'Come,' he whispered. 'Out into the passage. I must speak to you.'

Marianne glanced quickly at her companion but Vania, curled up in the Abbé Surugue's tablecloth, was sleeping like a child and showed no signs of waking when her friend rustled the straw in rising.

The passage was in darkness. Only the lamp burning at the street door lightened the gloom a little, enough at least to show that the place was deserted. Even so, Marianne and the cardinal stayed in the archway of the door.

'I'm sorry I had to wake you,' the cardinal said. 'I see that you are hurt?'

'It's nothing. I was hit – in the crowd,' Marianne lied, feeling herself unequal to the business of a long explanation.

'Good, because you must be gone from this house first thing in the morning, and from Moscow as well. From Moscow most of all. I can't understand how you come to be here at all. I thought you at sea, on your way to France.'

He spoke shortly, as though he had been running, and his breath smelled sour and feverish, nor was there the least tenderness in his tone, but rather a kind of querulous irritation.

'I might say the same to you,' Marianne retorted. "What is Cardinal San Lorenzo doing in Moscow, disguised as a verger, just when the Emperor is about to enter the city?'

In that dim light, she caught the flash of anger in the churchman's eyes.

That is no concern of yours. And I have no time now for explanations. Go, I tell you. Fly this city, for it is doomed.'

'By whom? And to what fate? Do you think Napoleon is mad enough to destroy it? That is not his way. He hates plunder and destruction. If he takes Moscow, Moscow has nothing to fear.'

'Ask me no questions, Marianne. Do as I tell you. Your safety, your very life depends on it. Who is this woman with you?'

'Vania di Lorenzo. She is a famous singer – and a very good-hearted person.'

'I know of the singer, but nothing of her heart. Never mind. She must know something of the city and I am glad that you are not alone. You will leave here in the morning – almost at once, indeed, for it will soon be light. Ask her to show you the road taken by those travelling to Siberia. At Kuskovo, you will find the house of Count Sheremetiev. It is not far, not more than a league and a half. The Count is a friend. Tell him you are my goddaughter. He will give you a welcome and you may wait there until I come to you.'

'Should I tell him also that I am Princess Sant'Anna, the friend of the Emperor? I think that might serve to cool his welcome somewhat,' Marianne said ironically. Then, speaking very firmly, she went on: 'No, Godfather. I am not going to Kuskovo. I am sorry to go against your wishes. It is the first time in my life that I have ever done so intentionally. But I have no business there and I mean to stay in Moscow.'

She felt the cardinal's cold, dry hand clasp hers suddenly in the darkness.

'How stubborn you are,' he said crossly. 'Why do you insist on staying? It is to see him, is it not? Admit that you are waiting for Bonaparte!'

'There is no reason for me not to admit it, if you must put it so. Yes, I am waiting for the Emperor. I wish to speak to him.'

'What about?'

Marianne recognized that she was on slippery ground. In another moment she would forget that Gauthier de Chazay was one of the Corsican's most deadly enemies and allow him to guess something of the information she carried. She caught herself just in time and answered, after only the slightest hesitation: 'About my friends who are lost. I came here with Jolival and Jason Beaufort and his lieutenant, an Irishman named O'Flaherty, but I have lost them all. Jolival and O'Flaherty yesterday, in the crowd in Red Square, while Jason was made prisoner by the Russians after wounding Count Chernychev in a duel.'

She thought the cardinal would burst with rage at that.

'Fool! Three times fool! A duel! In a city in a state of total uproar and with one of the Tsar's favourites into the bargain! And what was this duel all about?'

'About me,' Marianne snapped back at him, no longer troubling to keep her voice down. 'It's about time you stopped regarding all my friends as rogues and vagabonds and your own as saints. I'm not likely to find Jolival or Craig O'Flaherty at Count Sheremetiev's house. Nor even my poor Jason. Heaven knows what the cossacks will have done with him! He may not even be still alive!'

The cardinal heard the break in her voice and his own softened perceptibly.

'Of course he is – unless his opponent has died, in which case… well, Sheremetiev may still be able to help you find him. He has a great deal of influence and any number of friends with the army. Go to him, I beg you.'

But after a short struggle with herself, she shook her head. "Not until I have found Jolival. After that, yes, I may do so. There is not much else I can do. In return – you seem to have such powerful connections, to have so much influence yourself, please, won't you try to find out what has become of Jason? If you will do that, then I will go to Kuskovo.'

What she did not say was that she needed Jolival to help her carry out her self-imposed mission to Napoleon, without which she would not sail for America.

Now it was the cardinal's turn to hesitate. At last he shrugged.

'Tell me how and where this idiotic duel took place. Where do you think the cossacks were taking this American of yours?'

'I don't know. They only said the Ataman should decide what was to be done with him. As to the duel…' She described it briefly, mentioning the part played by Prince Aksakov, and waited for what her godfather should say.

He was silent for a moment, then he muttered: 'I think I know where Ataman Platov is to be found. I will see what I can do. But you must do as I tell you. Try to find your friends if you must, but be sure you are out of Moscow by tomorrow evening. Your life depends on it.'

'But won't you tell me why?'

'That I cannot do. It is out of my power. But I implore you to listen to me. By the evening of tomorrow, the fifteenth of September, you must be at Kuskovo. I will see you there.'

