Marianne's puzzled gaze went from the young man to her cousin who was leaning back in her chair nibbling a crystallized citron without taking her eyes from her new friend. She was literally drinking in his words and there was a light in her blue eyes that Marianne had not seen before. Her cheeks were flushed a youthful pink. For all her forty years, her absurd wig, her paint and her long nose, Adelaide was transformed. She looked almost young and very nearly beautiful.

It came to Marianne suddenly, with a flash of amazement. 'She is in love!' The thought saddened more than it amused her, for she was afraid that poor Adelaide would give her heart in vain. Bobèche had been protective, even chivalrous, and he seemed to have a genuine admiration for Adelaide's courage, intelligence and acting abilities, but between the wildest admiration and the most unexacting love there was such a vast distance! Because of this, Marianne was moved to protest when Adelaide stood up and shook out her dress with a satisfied sigh, then said: 'There! Now you know everything, and I think it is time that we were returning to the theatre. We only came, you know, to let you know that I was safe. That is done, and I shall go away again.'

'This is ridiculous,' Marianne said unhappily. 'You will still be in danger and I shall be half-dead with worry.'

'Then you will be foolish, mademoiselle,' Bobèche said quietly. 'I promise you that I will care for Mademoiselle Adelaide as if she were my own sister. She is in no danger while she is with Galimafré and me, I can assure you, and we are very happy that she should have chosen to honour us with her friendship.'

'Furthermore,' put in Mademoiselle d'Asselnat, who had listened to this little speech with obvious gratification, 'nothing on earth would prevent me from going back. For the first time in my life, I feel truly alive.'

Marianne was silent, her objections conquered. Truly alive? A woman who had been thrown into prison for daring to protest against Napoleon's divorce, had lived in hiding in the attics of the abandoned Hôtel d'Asselnat with only a portrait for company, and had tried one night to set fire to that same house because she believed it to have fallen into unworthy hands? What had she meant by living until then? It was with feelings of profound sadness that she allowed Adelaide to kiss her good-bye.

Guessing her thoughts, Arcadius slipped his arm through hers and whispered: 'Let her go, Marianne. She is having such fun playing at secret agents, and indeed I wonder if she has not a talent for it. Besides, it is better for both of you that she should not come back here. The lad is right: no one, not even Fanchon, will ever think to look for her at the Pygmy Théâtre.'

'You are right, of course,' Marianne said with a sigh. 'But I shall miss her dreadfully.'

She had counted so heavily on Adelaide for the hard days ahead, to help her when the child came and with her advice when the time came to join the cardinal – supposing that Jason did not come. A small voice whispered: 'If she knew the truth, she would stay with you.' But Marianne could not tell her the truth because of her promise to her godfather. And even if Adelaide knew how much Marianne needed her, would she have the heart to say good-bye to the dream she had made for herself, her chance of sharing briefly in the life of an attractive young man for whom she felt something more than kindness? No, Adelaide must be allowed to follow the absurd road she had chosen for herself. There was nothing Marianne could do about it.

Her heart felt very heavy as she heard the great gate slam behind the departing guests. She was suddenly cold and shivered as she held her hands out to the blaze in the hearth. The room was very quiet, disturbed only by the tiny sounds of Arcadius taking snuff. The floor creaked as he came towards her, slowly.

'Why torment yourself, Marianne?' he said gently. 'After all, Adelaide is in no real danger, although she may lose some illusions. Cheer up and smile. Life will seem good again, you'll see. Look at Adelaide. She has found happiness in a theatre booth. Who knows what tomorrow may have in store for you?'

Marianne blinked back her tears and managed to smile. Dear Arcadius, so kind and so faithful. She felt ashamed of the secret which, for no good reason that she could see, she was obliged to keep from him for a month. But a bargain was a bargain. She must play her part.

'You are right,' she said softly. 'Let Adelaide have her fun. After all, I still have you.'

'So I should think! Now go to bed and try and find sweet dreams.'

'I will try, my friend, I will try.'

They walked together towards the great staircase, which at this late hour was in darkness, and Arcadius took a branch of candles from a side table to light their way. They were about half-way up when he asked suddenly: 'By the way, where is Gracchus? No one has set eyes on him today and Samson is missing from the stables.'

Marianne felt herself blushing to the roots of her hair and blessed the darkness which concealed it, but she could not prevent her voice from sounding a shade too quick and strained as she replied.

'He – he asked me for – for leave to visit his family for a few days i – in the country. He had bad news —'

Marianne had always been a bad liar but this time the effort was terrible. She cursed her own clumsiness, convinced that Arcadius must smell a rat at once. Yet his voice was perfectly smooth as he observed: 'I was not aware he had any family in the country. I thought there was only his grandmother, a washerwoman, out at Boulogne, on the route de la Revoke. Where has he gone?'

'To – to Nantes, I believe,' Marianne said desperately, taking refuge in a half-truth. But Arcadius asked no further questions and merely remarked: 'Ah, I see…' in such an abstracted voice that it seemed to her he was already thinking of something else. When they reached the door of Marianne's room he bowed gracefully as he wished her good night and went away in the direction of his own room, humming under his breath. He had not seemed so lighthearted for a long time. Marianne reflected, as she closed her door, that it was possible he really believed that Francis could do no further harm.

