Жюльетта Бенцони - Marianne

'You think I should be glad to have been made a pastime for the master of the hour?'

'I think chiefly that you have a very wrong idea of what has happened to you. It is not so easy to attract Napoleon.'

'And you think—'

'That you attracted him as much as he appealed to you? I'd lay my life on it. To begin with, you possess the thing above all others that he adores: a fine voice. Remember, he kept la Grassini for months when she was as stupid as an owl, and even when he still loved Josephine. And, besides that – but haven't you forbidden me to speak of your beauty? I think you know nothing of the man you love! And yet, he is worth knowing, you know.'

Marianne was beginning to find this conversation quite surprisingly enjoyable but it was rudely interrupted. Candlelight wavered on the chalky walls of the passage that opened off their prison cave and they stopped talking abruptly. Dragging footsteps sounded and a moment later Fanchon-Fleur-de-lys appeared leaning on her cane. After her came the man they had called Requin who carried a large parcel under his arm. Opening the gate in the bars with a large key, he stood back to allow the old woman to enter and then followed himself.

Fanchon hobbled forward to the brazier and gazed at the two prisoners malevolently. She pointed with her cane to Marianne.

'Get up,' she ordered. 'And take your clothes off!'

Marianne did not move. 'You cannot be serious, I imagine?' she said.

'I am so serious that unless you do as you're told at once, you shall taste my stick and Requin shall wield it. Now! Take off those things! Such garments were not made to be dragged in the dirt and I can sell them for a good price. Ho, don't worry,' she sneered, 'I have brought you others. It is no part of my plan for you to freeze to death.'

'And did the chevalier order you to take her clothes?' Arcadius interrupted. 'It would surprise me. If I were you, my lady, I would go and ask him first—'

'To do that, little gentleman, I should have to gallop after him. He was obliged to set off in haste for Normandy with the Riders.

A friend of his, a lady, is in peril at Valognes. In such matters he does not need telling twice! He will be away for several days and, in the meantime, has entrusted this little ewe-lamb to my tender care. He wants her back unharmed so that he can come to a decision about her. And I shall make sure she's returned unharmed because it is my hope he'll give her to me. But come now, quickly—'

Requin had dropped the bundle of clothes on Marianne's knees. She stared unhappily at the three people round her.

'Leave her alone,' Arcadius said angrily. 'What an old miser you are! You'd shave an egg, wouldn't you, Fanchon?'

'And you'd better keep quiet yourself, my little fellow, or Requin will teach you to mind your manners. He's a head taller than you are. You'd come out of it badly,' the old woman retorted, brandishing her cane.

'Please,' Marianne broke in. 'It is no good. I will give her my clothes. All I ask is to be allowed to change in peace.'

Neither Fanchon nor Requin moved. The man actually came and stood directly before Marianne, his hands in his pockets and a gleam in his eyes.

'If that man does not go away,' Marianne said sharply, 'I shall complain to the chevalier!'

She had scored a hit. The threat worked. Apparently Bruslart had left strong instructions regarding her. She did not relish staying in this underground dungeon until he should return but at least it would give her some respite and from her point of view, to gain time was all important. Talleyrand might institute a search for her. For the present, the only thing that mattered was that the chevalier de Bruslart had ordered that no harm should come to her. She meant to use that precious knowledge for all it was worth. Moreover, Fanchon-Fleur-de-lys instantly proved her right.

'Out, Requin!' she ordered.

The man growled but obeyed and Arcadius turned his face to the wall while Marianne hurriedly took off her pink dress and cloak, although it made her sad to do so. In a moment, the fairy tale dress was clutched in the old woman's skinny grasp and Marianne, with an assumption of indifference, put on the thick skirt and bodice and the heavy woollen stockings which had been brought for her and wrapped herself in the big black shawl.

The clothes were not new or particularly clean but they were warm and all things considered rather more suitable for living in a quarry filled with nothing but straw and chalk dust.

Fanchon, satisfied with her loot, was now ready to go back upstairs but before leaving the cave she had something more to say.

'You'll get some food later, at the same time as this stubborn mule here! Still nothing to say to me, then, eh, handsome? Philomène is getting impatient, you know.'

'Then let her. I am not yet ready to become one of the family.'

'Think, my lad, think carefully! If within a week you have not decided, Philomène may be a widow before she's a wife! My patience has limits.'

'Precisely,' Arcadius retorted smoothly, 'and mine has not.'

When the old woman and her bodyguard had gone, Marianne's new friend returned to her side and began piling up armfuls of straw to make a more comfortable bed.

'You should lie down and try to sleep,' he said kindly. 'I have no means of knowing the time because that gracious lady had my watch off me long ago but it cannot be long till daylight. Not that we'll see it, of course, but at least we shall be left in peace. Our charming Fanchon's little cabaret, The Iron Man, is almost deserted by day. By night, on the other hand, there is generally plenty going on. Go to sleep, you are so pale and there are shadows round your eyes. Besides, there's nothing else you can do.'

Marianne accepted the improvized bed which her companion had made for her while he went over to the brazier and threw on some logs of which there were fortunately a good supply in one corner. Curled up in her shawl, she watched him gratefully. He had been friendly and restored her courage, but above all, he was there. Marianne dared not think what her feelings would have been had she been left all alone in the dark in the depths of this abandoned quarry, a prey to all the phantoms of terror and despair. Now, she would be able to sleep a little and seek, in rest, an answer to all the questions which just at present she did not want to ask. How could she face admitting to herself, without the risk of going out of her mind, that she was thoroughly in love with the very man who, ever since childhood, she had learned to fear and hate above all others? She was utterly exhausted. Her mind refused to function. She must sleep and sleep might bring her counsel. Tomorrow, she would seek some way of escape.