Without another word, Gauthier de Chazay turned and left her, his small, dark shape seeming to melt into the shadows of the passage.

Marianne went back to her cupboard where Vania was still sleeping soundly. She lay down beside her and, feeling somewhat comforted by the thought that she had entrusted the search for Jason to someone qualified to undertake it, did her best to forget the mysterious danger hanging over her. In any case, she had nearly thirty-six hours before her. And so, this time, when she fell asleep she did not dream.

She was woken by a sound of trumpet calls and, opening her eyes, saw in the light of the candle, for no daylight penetrated their retreat, Vania struggling into a black dress which, although a trifle tight for her, was nevertheless more suitable to the occasion, and certainly less conspicuous than Dido's flowing robes. She was, however, experiencing a good deal of difficulty, having omitted to undo the sash, and was swearing freely in several languages at once.

Marianne made haste to extricate her by unfastening the knot and pulling the dress down over her head.

'Thank you!' Vania gasped, emerging red-faced and dishevelled, from the suffocating folds of cloth. 'I have our host's generosity to thank for this elegant garment. He brought it a minute ago. I suppose he had it as a donation from some charitable lady – but I could wish her charity had gone so far as to make it a new one,' she added, with a grimace. 'I don't care for her scent at all – or for the smell it's meant to cover up!'

Sleep and Vania's ointment had worked wonders. Marianne's shoulder was stiff but much less painful and she was sure she had no fever at all.

'What time is it?' she asked.

'Goodness, I don't know. I left my watch at the theatre and there is no way of telling the time in this cubby hole. And I never thought to ask the abbé.'

He reappeared at that moment, bringing a tray with two steaming cups of milkless tea, some sour cream and slices of dark brown bread.

'It's close on noon,' he said, 'and this, I fear, is all I have to offer to you. You must excuse me.'

'With all our hearts, padre. Even the prettiest girl can't give more than she has,' Vania said boldly.

But the abbé gave no sign of being shocked by the comparison and the singer said no more but instead changed the subject by asking the reason for the trumpet calls that had been making themselves heard for some minutes.

'What do you think?' the abbé sighed, shrugging his shoulders. 'Bonaparte's army is entering Moscow.'

That one word Bonaparte told Marianne more than a long speech could have done. Here was yet another who had no love for Napoleon. Indeed, since that indefatigable conspirator, Gauthier de Chazay, was staying in the house—Even so, she smiled at him gratefully.

"We shan't trouble you for much longer, Monsieur le Curé,' she said. 'If the French are here, we will no longer be in danger.'

They made haste to swallow their breakfast and, after thanking the abbé for his hospitality, left the presbytery. Nor did he show much inclination to detain them. Without quite knowing why, Marianne was in a hurry to be gone now from what, in spite of everything, she could not help seeing as a nest of conspirators.

They saw no one else on their way out and she concluded that none of the refugees within had any desire to witness the arrival of their countrymen. Vania had much the same idea.

"The Abbé Surugue is a fine man,' she observed, 'but I suspect him of having a hand in politics. I should like to have got a sight of the people in his house. I didn't fancy his verger's looks at all.'

Marianne was obliged to laugh.

'Nor I,' she said sincerely. 'I'm sure I never saw a verger like him before.'

When they emerged into the street, bright sunshine had replaced the downpour of the night before, traces of which still showed in broken branches and shattered flower pots and the large puddles of water that lay everywhere. But in the region of the church there was not a soul to be seen.

'Let's go towards Red Square,' Vania proposed. 'That is the heart of Moscow and the place the troops will make for. I should think the Emperor will want to take up his quarters in the Kremlin.'

With the exception of an occasional figure glimpsed in a doorway or at a window, the streets were all equally deserted as the two women made their way to the river Moskva and then along its embankment towards the square. There they saw that only two bridges remained. Eight others must have been destroyed during the night and the bed of the river was littered with the debris.

It was strange to be walking through the abandoned city, so drained of all signs of activity as to be almost dead. The only sounds were the trumpet calls, growing nearer all the time, and the distant rumble of cannon and drums. The effect was both painful and oppressive and although the two friends were glad to be in the open air again, and Marianne, especially, relieved to be able to walk again without too much discomfort, it was not long before they ceased to exchange any comments and lapsed into silence.

The expanse of Red Square opened before them, empty but for a couple of stragglers from the Russian army kneeling before the amazing red, blue and gold pile of St Basil's Cathedral, and some cattle from the slaughterhouse roaming about at random, still unaccustomed to their unexpected freedom.

But on the battlements of the Kremlin there were figures to be seen which reminded Marianne unpleasantly of those she had seen the night before.

'I can't see much evidence of the French as yet,' she murmured. "Where are they? We can hear them but not see them.'

'Why yes!' exclaimed the singer, who had moved closer to the river. 'Look! They are fording the river.'

At a point near the western corner of the Kremlin, a regiment of cavalry was indeed engaged in quietly crossing the Moskva, which at that place appeared to be no deeper than the horses' withers.

Marianne leaned over the parapet and stared.

'French? Are you sure? I can't tell.'

Vania laughed merrily. 'Not French, no! But part of the Grande Armée, most certainly! Lord, don't tell me you can't recognize the Emperor's soldiers! Why, I know all their uniforms and every division! The army is a passion with me. I've never seen a more handsome set of men!'