The others had barely time to agree to this sensible proposal when the aforesaid gentle music of the cavalry's trumpeters was drowned by the tramp of marching feet, the roar of commands and the clatter of men standing at ease.

'Now what are we in for?' Jolival said testily, leaning forward as far as he could to try and catch a glimpse of what was happening below.

'Nothing much,' Craig answered him. 'Just an entire regiment, no less! Grenadiers, I think. I can see a whole lot of bearskins. We are about to be subjected to an army of occupation.'

A moment later, a tall, fair, blue-eyed young man, smartly turned out in a well-brushed uniform, carrying his hat under his arm, made his way up to Jolival's bedchamber. He saluted smartly and then, realizing that there was a lady in the room, favoured her with a beaming smile and a flash of firm, white teeth under a reddish-brown moustache.

'Adrien Jean-Baptiste-François Bourgogne,' he introduced himself in ringing tones, 'formerly of Condé-sur-Escaut, now grenadier-sergeant of the Guard. Good evening, everyone.'

'The Guard!' Marianne cried. 'Does that mean Napoleon is in Moscow?'

"No, Madame. It means only that we are here, to take possession of the district surrounding the old castle. The Emperor is still outside the walls. I did hear that he was waiting to receive a delegation of boyars.'

'Boyars?' Jolival laughed. 'We're not living in the Middle Ages, you know! There aren't any boyars any more. What's more, I think His Majesty will wait a long time before he sees any delegation at all. The city is as empty as my pockets.'

Sergeant Bourgogne shrugged philosophically. 'So we saw,' he agreed. 'All we met was a handful of sorry-looking ragamuffins who fired a few shots at us. Anyone would think these Russians were afraid of us! Yet we mean them no harm. We're full of goodwill. Besides, we have strict orders…'

'Setting that aside for a moment,' Jolival inquired, 'what brings you here, sergeant? Are you going to billet yourselves here?'

'Yes, if that's all right with you. This is the Governor's palace.'

'Yes, but I'm not the Governor. We are merely French people who have sought refuge here.'

'I guessed as much. Well, Messieurs and Madame, we don't mean to trouble you. We'll be camping downstairs and in the courtyard and we'll try not to keep you awake. I'll wish you goodnight, then. And you may sleep sound because we're here to protect you, so you've nothing more to fear from the rabble still left in the city.'

But the night was by no means as restful as the worthy sergeant had hoped. Not only did Vania not return, which made Marianne uneasy, but a number of explosions were heard, all of them very close.

They learned from Gracchus, who reappeared at daybreak, having spent part of the night on patrol with the sergeant's men, for the two had struck up an immediate friendship, that a house in the Yaouza quarter had been blown up, that fire had broken out in a part of the bazaar of Kitaigorod and a large brandy warehouse near the Stone Bridge, which was one of the few that remained standing, the property of the crown, had burned to the ground but that nothing could be done to put out the flames because, as Gracchus said: 'there was not a single working fire engine left in the city. The only two there were completely useless.'

This last piece of information did nothing to allay the fears of the occupants of the Rostopchin palace. The disappearance of the fire engines seemed to fit in ominously with the rumours overheard by Dr Davrigny (who had also failed to return) and with the cardinal's warning.

'I don't like it,' Jolival said. We must be out of Moscow before tonight. See what you can do to find a conveyance, Craig, there's a good fellow. And you, Marianne, try to see the Emperor as soon as he arrives.'

'According to the sergeant, that will be quite early,' Gracchus put in. 'Six or seven o'clock, perhaps.'

'All the better. Your task will be over all the sooner, my dear, and Napoleon can make whatever dispositions he thinks fit. When you have done, come back here as quickly as you can. Gracchus will go with you. There's no saying what might happen to a young and personable female going unprotected amongst this mass of troops.'

At six o'clock, Marianne crossed the courtyard with Gracchus at her side and received a cheerful but not unrespectful greeting from the sergeant who was in his shirtsleeves supervising the cooking of the men's breakfast over the campfires. He pointed proudly to a corner where four men lay sulkily, bound hand and foot, upon the ground.

'We've done a good night's work, M'dame. Caught those four beauties setting fire to a house back there. There were ladies there and we were able to save them, though we lost one of our own men, I'm sorry to say.'

'What will you do with them?' Gracchus asked.

