The coffee arrived at the same time as Duroc and the two friends drank it in silence, each locked in their own thoughts and doing their best to hide their uneasiness. Although they did not know it, the thoughts of the Princess and the Grand Marshal were identical. The city on which, in their different ways, each had pinned such great hopes, now seemed to them like a pair of jaws closing inexorably on the fragile human figures within.

At about half past twelve, another fire broke out in a district which had been dark until that moment. It was followed by another.

'The fires are spreading,' Duroc remarked, and his voice was strangely hoarse.

'The circle is closing. Oh, I beg you, my friend, wake the Emperor while there is still time. I am frightened, terribly frightened. These people have made up their minds to leave no stone of Moscow standing.'

Duroc jerked his head angrily. 'No, it's not possible! You can't set fire to a whole city, not a city the size of this one! You are afraid because a few outlying districts are on fire but our soldiers are dealing with it. They will soon catch the incendiaries, if such there are.'

'Don't you believe it even now? You are all blind! I have been trying for hours to make you understand your danger and still you are half inclined to think I must be mad! I feel like Cassandra trying to make the Trojans see sense.'

But at the sight of Duroc's dubious expression she abandoned her classical similes. Obviously Troy was a long way from his thoughts and Cassandra the last person he wished to talk about. In any case, Caulaincourt's return turned the conversation into other channels.

The Duke of Vicenza's person was liberally adorned with soot and his uniform was pockmarked with tiny burns from flying sparks. Under his frowning brows, his eyes were very grave.

'It's a bad business,' he admitted. 'I've taken a good look all round the Kremlin and I think we are in for some unexpected excitement. The fire is gaining on all sides. There are fresh outbreaks to the north and the wind is rising steadily. But worse than that—'

'Worse,' Duroc said glumly. 'I don't see that there can be much worse!'

'The fire engines. There aren't any to speak of. And those we have found are unusable.'

'And doesn't that convince you that what I heard is true?' Marianne cried frantically. 'Good God, what more do you need? I've told you again and again that all this has been planned, deliberately organized down to the smallest detail. The Russians themselves are setting fire to Moscow on the orders of their governor. But you still won't listen to me! Why won't you escape? Wake the Emperor and—'

'And run?' Caulaincourt finished for her. 'No! We have not been at such trouble and sacrifice to come here, only to run like rabbits on account of a bit of a fire. It's not the first time we've had houses burned in our path—'

'But I daresay it's the first time they've been burned over your heads. I'm sorry, though, if I have said anything to open painful wounds. I am thinking only of the Emperor's safety and that of his army, Duke.'

'I know, and believe me I bear you no ill will.'

Repressing the movement of her shoulders which would too clearly have betrayed her irritation, Marianne moved away. She thought gloomily that this was just one more instance of the impossibility of preventing men from running headlong on their fate. Duroc, meanwhile, was seeking more information.

'How are things in the city?' he asked.

"The troops are standing to. As to the civilian population, for incendiaries they are behaving very oddly, abandoning their homes and crowding, weeping, into the churches which are packed to overflowing.'

'And here?'

'Everyone but the Emperor is awake. The gallery is filled with people in a state of great alarm. There is general anxiety and, if you ask me, panic is not far away. Little as I wish to, I fear it may be time I woke His Majesty.'

'So I should hope!' Marianne could not refrain from exclaiming.

Caulaincourt turned to her severely.

'The situation demands it, Madame. But we do not go to the Emperor in order to persuade him to fly. It is merely that, as it has done before, his presence may reassure all those in the palace who are allowing their fears to get the better of them – you, most of all, Princess.'

'I am not giving way to panic, Duke, whatever you may think. Simply that when disaster threatens I think it best to inform the master of the house. What time is it now?'

'Almost four o'clock. Go, then, Duroc.'

The Grand Marshal approached the imperial bedchamber, the door of which was already being held open for him by Constant. Meanwhile Marianne, reluctant to remain with Caulaincourt, who was quite clearly out of sympathy with her, decided to go in search of Jolival and Gracchus. The noise was now such that they could not be still asleep and, since neither of them was an emperor, they were probably wide awake and worrying about her.

But she had no need to return to the floor above. She had no sooner entered the gallery, which was crowded with officials, soldiers and servants of the imperial household, when she saw Jolival. He was sitting on a bench against the wail and standing on tiptoe on the seat beside him was Gracchus, staring over the heads of the crowd as though looking for someone. At the sight of Marianne both of them gave vent to exclamations of relief.

'And where the devil have you been?' Jolival fumed, his fear transforming itself into bad temper. 'We were beginning to wonder if you weren't somewhere in that sea of flames trying to—'

'Trying to run away? To reach the road to St Petersburg? Leaving you here, of course? Surely you know me better than that, my friend?' Marianne said reproachfully.

"You would have every excuse for it, especially as you knew Gracchus was with me. You might have chosen your freedom and a flight to the sea.'

She gave him a small, sad smile and, slipping her arm round his neck, kissed her old friend impulsively.

'Come now, Jolival! You know quite well that you and Gracchus are all I have left now. What should I do on the road to Petersburg? I am not even wanted. At this moment, Jason is thinking only of the ship which will take him back to his beloved America, and to the war and – and everything that stands between us. Do you really expect me to go running after him?'

