'The little Corporal? Who's that?'

The boy's astonishment as he looked at Marianne was quite genuine. His eyebrows rose until they reached his hair.

'But – the Emperor, of course! Where've you come from, not to know that?'

'A convent!' Marianne retorted crisply, not to lose her dignity. 'You don't meet many dragoons there – or corporals, big or little!'

'Oh, so that's it!'

Very soon they turned into the rue Montorgueil and Marianne forgot all about the dragoon. The chief interest of the street centred on a large, brilliantly lit restaurant with another, more modest establishment close by. Elegant carriages with gleaming paintwork, drawn by high bred horses with glittering harness, drew up before the doors to disgorge no less exquisite diners, many of them in splendid uniform.

'That's the Rocher de Cancale,' the porter told her with pride. 'They have the best whale pate in Paris, and the best fish and the best oysters! They come fresh each day by special delivery. For those who can afford it!'

This time, Marianne made no attempt to hide her admiration. Her ideas about the French were having to undergo a certain amount of revision. Through the lighted windows of the famous restaurant she caught sight of men of stately bearing, shimmering satin, diamonds gleaming on white throats and thought how gorgeous were the uniforms, how rare and precious the fur wraps of the ladies.

'Of course,' the boy went on with a slight sniff, 'it's not the Chord! Company's a bit mixed, for all it's so showy! You don't find many duchesses there but their menfolk like it – it's a great place for birds of paradise!'

The smells wafting out of the great restaurant were none the less titillating to Marianne's nostrils. She realized suddenly that she was very hungry.

'Is it far to the Compas d'Or?'

'No. This is it!'

He indicated a handsome renaissance building, now a substantial inn. There was bottled glass in the low, small-paned windows and fine carving on the front. The general air was one of comfort and respectability. A diligence clattered through the wide arch with a great ringing of bells.

'The Creil diligence,' the porter said. 'That and the Gisors both leave from here. Well, this is it, mam'zelle.'

He called out to the landlord, Bobois, who was just turning back indoors after presiding over the departure of the diligence.

'Hey! Landlord! A customer for you!'

The innkeeper's regal bearing unbent considerably at the sight of the well dressed young woman. At the name of Nicolas Mallerousse a great smile spread over his plump, clean-shaven cheeks, revealing a gleam of gold teeth between thick pepper and salt whiskers.

'Consider yourself at home, little lady! Any niece of Nicolas's is more to me than my own daughter! Hey, Marthon! Come and take mademoiselle's bag!'

A servant girl in a starched cap came running out and Marianne settled her score with the porter, handing a tip which called forth an expression of high delight from the boy.

'Thank you, mam'zelle,' he said, tossing his blue cap in the air. 'If you've any more errands, any time, just say to anyone round here that you want Gracchus-Hannibal Pioche and I'll be right there!'

With this, Gracchus-Hannibal departed whistling, apparently no whit troubled by his sternly Roman name, while Bobois and the maid escorted Mademoiselle Mallerousse into the inn. The place was very full and seemed admirably well run. This was the busiest time of the evening and waiters and serving maids were flying in all directions serving those guests who were eating downstairs and carrying food up to others supping in their rooms above. Bobois suggested this latter course to Marianne and she agreed gratefully, feeling somewhat alarmed by such a press of people.

They made their way to the polished oak staircase. Two men were at that moment coming down and Marianne and her escort were obliged to wait until there was room to pass.

One of the men was about forty, of middling height but strong build, elegantly dressed in a blue coat with engraved silver buttons. He had a broad face with strongly marked features framed in dark sideburns, and very bronzed like that of a man who had lived much in the sun. His blue eyes were bright and twinkling and he wore his tall grey hat rakishly on one side. He was twirling a gold knobbed cane idly in one large, ridiculously gloved hand.

Fascinated by the extraordinary impression of power which emanated from this man, Marianne watched him come downstairs without paying much attention to his companion who was, in any case, a little behind. But when she did look at him, it was with a sense of shock. There before her, clad in a severely buttoned dark suit, was Jean Le Dru.


***

Left alone in the pretty little chamber with its old-fashioned chintz hangings and windows looking out on to the main courtyard of the inn to which Bobois had conducted her, Marianne struggled to put some order into her thoughts. The sight of the young Breton had come as a complete shock to her. She had only just managed not to cry out. It would have been unwise to court recognition, since he knew her real identity. She congratulated herself now that he had certainly not recognized her. She had not been standing directly in the light and the brim of her bonnet had thrown her face into shadow.

Le Dru had followed the man in the blue coat without a glance and Marianne overheard the latter say to Bobois:

'We dine at the Rocher de Cancale, Bobois. You can send word there if anyone should want me.'

'Very well, Monsieur le Baron,' the innkeeper had replied and Marianne was instantly agog with curiosity. Who was this baron her escaped prisoner was following so meekly? However, there was little time for wondering. Marthon brought up a large tray on which was a highly appetising supper and, putting off her quest for information until later, Marianne set to work to satisfy the pangs of hunger.

She was just finishing an agreeable dessert of pineapple and cream when there was a knock at the door.

'Come in,' she called out thinking it was Marthon returning for the tray. But when the door opened it was Jean Le Dru who came in.