'Why, shoot them, to be sure! Would you believe it, from all we can discover, these lads belong to the police—'

'Sergeant,' Marianne interrupted him, 'you would do well to make sure there are no more of their kind still at liberty. There is a rumour that the governor has left orders for the burning of Moscow.'

'We know that. They've even begun to try and carry it out. But we soon dealt with that. Never you trouble your pretty head for that, M'dame. Our Father of Victories knows what he's about.'

'Ah, have you any news? Is he here yet?'

'The Emperor? Not yet. But he won't be long now. Listen! I can hear them playing "Victory is Ours". That tune means he's not far off.'

Marianne picked up her skirts and ran.

The square outside the palace presented a remarkable sight. The troops bivouacked there might have been preparing for a masquerade, for most of them seemed to be engaged in trying on a variety of strange and exotic costumes. There were men so covered in furs that they could have been mistaken for bears, and others dressed as Kalmuks, Tartars, Chinamen, Turks, Persians and even as gentlemen of the time of Catherine the Great. Heaped all about them was such an assortment of every kind of foodstuff, sausages, hams, broached casks, fish, flour and sugar, that the scene resembled nothing so much as a vast, unlikely carnival. Like children, the soldiers were trying to compensate themselves in this way for the weeks of misery and wretchedness that they had endured on the interminable march. It was like the market place of Samarkand after the passing of Genghis Khan.

Then, all at once, everything stopped. The roll of drums and bellowed commands rose at last above the din. Slowly, the men began tugging off their finery and assumed a more military demeanour, lining up in such a way as to conceal the litter of supplies cluttering the square. The marching tune of the guards could still be heard for a moment or two longer, then that, too, died away and once again there was the deathly silence that had hung over Moscow twenty-four hours before. There was the clash of arms, a brief command or two, then, suddenly, a loud burst of cheering. The Emperor had arrived.

In spite of herself, Marianne held her breath and raised herself on tiptoe to get a better view. He was riding slowly, walking the Emir, one of his favourite mounts, dressed as he often was in the uniform of the chasseurs, with a thoughtful expression on his face and one hand thrust into the front of his waistcoat. He had eyes for nothing but the great red fortress he was about to enter and which glowed redder than ever in the light of the rising sun. Only now and then he let his gaze flicker for an instant towards the Bazaar, from which a black column of smoke was still rising.

'He's put on weight,' Gracchus whispered. 'He doesn't look well.'

He was right. Napoleon's face had a bilious yellow tinge and his figure had undoubtedly thickened. Curvetting around him were Berthier, Caulaincourt, Duroc, the Mameluke, Ali, and others whose identity Marianne was unable to make out. He lifted his hand in acknowledgement of the men's frenzied cheers and then the whole cavalcade, with a company of the 1st Chasseurs bringing up the rear, swept through the Saviour's Gate, where the Chasseurs instantly took up guard duties.

'Do you think they will let us in, Mademoiselle Marianne?' Gracchus asked uneasily. 'We don't look very respectable, with our clothes all dirty and everything.'

'There's no reason why they shouldn't. I saw the Grand Marshal there. I shall go and ask for him. Come on.'

Without more ado, she made her own way up to the great tower which housed the Saviour's Gate. But as Gracchus had predicted, the sentries refused to let her pass, although she stated her name and titles clearly.

'We've had no orders as yet,' she was told by a young lieutenant who could barely have dismounted from his horse. 'Wait a minute.'

'But I am only asking you to let Grand Marshal Duroc know that I am here. He is a friend of mine.'

'I daresay. But you must give him time to find his way about, and us to get our orders.'

Marianne waited patiently for a minute or two and then, as the officer seemed to have forgotten all about her, she returned to the attack. But with no more success than at first. The argument was threatening to become protracted when, by good fortune, a figure smothered in a good deal of gold lace appeared in the huge archway.

Marianne recognized him at once.

'There is Captain de Trobriant,' she said. 'Bring him to me.'

'You are out of date, Madame. He is a major now and our commanding officer. But I do not see—Here, you! Come back!'

But Marianne was tired of arguing and she had slipped under his arm, outstretched to bar her way, and was running towards his superior officer. Trobriant was, in fact, an old acquaintance. She had met him first on that memorable evening at Malmaison when she and Jason had succeeded in warning Napoleon of the attempt on his life planned by the Chevalier de Bruslart. Since then, the handsome officer of chasseurs had been a frequent visitor in the drawing-rooms of the Hotel d'Asselnat and it did not take him a second to know the pale, quietly dressed woman who came running towards him.