her brown eyes were large and luminous, and there was a voluptuousness about her that drew many men to her like a lodestone.
After he had kissed her hand, he went down on one knee and offered her the jewel. Never having seen one like it before, she examined it with delight, but then refused to take it, saying that she was still his debtor rather than he hers.
But, knowing her love of pretty things, he insisted that she should, telling the glib lie that he had brought it all the way from India for her.
At that she exclaimed with astonishment and begged him to tell her about that distant land. For half an hour he entertained her with accounts of Rajahs' palaces, snake-charmers, hunting tigers from the back of an elephant, and other true travellers' tales, then she said:
'The General-in-Chief will be enthralled to have an eyewitness account of such matters. Monsieur, He has always been intrigued by the East and, as you may know, once contemplated leaving the French service for that of the Grand Turk. No doubt, now that you are returned, he will offer you suitable employment. He always prefers to have familiar faces about him, and in recent months he has displayed a special preference for those whose breeding distinguishes them by their good manners. You fulfil both of those requirements so I am sure he will give you a warm welcome. Meanwhile, I should be most happy if you would accept a post as one of my equerries.'