'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!'

Marianne, greatly entertained by her eagerness, reflected privately that Vania and her dear Fortunée appeared to have a good deal more in common than a fondness for attar of roses. Evidently they shared a passion for soldiers.

'Look!' Vania cried. 'Here come the first of them! It's the Polish hussars, the Tenth, Colonel Uminski's! And after them I can see the Prussians, Major von Werther's Uhlans, and then – I think it's Wurtemberg's chasseurs and behind them several regiments of French hussars! Yes, it's them! I can tell by their plumes. Oh, it's so wonderful to see them again! I know that they have put us all in an impossible situation by coming but, truly, it was worth it and I, for one, can't be sorry…'

Caught up in her companion's infectious enthusiasm, Marianne watched with equal fascination as the mounted columns forded the river in good order. Vania, at her side, leaning over and clutching at the parapet, was almost shaking with excitement. Her eyes were wide and her nostrils quivering. Suddenly, she uttered a cry and threw out an arm.

'Oh, look! Look there! The man riding up the column and crossing the river at full gallop!'

'The one in green with the white plumes almost as tall as himself?'

'Yes! Oh, I'd know him in a thousand! It's the King of Naples! It's Murat – the finest horseman in the Empire!'

Vania's excitement had reached fever pitch and Marianne suppressed a smile. She had long known of Napoleon's brother-in-law's penchant for exotic, not to say fantastic costumes, but this time he seemed to have gone his length. Only he could have had the effrontery to appear in his present extravagant dress of dark green velvet polonaise with massive gold frogs, worn with a sash of gold threadwork and bonnet of the same colour surmounted by a white ostrich plume not less than three feet high. And, strangest of all, was the way he managed not to appear ridiculous in such an outfit.

Vania was suddenly so flushed with happiness that Marianne shot her a glance half-envious, half-amused.

'You seem to have a great admiration for the King of Naples?' she said with a smile.

The singer turned and looked her straight in the eyes, then, with a pride that was not without its greatness, she said simply: 'He is my lover. I would go through fire for him.'

'It would be a pity if you did. No man, however brilliant, deserves to have such a woman as you destroy herself for his sake. Live and if your love is returned, enjoy your happiness.'

'Oh, I do believe he loves me! But there are so many women running after him—'

'Beginning with his wife. Are you not afraid of the formidable Caroline?'

'Why should I be? She is all very well, but had her brother not been an emperor she would never have been a queen and no one would have paid very much attention to her at all. She cannot even sing. Besides, even as wives go, she's not the most faithful.'

Evidently this, to the prima donna, was a fatal flaw, and her argument was not without its logic. Marianne preferred to leave Caroline Murat to her own fate, which was a matter of some indifference to her, for she had never held Napoleon's youngest sister in affection. She had known her for too long for a devious and ill-natured woman.

Consequently, she was able to look on indulgently at Vania's meeting with her royal lover. As the King's white horse burst into the square, the Italian sprang forward almost under its hooves and might easily have been trampled but for Murat's presence of mind. He leaned down with a yell of delight and, grasping her round the waist, swept her up into the saddle. Whereupon, regardless of who might be looking on, the King and the singer embraced passionately, spoke briefly and then embraced once more. Then, as easily as he had caught her up, Murat lowered his mistress to the ground.

'Until tomorrow!' he cried. 'Go to the Kremlin and ask for General Durosnel. He will tell you where my headquarters are.'

He was about to ride on when Marianne ran forward.

'Sire!' she called. 'Can you tell me if the Emperor is coming?'

Murat reined in his mount and stared at her with some astonishment. Then he burst out laughing.

'What? Are you here too? Here's a pleasant surprise for the Emperor! I hope he appreciates it as he should!'

'But will I see him, Sire? Is he following you? I have to speak to him.'

'I hope, for his sake, that you'll do no more than speak. He is at a place called Bird Hill at this moment but I don't expect him to enter Moscow tonight. I must take a look at the city before he comes and gives chase to that old fox, Kutusov. Has he much of a start, do you know?'

'He went through yesterday morning, but his army was passing all night, going towards Riazan. There are some stragglers left even now.'

'Good. Forward, gentlemen! It's for us to catch them up. As for you, Madame, do not try to reach the Emperor today. Tomorrow, he will be in the Kremlin, for they will be making his quarters ready for him tonight. Be patient a little longer. He will be delighted to see you.'