That night he went to the Luxembourg, intending to ask his master for leave. There was a crowd of people there, but Bonaparte was busy in his cabinet with Bourrienne. After a while Josephine caught sight of Roger and beckoned him over. As he made a smiling bow to her, she said:
'Cher ami. Have you heard the wonderful news? The General and I are to move to the Tuileries. After living in our little house for so long, I'll feel like a pea in a box. But just think of the splendour of it, and the parties I'll be able to give there.'
Roger bowed again. '.Our Lady of Victories will shine there more brightly than ever did any Queen of France.'
Her big eyes sparkled and she tapped him with her fan. ' Cher, cher Colonel. You have always stood out among our soldiers as a courtier, and there will be the warmest welcome for you always, at any time, at the Palace. Our first great reception is to be on Christmas Day and, of course, we shall count on you.'
Christmas had long since been abolished by the revolutionaries. Not only did it hold no place in the calendar as a Revolutionary Festival, but for years past no one had dared to treat it as other than an ordinary working day. Much surprised, Roger raised an eyebrow a fraction.
Josephine laughed, flicked open her fan and behind it whispered to him, 'The choice is deliberate. The preparations for us to occupy the Palace are being hurried forward on that account. The General wishes to show the people that he is without prejudices and will permit religious persecution no longer.'
'Madame, that is excellent news,' Roger said quickly, 'and a truly wise measure. No ruler, however strong, can have too much support and, by granting religious toleration, our General will win the love of countless thousands of, yes . . . why should we not say it . . . his subjects—and yours.'
'No, no,' she chided him. 'You must not say such things. He insists that he is no more than an ordinary citizen charged with the duty of giving expression to the wishes of his fellows. But I had almost forgotten. There is special reason why you must not fail to be in attendance at the Tuileries on Christmas night. There is someone who by then will be in Paris and whom I shall invite: someone who is eagerly seeking news of you. I received the letter only yesterday from M. Ouvrard, who corresponds with a Greek banker named Sarodopulous. This lady is the daughter of one of my girlhood friends, who in the most romantic way has become the favourite wife of the Great Turk.'
For a moment, Roger was struck dumb. It could not possibly be anyone other than Zanthe to whom Josephine referred. Clearly Sarodopulous had made arrangements for her to travel to France, and she had arrived safely. Her only possible reason for undertaking the hazardous journey must be to rejoin and marry him. At the thought Roger felt panic rising in him. Only long practice at concealing his emotions enabled him to prevent Josephine from realizing the shock he had received.
She was going gaily on with an account of Aim£e Dubucq de Rivery's capture by Corsairs and how, by her entrancing beauty, she had captivated the Sultan. Roger listened with a fixed grin, hardly taking in a word she said. As soon as he decently could he turned the conversation, drew two other visitors into it, then bowed himself away and left the apartment.
Back at La Belle £toi!e he went up to his room, flung himself into an elbow chair and gave himself furiously to think. He could still return to the Luxembourg in the morning and ask Bonaparte for leave; but now it was most unlikely that the General would grant it until after Christmas Day. At his first reception as First Consul he would naturally wish to have all his paladins around him, 1 le brave Breuc' among them.
It occurred to Roger that he could cut loose. If he did not put in an appearance next day no one would start a hue-an-cry after him. By taking horse that night he could reach the coast before anyone even started enquiring about him. But he was very loath to do that.
While in Egypt he would have given anything to free himself from the double life he was leading, but since his return to Paris the excitement of being in the vortex of the political cyclone had again got hold of him. He had with pain and grief overcome the two great threats to his career as a secret agent. Talleyrand was now convinced of his loyalty and Fouche had forgone the chance to question his past, in return for a collaboration which would now make it impossible for him to do so and be believed. Added to which Roger enjoyed the friendship and confidence of the new master of France.
If Georgina were still free and willing to become his wife, he would have been happy to leave Mr. Pitt's service and settle down with her. But it was close on two years since he had seen her and, even if she were still free, he doubted if he could persuade her to marry him. Failing that, what did the future hold? A few happy, carefree months in England then, as he so well knew, the itch to be at the centre of great events would get him again. To set. off without explanation would be to become a deserter, and to throw away the extraordinary position he had achieved might later cause him the most bitter regrets.
There was then the personal problem. As Zanthe had risked shipwreck and capture to follow him to France, how could he possibly requite such love and courage by ignoring his obligation to her; still worse, leave her stranded in Paris? As he thought of her, his heart began to glow again with memories of her beauty, the intensity of her passion and the wonderful nights they had spent together.
It was still his inescapable duty to return to England and report to Mr. Pitt as soon as possible. That he must do. But at least he must remain in Paris over Christmas to welcome Zanth£. Then, on some pretext of duty, he would slip away and secretly cross the Channel. Yet not for the long, carefree months to which he had so greatly looked forward. Every decent instinct he had cried aloud that he must get back to France as soon as he could and take Zanthe for his wife.
In this frame of mind, wearing a new and brilliant uniform, he went to the Tuileries on the evening of Christmas Day. It was the first of scores of receptions that Bonaparte and Josephine were to hold there. In due course Kings, Princes, Grand Dukes and Eastern Potentates would be ceremoniously announced and bow before them, but this was just a large, jolly party drawn from every strata of society.
There were a handful of aristocrats who, like Talleyrand, had survived the Revolution and a number of the Members of the Institute who came from well-to-do families; but the majority of the guests had once been poor and were still ill-educated. There were the soldiers, clinking about in their spurred top-boots, as yet innocent of sonorous titles and glittering Orders. They used the language of the camp. Lannes and Augereau were incapable of opening their mouths without using some obscene expression and most of the others were little better. With them they brought their wives, nearly all looking awkward in their hastily assembled finery. They had no idea how to adjust feathers in their hair or make a curtsey in response to the bow of a gentleman. Many of them were ex-prostitutes who talked the argot of the gutter and Lefebvre's wife had, when Bonaparte was a seedy young Lieutenant, been his washerwoman. The remainder of the guests were mostly sharp-featured or florid-faced politicians in ill-fitting cloth suits and their women were no worse, but no better, than those of the soldiers.
Among this motley throng Roger took his place in a queue that was moving slowly up the grand staircase. At the top Josephine and Bonaparte were receiving. Grouped on either side of them were already a score of attendant men and women. Having made his bow Roger, as an aide-de-camp, was about to take his place among them; but Josephine turned her head and signed to one of the women near her to come forward. She was Zanthe, but dressed in European clothes, which accounted for Roger's not at once catching sight of her.