The thought brought with it a sense of relief, a new serenity, and that night Marianne slept like the child she had been so short a time ago. What was more blessed than peace of mind? And for three days and three nights Marianne enjoyed it to the full, together with a pleasurable feeling of having won a victory over both Francis and herself.

An idea came to her during those days and she hugged it to her lovingly. If Black Fish succeeded in removing Francis from the face of the earth, then there would be no need for an annulment, or for the threatened marriage. She would be a widow, free, with nothing more to fear from Francis Cranmere, free to join with the father of her child in seeking a less desperate remedy for her situation.

A hundred times she was on the point of picking up her pen and writing to her godfather but each time one thing stopped her. Where should she write? To the Pope at Savona? The letter would never reach him. It would surely fall into Fouché's hands. No, it was better to wait for word to come from the cardinal. Time enough then to tell him what had occurred and he might be the one to offer another solution. It was so good to dream, to make plans that were not dictated by necessity.

On the morning of the fourth day all these dreams were shattered into fragments. The blow came in the form of a single sheet of white paper, carefully folded and sealed, brought by Agathe to her mistress as she lay in bed. Marianne read it and flung back the covers with a cry of anguish. Barely pausing to catch up a dressing-gown in passing, she tore downstairs, barefoot, to where Jolival was peacefully enjoying his breakfast in the company of the morning's papers. When Marianne burst in on him, white-faced and clearly in a state of terror, he sprang to his feet so suddenly that the table at which he had been sitting tottered and fell with a crash, taking the breakfast things with it. Neither of them so much as glanced at this miniature cataclysm of broken china. Marianne was holding out the letter speechlessly. She dropped into a chair and signed to Jolival to read it.

In a few hurried, angry lines, Black Fish apprised his young friend of Lord Cranmere's escape from Vincennes. How he had contrived it was a mystery. His trail led to the Boulogne road and thence, no doubt, to England. The Breton added that he was about to set out in pursuit. 'And the devil help him when I get my hands on him,' he wrote. 'It will be him or me.'

Arcadius had himself more under control than Marianne but even he blenched. Crumpling the letter in his fist he cast it into the hearth, then turned his attention to the girl, who was lying back in her chair with closed eyes and livid complexion, breathing unevenly and apparently on the verge of fainting. Arcadius administered two or three brisk slaps to her cheeks before seizing her cold hands and rubbing them hard.

'Marianne!' He spoke in agonized tones. 'Marianne, don't. Open your eyes! Look at me! Marianne —'

She raised her eyelids, showing her friend eyes that were two dark pools of terror.

'He is free…' she muttered. 'They have let him escape – they have let that monster go free, and now he will give me no peace. He will come here, seeking vengeance – he will kill me. He will kill us all!'

Her voice was shrill with fear. Arcadius had never seen Marianne like this. She was always so brave, so ready to face any peril, yet these few words had driven her to the brink of madness. He realized that the only way to save her was to be cruel, make her ashamed of her panic. He stood up, letting fall the hand he held.

'Is it for yourself that you are afraid?' he said harshly. 'Don't you understand what Nicolas Mallerousse says? The man has escaped, yes, but he is making for England where I dare say he will return to his hobby of hunting down escaped prisoners. Since when have your fears been for yourself, Marianne d'Asselnat? You are in your own house, surrounded by faithful servants, men like Gracchus and myself who are your devoted friends! You can command the aid of the man who holds all Europe in his hands and you know that the man you fear is hunted by an implacable enemy. And are you afraid for yourself? You should be thinking rather of those poor wretches who must once again face a hideous death in their efforts to escape…'

As he spoke, using his voice like a whiplash, Jolival saw Marianne's eyes begin to clear and fill, first with disbelief and then, little by little, with the shame that he was waiting for. He saw the colour creep back into her white cheeks and deepen to a blush. She sat up and the hand she passed across her face barely trembled. Another moment and:

'Forgive me,' she said in a low voice. 'I am sorry. I lost my head. You are quite right – as always. But when I read that letter, just now, I felt as if my head would burst. I thought I was going mad. You can't understand.'

Slowly, Arcadius knelt beside her and placed both hands gently on her shoulders.

'Yes, I can guess. But I will not let you destroy yourself because of this man's shadow. By now he is probably a long way away and he has to save his own life before he can attack yours.'

'He may come back very soon, in disguise.'

'We will be watching.'

'He is stronger than we are. See how he managed to escape – in spite of walls and chains, the massive gates, the guards and even Black Fish.'

Arcadius got up and began mechanically setting the table to rights. His mouselike countenance was grave.

'It is true. I was wrong. But how could anyone have guessed that Fouché would dare? What is the Englishman's part in the political web he is weaving?'

'A very important one, no doubt.'

'No political scheme is important enough to merit leaving a fiend at large, Marianne! The Emperor must be warned.'

'Warned? Of what? That a spy has escaped from Vincennes? He must know that by now.'

'I doubt it. He would want to know why. I hardly think it will be mentioned in Fouché's daily report. Go and see him – tell him everything – and trust in God!'

'The Emperor is away.'

'He is at Compiègne, I know. Go there —'

'No. When I said he was away, I was thinking of myself. He does not wish to see me at present – later, perhaps. I told you how we parted.'

'Go, even so. He loves you still.'