Marianne woke from a fitful sleep broken by nightmares, shivering with fever in spite of all the straw which the kindly, anxious Arcadius had heaped over her. Her throat hurt and in a little while she had begun to cough.

'You have certainly caught cold,' her new friend lamented. 'You were frozen when they brought you here. You need proper care!'

Consequently, when the bearer of their food, Requin, arrived, Arcadius set up a vigorous demand for tisanes, blankets and a soothing draught for the cough.

'I've no orders,' the man said roughly. 'Makes no difference to me if she catches her death!'

'But Fanchon will make a difference to you if anything happens to her, for the excellent reason that she will have to answer for her to the chevalier. If you have no orders, then go and get some!'

Requin dragged away reluctantly, without hurrying, but returned much more quickly carrying a heap of old blankets which he dropped carelessly on top of Marianne. After that he took a flask from his pocket.

'Medicine,' he said.

'I asked for a hot tisane!'

'It's coming—'

He stood for a moment apparently engaged in some kind of inner struggle. At length with a massive sigh he took out a second flask and handed it to Arcadius with the agonized look of one parting from a beloved friend.

'Rum,' he growled.

Arcadius held the flask up to the light and laughed.

'It's not full! Helped yourself to your share, have you? Well, I'll say nothing if you'll bring me everything I want for her.'

'Let her die,' the other muttered in an ugly voice.

'You said that before. It is of no interest to me. Now, be off with you, and do what I ask, or I shall tell Fanchon!'

Like a mother, Arcadius de Jolival set himself to make the invalid swallow a little of the medicine. Then he wrapped her snugly in the blankets. She let him do it. Her mind was a blank and she was tired to death, yet on the verge of tears. She had been ill so little in her life that she had no resources of patience or endurance with which to face this sudden weakness. Her illness only increased her longing to escape and get out of this cavern that was so depressingly like a tomb. She did not want to die there, like a rat in a hole. The moment of despair which had prostrated her the night before had vanished and nothing was left but the commanding instinct of self-preservation.

With the fever, her brain worked more frantically than ever. She cast about desperately for some source of salvation, because although she had gathered that Bruslart did not mean to kill her, she was much less sure of Morvan. He was determined not to let her escape his vengeance even if he had to stand up to the chevalier himself. Unless, that was, he would consider himself sufficiently revenged were old Fanchon to succeed in reducing Marianne to the kind of ignoble slavery she had threatened. For the present, Morvan had gone with Bruslart and the other Riders of the Shadows, but he would return and who could tell whether he would not by that time have succeeded in persuading the chevalier that she must die? He had a substantial ally in the Baron de Saint-Hubert whose contempt for Marianne was overwhelming. Day after day, while the prisoner pined in her dungeon, they could be pleading their cause, wearing down Bruslart's resistance. The more she thought of it, the more Marianne was convinced that it would come down to a choice between the Seine and the house at Ranelagh. She had to escape first. But how?

'Stop worrying your head so,' Jolival's voice broke soothingly into her thoughts. 'You think too much, my dear. The man whose regard you won last night is all powerful, surely he will seek you out?'

'If he wished for me tonight, I would have a chance, but he did not conceal from me that it might be several days before he could send for me again. Supposing he ever does—'

'You underestimate yourself. I am sure he thinks of you.'

'You are a kind friend. You are trying to comfort me but is it possible that for him I was anything more than a moment's pleasure? Is there no other woman in his life? I heard in the Prince of Benevento's house of a certain Polish countess—'

'Walewska? It is true, she loved him passionately. She gave up everything to follow him – and it was even the fact that she was pregnant that determined him to give up Josephine.'

'You see,' Marianne sighed.

'Countess Walewska has left him. Not very long ago, but she has left.'

'Because he must remarry and because she would not suffer! Why should I be more fortunate than she? They called her his 'Polish wife' – and she is young, lovely, noble – and yet he let her go. What can I hope for more than this one night?'

This time, Arcadius de Jolival had no answer. He knows, Marianne thought, that I am right but he does not like to admit it. He fears that I shall give way to despair.

A desperate fit of coughing almost choked her. Jolival hastily made her drink some medicine and then tried to get her to drink a little of the soup which Requin had brought. But Marianne was not hungry. The mere smell of the food, which was certainly not very appetizing, made her feel sick.

'I'm thirsty,' she said. 'Just dreadfully thirsty.'

He nodded anxiously and made her drink a little water which he had warmed slightly over the brazier, then he wrapped the covers well around her and sat down beside her bed to wait. As she lay there in the silence and exhaustion of the fever, Marianne thought for the first time of Jason Beaufort. She was sorry now that she had not accepted his offer. Dazzled by the glittering, unreal prospect of a brilliant future in the theatre, she had refused to understand his warning. And yet, he had been right. The danger he had foretold had come to pass and now there was nothing he could do for her. When Bruslart and his band returned, the American would be already on the high seas. To be sure, he had spoken of a friend, a man called Paterson, the American consul at Nantes, but to the prisoner in the quarries of Chaillot, Nantes was as far away as Mars. Marianne closed her eyes and tried to force herself not to think. Thinking was painful, it only increased her fever and she wanted desperately to be better.