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Intense as was their relief at their safe arrival, there was another matter that had caused Bonaparte grave concern. Having come from the Near East, where plague was endemic, they were subject to three weeks' quarantine. But a sailing boat came out and hailed them. As soon as it was known that Bonaparte was on board, scores of craft, crammed with people, put out from the Mttle harbour. Shouting, cheering, they forced their way on board, determined to give the conqueror of Italy an unforgettable welcome back to France. Crowding round the slim, pale-faced figure on the quarter-deck, they fought to wring him by the hand or even kiss the hem of his coat. Owing to this the quarantine was rendered pointless. If the frigates had brought plague with them, the populace of Fr£jus had been exposed to infection. So by mid-morning it was decided that Bonaparte and his entourage should go ashore.

The latest news to be had in this remote little town was still of French disasters. Of all Italy, France now held only Genoa and the narrow lands of the Ligurian Republic of which it was the capital. The Army of the Archduke Charles was besieging Phillipsburg and Mainz. Suvoroff's Russians had crossed the Alps and entered Switzerland, where another Russian Army, under General Korsakoff, reported to be thirty thousand strong, had joined him for an attempt to crush Mass£na. Lastly, the French were being attacked on yet another front. On August 27th a British Army commanded by the Duke of York landed at the Helder and, assisted by Dutch Royalists, had seized the Fleet moored at the Texel. Then, a fortnight later, the British had been joined by a Russian contingent of seventeen thousand men, brought round by sea from the Baltic by General Hermann.

With such enormous forces arrayed against her it was clear that France's situation was now desperate and that before winter set in she might be invaded. Bad as was the news, all Bonaparte's companions knew that it favoured the prospects of their master. His reception at Frejus could not have been more enthusiastic, but Frejus was only one small town. Paris and the greater part of France might give him anything but a warm welcome. He had left his Army to rot in the sands of Egypt and families all over the country had husbands, brothers, sons and lovers among those he had abandoned there. When sending him out, the Directory had given him a somewhat ambiguous permission to return in certain circumstances; but he would have to account for his act to the Minister of War, and that Minister was his enemy Bernadotte. There was, too, the awful possibility that he had brought plague to France. He would, therefore, stand or fall by the country's need of him. Only a great public outcry, that he was the one man who could save France, could safeguard him from his enemies.

Roger's little chateau lay only a few miles away in the direction of St. Maxime, so he naturally offered it for his master's accommodation. But Bonaparte was anxious not to lose a moment in getting to Paris and, as soon as coaches and horses could be collected, he set off with his Generals and personal Staff.

The journey took seven days and proved a triumphal progress. The news of Bonaparte's return had spread like wildfire. People came from miles round to stand along the roadside and cheer him; the streets of the towns and cities through which they passed were choked with crowds hailing him as their deliverer, and from every balcony the women threw down autumn flowers on the little cavalcade. After the first day it was already clear that not one in ten thousand in those seething crowds was giving a thought to Egypt. To them the little, pale-faced General was the heroic conqueror of Italy and the one man who might hold France's enemies at bay.

On October 16th they arrived in Paris. Bonaparte drove straight to his house in the Rue de la Victoire, Roger to his old quarters at La Belle £toile. The good Norman couple were, as ever, delighted to see him and asked him to dine with them. Over the meal Maitre Blanchard gave him the latest news, which confirmed rumours he had heard while on the road, that things had taken a turn for the better.

General Brune's Army in Holland had, on September 19th, inflicted a severe defeat on the Anglo-Russian expeditionary force, so that it was now on the defensive. Better still, from the main theatre of war came the news of a great triumph in Switzerland. One of Massena's lieutenants, General Lecourbe, with troops used to mountain warfare, had taken heavy toll of Suv6roff's Army as it had forced its way through the defiles of the Alps. Korsakoff, meanwhile, had stormed Zurich. Using the divisions of Mortier and Soult to bar his further advance, Mass^na despatched Oudinot's corps of fifteen thousand men to encircle the Russian rear. Korsakoff had then found himself caught in the city with his back to the lake and the river Limmat. A terrific battle had raged for two days until, on September 25th, Korsakoff had formed his infantry into a solid mass and cut his way out through Oudinot's corps. But eight thousand Russian prisoners, a hundred cannon and the whole of Korsakoff's treasure and supplies had been taken. The bastion of Switzerland remained in the hands of France and Massena had earned himself a place among the greatest of her Generals.

For the time being at least France was no longer in danger and Roger wondered how seriously that might detract from the popularity that Bonaparte had enjoyed during the past week with the fickle masses. His thoughts were, however, abruptly diverted by a serving man coming in to say that M. de Beauharnais was outside and asking to see him urgently.

Apologizing to his host and hostess, Roger left the parlour and went out to find Eugene in a state of great agitation and distress. Taking his young friend by the arm Roger led him into a small room nearby that was empty, sat him down and asked him what was the matter.

Manfully choking back his sobs, Eugene poured out his story. His step-father had thrown his mother out of the house and intended to divorce her.

The former statement was not strictly accurate, but as near the truth as made no difference. Eugene had learned from the servants that, on the previous day, his mother had dined with Louis Jerome Gohier, who in June had been made a member of the Directory. As, by rota, he was that month its President, a despatch announcing that Bonaparte had landed in France was brought to him. It arrived in the middle of the meal and he informed Josephine of its contents. She had at once gone home, packed her prettiest clothes, ordered her fastest horses and set out to meet her husband. But she had guessed wrongly the road by which he would come, so had missed him.

When Bonaparte arrived in the Rue de la Victoire, instead of finding his wife he was met by his mother. Soon afterwards they were joined by the rest of the Bonaparte clan. One after the other, and at several of them together, they poured into his ears the tale of Josephine's infamies. She had always been hopeless about money and during his absence had piled up a mountain of debt. Before leaving for Egypt, he had said that he would like to have a small house in the country; so Josephine had bought, for four hundred thousand francs, the Chateau of Malmaison and had furnished it as. though it were a palace. But, infinitely worse, they accused her of having hopped into bed with practically every man who had asked her. They then nailed her infidelity beyond question by stating that his servants would confirm that, for weeks at a stretch, she had lived openly and at Malmaison with M. Hippolyte Charles.