Mastering her surprise and alarm at this unexpected visit, she made herself remain seated and merely pushed away the little table which held the remains of her supper.

'Yes?' she said coldly.

Jean closed the door in silence and leaned back against the jamb, looking at her all the while with sparkling eyes.

'So, I was not mistaken! It was you!' he said harshly. 'How did you get away from Morvan?'

'I scarcely think you have the right to ask me that! If I escaped, it was certainly no thanks to you!'

He laughed unpleasantly, almost mechanically, and Marianne saw from his abnormally flushed face that he had been drinking.

'You thought you'd pulled the wool over my eyes, didn't you? You thought you could pop back into bed in your wrecker friend's musty manor house and I would hand myself over meekly to the English, and all for your pretty face? Though I'll admit you paid fork!'

'Apparently not enough to make you keep your promise to me! What did Gwen give you to make you change your mind so quickly?'

'The truth about you and your little plots, and the chance to save my own life and ruin your plans! A priceless gift, as you can see – even more precious than your own delectable little person! Oh, don't worry, I've not forgotten that night! Do you know how often I've dreamed about you?'

'What should I care! You betrayed me, deceived me! You preferred to listen to the first stupid story you were told, when you knew, better than anyone, that I was forced to get away from England to save my life, that I needed help, support – and you abandoned me like the coward you are, and killed a man besides!'

'You cannot blame me for the death of that vermin? He was a wrecker! I ought to get a medal! As for you, you won't make me believe any more of your stories. I know who you are, and what you've come to France to do!'

'And I know that the story you did believe was a hundred times more unlikely. I know what Gwen told you, that I meant to seduce your wonderful Surcouf until he abandoned all his most cherished convictions. That was it, wasn't it? A likely story! I don't even know the man!'

Jean jerked himself away from the door and strode towards her, sudden anger flaming in eyes that already glittered unnaturally.

'You don't know him. You dare to tell me that you don't know him when you have followed him here, to Paris, to this very inn? Can't you see that everything proves you guilty? You slut, you had no need to escape from Morvan! He let you go himself, he even paid you, set you up in clothes and packed you off to find your prey! You've had plenty of time to go to St Malo, find out that he was in Paris and now, like a good bloodhound, follow the trail as far as here!'

For a moment, this tirade left Marianne numb with shock. Was he too drunk to know what he was saying? Or was she really dealing with a madman? She began to be afraid of this almost uncontrollable rage but even so, she had to get to the bottom of his strange words. She determined to shout back.

'I don't understand a word of what you are saying! I did not go to St Malo and I have never had anything to do with your Surcouf. I have never set eyes on him, I tell you, and if he is in Paris—'

A ringing slap stopped her words and almost her breath. She tried to run to the door and call for help but Jean was after her and, twisting both arms behind her back, held her fast with one hand while with the other, he hit her again a second time, so hard that she thought her head must burst. He bent over her, his face so close she could smell the reek of wine on his breath.

'Liar! You dirty little liar! You have the nerve to tell me you don't know him, that you've never seen him? And what about this evening, on the stairs, didn't you see him then? Didn't you know him then, when all France knows his face almost as well as the Emperor's!'

Marianne struggled furiously to escape from the iron fist that held her.

'Let me go!' she muttered through her teeth. 'Let me go at once or I'll scream! You are mad or drunk, or both! Let me go, I tell you, or I'll scream!'

'Scream? Go on then if you want to! Try!'

Twisting her arm to force her to be still, he pulled her roughly to him and stopped her scream with a savage kiss. Marianne half fainted for a moment, but she recovered quickly. In order to escape his hateful kiss, she bit hard at the mouth crushed against hers. An instant later, she was free.

She saw, with a quick surge of triumph, her late attacker whip out a handkerchief and dab at his bleeding lips. He looked so foolish that she could almost have laughed in his face. But for the moment, it seemed to her that nothing mattered so much as getting rid of this horrid person. How could she ever have liked him, even for a moment? With his vigorous, outdoor frame crammed into that dark suit he looked like a peasant in his Sunday best. He was almost ridiculous. With a contemptuous toss of her head, she turned on her heel and again made for the door, intending to fling it wide, but he caught her half-way and picking her up as though she had been a parcel, he strode with her to the bed, flung her down and held her there, both hands gripping her arms, while he seated himself on the edge.

'Not so fast! You'll not escape so easily, my pretty one!'

Marianne saw to her surprise that his anger had quite gone. He was even laughing, careless of his lip which was already beginning to swell.

'I have told you to leave me alone,' she said calmly, but he seemed not to have heard. He was bending over her, studying her with the intensity of a collector presented with some rare item.

'How lovely you can be!' he said softly. 'It suits you to be angry. If you could see your eyes! They flash like emeralds in the light! I know you're worthless, a filthy little royalist spy, but it makes no difference – I can't help loving you—'

'Loving me?' Marianne said, flabbergasted by this unexpected declaration.

'Yes. It's true, you know, that I have not been able to forget you. You have haunted my days, and my nights – I kept seeing you, lying there in the straw, with your hair all about you, I could feel your soft skin under my hands – and now, I can think of nothing else except that you are here, that I have found you again! I have hungered for you, Marianne, and if you will forget all that lies between us, we will stay together always!'