'Was there no temptation to? Not even for a moment?'

Marianne answered him unhesitatingly.

'Yes,' she said, 'to tell the truth there was. But I thought better of it. If Jason wanted me as much as I want him, he would be here, in Moscow, at this very minute, looking for me, calling my name at the top of his voice.'

'How do you know he isn't?'

'You need not play the devil's advocate, my friend. You know as well as I that he is not. Jason is riding away from us, you may be sure. Really, it's nothing more than I deserve. I was a fool. Why did I have to get him out of prison in Odessa and follow him here? If I had left him with Richelieu, he would have stayed quietly where he was all through his country's wretched war with England, unless, of course, he managed to escape. But I opened the cage door myself and, like any wild bird, he flew away and left me. It serves me right.'

'Marianne, Marianne, you are very bitter,' the Vicomte said gently. 'I am not the man to defend him, but it's possible that you are painting him blacker than he is.'

'No, Jolival. I ought to have understood long ago. He is what he is – and I have only got my deserts. There is a limit to how stupid—'

Her torrent of self-criticism and disillusionment was broken into suddenly by a loud babble of voices among which Marianne had no difficulty in picking out the Emperor's metallic tones. A moment later, the doors of the imperial suite were flung open and Napoleon himself swept through them. He was in his dressing-gown, his hair on end and the nightcap he had just snatched off still in his hand.

There was instant silence. The hubbub of conversation died away as the Emperor's fulminating eye travelled over the assembled company.

"Why are you all standing here chattering like a flock of old women? Why was I not called? Why are you none of you at your posts? Fires are breaking out everywhere on account of the indiscipline of my troops and the careless way the inhabitants of this city are leaving their houses—'

'Sire!' The protest came from a handsome blond giant whose Nordic features were framed in a pair of luxuriant golden whiskers. 'Sire, the men are no more to blame for the fires than we ourselves! It is the Muscovites themselves—'

'Come, come! They tell me the city is given over to pillage. The soldiers are breaking down doors, bursting into cellars, carrying off tea, coffee, furs, wines and spirits. Well, I will not have it! You, Marshal, are Governor of Moscow. Put an end to this disorder!'

Marshal Mortier, at whom this censure was directed, made a movement of protest which doubled as a gesture of helplessness, then turned and vanished down the stairs, followed by two officers of his staff.

Meanwhile, Napoleon was declaiming: 'The Muscovites! The Muscovites! It's easy to blame the Muscovites! I cannot believe these people would set fire to their own houses to deprive us of a night's lodging!'

Courageously, Marianne made her way towards him.

'And yet, Sire, it is true. I beg you to believe me! Your troops are not responsible for this tragedy. Rostopchin alone—'

The imperial gaze fell wrathfully on her.

'Are you still here, Madame? At this hour a respectable woman should be in her bed. Return to yours!'

'And there wait patiently until my blankets are on fire and I may burn to death proclaiming my loyalty to the Emperor who is always right? No, thank you, Sire. If you will not listen to me, I would rather be gone from here.'

'And where to, if I may ask?'

'Anywhere, as long as it is out of here! I've no desire to wait until it is no longer possible to get out of this accursed palace! Or to form part of the holocaust Rostopchin has prepared to the memory of the Russian troops slain at the Moskva! You may do so if you like, Sire, but I am young and I still wish to live. And so, with your permission—' She swept a curtsy. But the reminder of his recent victory had calmed the Emperor. Bending forward suddenly he took the tip of her ear between his fingers and pulled it, with a force that drew a yelp from her.

'Calm yourself, Princess,' he said, smiling. 'You will not persuade me that you are afraid. Not you! As to your departure hence, we forbid it. If it becomes necessary to leave, we shall do so together. But for the present, let me tell you, there is no such necessity. You have my permission only to withdraw and rest yourself. We breakfast at eight.'

But Marianne was not fated to return to her room just yet. As the uneasy crowd which had filled the gallery began to disperse, a platoon of soldiers entered briskly, led by General Durosnel, escorting a number of men dressed in a species of green uniform and several long-haired moujiks, apparently prisoners. Lelorgne d'Ideville, the Emperor's interpreter, came hurrying after them. The Emperor, who had been about to return to his own apartments, turned frowning.

'Now what is it? Who are these men?'

Durosnel told him.

'They are called boutechniks, Sire. They are the law officers whose duty it is to keep order in the streets. They were caught with lighted torches in the act of setting fire to a shop selling wines and spirits. These beggars were with them, assisting them.'

Napoleon started and his glowering gaze went, automatically, to Marianne's.

'Are you sure of this?'

'Quite sure, Sire. Furthermore there are witnesses, in addition to these men who apprehended them – some Polish shopkeepers of the neighbourhood who are coming after us.'

Silence followed this. Napoleon began pacing up and down slowly in front of the group of frightened prisoners, his hands clasped behind his back, throwing occasional glances at the men, who held their breath instinctively. Suddenly, he stopped.

'What have they to say for themselves?'

Baron d'Ideville stepped forward.

'They claim that they were ordered to set fire to the whole city by Governor Rostopchin before—'

'That is not true!' the Emperor cried. 'It cannot be true because it does not make sense. The men are lying. They are simply trying to shuffle off responsibility for their crimes, hoping it may earn them a measure of leniency.'