Although for many years past Roger could have afforded better accommodation, whenever he was in Paris he always stayed at their inn. Up in the attic they kept for him a big trunk containing a considerable variety of civilian clothes, and a reserve of money.
It had become a custom that, whenever Roger arrived in Paris, on his first night there he should dine with the Blanchards in their parlour. Now, having been presented to Georgina, they realised at once that she was a great lady and hesitated to invite her to share a meal. But Roger swept away their diffidence by saying that he had told her with such gusto about duck cooked in the Norman fashion that, all the way to Paris, she had been looking forward to this specialty of Madame Blanchard's.
A few hours later, rested and refreshed, Roger and Georgina were happily dispatching a pair of fine ducks with their host and hostess; and washing them down with a good vintage Burgundy. Innkeepers have their fingers more firmly than other men on the pulse of public opinion and Roger never failed to get a sound assessment of feeling in Paris from Maitre Blanchard. When asked about it now, he replied:
'Monsieur le Colonel Baron, I cannot complain. There is plenty of money about and no lack of food to be had at reasonable prices. But the people are not happy. In the bad old days, when the churches had been turned into gaming hells and brothels, the populace were half starving and the city one great slum, but at least the citizens did not lack joie de vivre. As the ragged bands of volunteers marched to defend France from the armies of the Kings who would have crushed the Revolution, they laughed and sang. Later, as you will know, when the news used to come in of victory after victory gained by the "Little Corporal", we had good reason to cheer and, whenever he came to Paris, the people went wild with excitement. But that is so no longer.
'Apart from that short break in 1803, we've been at war for seventeen years. And what good has it done us? Saving your presence, it is no doubt a wonderful experience for the Emperor, his Marshals and high officers like yourself to ride in triumph into Milan, Berlin, Vienna, Madrid and all those other cities. But, for all but a few, these great campaigns mean death, to be crippled for life or, at best, years at a stretch marching with heavy equipment, along endless roads, living in great discomfort, often existing only on vegetables stolen from some wretched peasant's garden and, above all, separated from those they love.
'Time was when my wife and I used to think that Le Bon Dieu had treated us harshly by denying us sons. Today we thank Him that He did not. By now they would be dead, handicapped by some awful injury or far away with but only half a chance of our ever seeing them again.
'For two years past a great part of the drafts to the colours have been made up of youngsters who should still be finishing their schooling, instead of being sent to fight and kill their fellow men. And even the supply of these is drying up.
'Yet, on the Emperor's return to Paris, he insisted that the gaps in his armies must be filled. For the purpose he ordered Marshal Moncey to take special measures. As you must know, deserters have become legion. No one reproaches them any more. On the contrary, everyone helps them to get back to their homes, or hides them and gives them work to do at night. Now they are being flushed out by the thousand. In every city, town and village throughout France, Moncey's gendarmes are carrying out house to house searches, and thrusting their bayonets 'into the hay in the barns. Every man between the age of sixteen and sixty has to give a satisfactory account of himself. If he can't, he gets a brutal beating and is dragged off to the nearest barracks. Can you wonder that people no longer cheer the Emperor, and that many wish him dead?'
The duck was followed by a flaming omelette au rhum, and they rounded the meal off with pre-Revolution Calvados. When they went up to bed, Georgina having every confidence in Roger's ability to take care of her, was tired but happy. He, on the other hand, although their cheerful evening with the Blanchards had caused him for the moment to put aside thoughts of the future, was far from being so.
The mysterious deaths of von Haugwitz and Lisala were so sensational that the story might already have reached Paris. In any case, it was certain that when the voluble Augereau paid his respects to the Emperor he would give him an account of the affair. What view he would take of it was quite unpredictable. Napoleon justifiably prided himself upon being a great law giver and, provided it did not conflict with his own interests, was a great stickler for the law being carried out.
When Roger reported for duty, as he must the following day, he felt sure that the Emperor would question him about his doings at Schloss Langenstein. If he insisted on his innocence, Napoleon might well decree that he must be sent back to stand his trial. On the other hand, the case against him being so black, the Emperor, who was notoriously indulgent of faults committed by his old friends, might, if told the truth, rather than expose le brave Breuc to the risk of being condemned and executed, decide to deal with the matter himself. Yet, if he did, as Roger's victim had been the Prussian Chief Minister's brother, he might feel it politic to appease the wrath of his Prussian allies by sentencing Roger to a year's imprisonment in a fortress.
And, should that be the outcome, what would become of Georgina? Gone would be all chance of getting her to England. Still worse, apart from the Blanchards, she would be friendless in Paris and, although they had told Augereau and his A.D.C. that she was Dutch by birth, she might at any time run into someone who had known her on one of her earlier visits to Paris, when France and England were not at war.
If that happened, things could go very badly indeed for her. After the brief Peace of Amiens in 1802, Napoleon had horrified the world by initiating an entirely new measure against nations with whom he was at war. Previously, hostilities had been confined to armies and navies; civilians living in enemy countries had been regarded as harmless and were never interfered with. But the 'Corsican brigand' held in contempt ancient customs dictated by chivalry. He had decreed that all British citizens resident in France should be seized and thrown into concentration camps.
For a while, as Roger lay in bed with Georgina curled up and sleeping peacefully beside him, he contemplated leaving Paris with her the following morning and going into hiding in some small village on the coast, until an opportunity came for him to attempt to smuggle her over to England.
But it was certain that the swashbuckling Augereau would tell the Emperor that he had brought Roger to Paris and, if he failed to present himself at the Tuileries, he would be promptly sent for. When it was learned that he had disappeared, Napoleon would be furious, have him posted as a deserter, and half the police in France would be put on to hunt him down. With only a few hours' start, his chance of getting away for good would be extremely slender. On his own, he might have managed it, but not with a strikingly beautiful companion like Georgina.
Filled with miserable thoughts about what the morrow might bring, he at last dropped off to sleep.
3
The Forged Letter
After a bad night Roger woke early and again wrestled with the problems of how he could protect Georgina and save himself. Eventually he decided that his best hope lay in consulting his old friend, the wily Talleyrand. So, at nine o'clock, clad in his brilliant uniform, he had himself carried in a sedan to the Prince de Benevento's splendid mansion in the Rue du Bac.