The two of them had stayed in the little palace on the bank of the Neva until they were able to find a ship to take them out of Russia. This was no easy matter because Russian ships no longer plied through the Denmark Straits since the beginning of the war with France, and there could, of course, be no question of an American citizen taking a passage on one of the occasional English ships that dropped anchor in the roadstead since those two countries were also at war.

In the end, they had found berths on a Swedish vessel which, owing to the double game played by the Swedish crown prince, Bernadotte, was equally immune from the effects of the continental blockade and from difficulties with the Tsar. The master of the Smaaland had agreed to carry Beaufort and O'Flaherty as far as Anvers, from which port they should find it comparatively simple, despite the French occupation, to get a ship for America.

'We ought not to be here at all by rights,' the Irishman concluded. 'We only called at Danzig to make good the storm damage we suffered after leaving Königsberg. Our vessel broke a mast and we were forced to run for port. We've been here three days now and while she's refitting—'

'You are making a study of the local hostelries,' Marianne finished for him merrily. 'I see it all! But now, please won't you take me to Jason? I can't wait to see him.'

'Sure, you can spare a moment yet. Tell me what became of yourself.'

'That can wait, but I cannot! Oh, Craig, can't you see what this means to me? It's like a miracle finding him again when I had thought him gone for ever! Have mercy on me and take me to him. You can see I'm dying of impatience.'

It was quite true. Incapable of sitting still a moment longer, she had jumped up, forgetting all about the hot tea that a maidservant had just set before her, and was already half-way to the door. O'Flaherty was obliged to follow. Tossing a few coins on to the table, he followed her outside but the look on his face might have done something to cool her ardour had she paused to look at him. But Marianne was carried away by an emotion stronger than herself, by a joy so delirious that it came close to madness. Regardless of the freezing wind in her face and of the foreign city all about her, she had eyes for nothing but that one familiar figure that was dearer than all else to her. The doubts, the half-promises wrung from her by Napoleon were all gone and all that mattered was that she had found her love again.

Hardly knowing even where she was going, she ran on, skidding perilously over patches of frozen snow, hurrying down the long waterfront in the gathering purple dusk. The Smaaland, Craig had said, and she was searching for a vessel with that name and a broken mast. She wanted to shout out loud and call to Jason, to proclaim in triumph that the moment had come when they could be together for always. Meanwhile, Craig pounded breathlessly after her, shouting: 'Marianne! Marianne, for God's sake, wait for me! Let me explain!'

But she neither heard nor saw. She was all instinct and joy and passionate eagerness and with the sureness of a compass needle swinging magnetically to the north, she went straight to that ship that she had never seen.

Then, all at once, he was there, the man she had loved more than her own life. She saw him walking easily, with his long, loose-limbed stride, down the gangway connecting a big, swag-bellied vessel with the quay. The cry that burst out of her then rang like a paean of victory.

'Jason!'

He heard and gave a start of surprise. One glance was enough to tell him and they met at the foot of the gangway. Laughing and crying at once, Marianne flung herself into his arms with such enthusiasm that she all but tumbled into the water. Jason caught her in a strong grip and as she clung to him on the verge of hysteria led her gently away from the edge, but without letting go his hold.

'You!' he uttered. 'Is it really you?'

A trickle of icy water came to damp down the blaze of joy. There had been amazement in his voice and something very close to disbelief, but no real gladness. It was not the welcome she had hoped for.

'Yes,' she said, in what was almost an undertone. 'It's really me… Did you – did you think I was dead?'

'No, of course not. Craig told me you were safe and had managed to reach Napoleon. I'm only surprised because I'd not thought to see you here. It's so unexpected—'

Marianne released herself then and stepped back to look at him. Could he really be just the same as she remembered him? There was still the same tall, lean, active figure, the same strongly marked features, the same face, too deeply tanned ever to revert to its natural whiteness, the same hawk-like profile, the same brilliant eyes – and yet it suddenly seemed to her that she was looking at another man, a man she did not know.

What was it? Was it in the hard twist to the mouth, a certain weariness in the eyes or something distant in his whole attitude? It was as if he had suddenly removed himself into another world. Still gazing at him intently, she nodded slowly.

'So unexpected?' she repeated after him. 'Yes, you are right. It's quite incredible that we should meet like this! Especially since you have really done nothing at all to make it happen.'

There was a flash of the old, mocking smile that she had always loved.

'Don't talk nonsense. How could I have done? There were armies between us, and a whole vast country.'

'You knew I was in Moscow. Why didn't you come back? Why didn't you look for me? That woman who tried to kill me, Shankala, she told us before she died that you had gone with your friend Krilov, without a thought for me! I was alone, lost in a doomed city, and you could not know what would become of me, and yet you left me.'

He shrugged a little wearily and the light that had come into his blue eyes a moment before died suddenly.

'I had no choice, but you had! I thought you would have followed me when the cossacks took me.'

'Haven't you heard what prevented me?' She turned her head sharply to where Craig O'Flaherty, seeing them together, had paused beside a stack of empty casks a few yards off and was watching them.

'Yes, when O'Flaherty joined me, I heard then. But when I left Moscow I did not know. I thought – that Napoleon was near and you had made your choice.'

'Made my choice!' Marianne said bitterly. 'Is there any choice to be made when everything is burning and collapsing and dying all round you? I had to think of survival before I could start making any choices! While you—'

'Come. We can't stand here. It's too cold.'

He would have taken her arm to lead her back to the inn but once again she moved away, leaving the remainder of her sentence unspoken. For a moment or two they walked side by side in silence, each lost in their own thoughts, and Marianne's throat contracted as the conviction came to her that never again would they be reunited, even in spirit.

As they came level with the Irishman, Jason paused for an instant.

'All's ready now,' he said shortly. 'We sail with the tide. Weather's fairing up.'

Craig nodded and with a smile for Marianne in which she seemed to read both sorrow and a hint of compassion, he went on without a word to where the Smaaland lay.

Silence fell again between them, broken only by the drunken singing of three sailors reeling gloriously from a waterside tavern. Marianne was struggling to still the frantic beating of her heart beneath her furs. It seemed to have got colder all at once, although the wind had dropped, but then she realized that the cold was inside herself. It was spreading from the numbness round her heart.

'You are going?' she asked after a moment.

'Yes. Our ship is fit to sail again – and we have wasted too much time already.'

She gave a tiny laugh. 'Yes, you're right. You have wasted a deal of time to be sure.'

Did he sense the bitterness in her tone? Abruptly, he seized her by the arm and drew her into the deep shadow of a doorway where they were comparatively sheltered from the wind.

'Marianne,' he begged, 'why do you say that? You know very well how things stand with us just now! You know I'm going to the war, that I'm no longer my own man, that I have no future to look forward to. It's true. I have wasted too much time, for my time is my country's and my country is at war. We agreed that you should join me later on, remember? Have you forgotten that?'

'No. I think it's you who have forgotten – forgotten even me!'

'This is madness!'

"Very well then. There is one thing that has not even occurred to you. Ever since we met just now, it has not once crossed your mind to ask what I am doing here, how I escaped from Moscow and what has happened to me since. No! It does not interest you. Craig asked me, and I didn't tell him because I was in too much haste to see you. But then Craig is my friend!'

'And what am I?'

"You?' She uttered a tiny laugh, full of infinite sadness, and shrugged her shoulders faintly. 'You – are a man who loved me once – and who loves me no longer.'

'I do! I swear I do – I love you still!'

All at once he was again the passionate lover of their nights on the hard beds of those posting houses in the empty steppe and the forest. His arms went round her, drawing her to him, and his breath was warm on her face, but she did not return his embrace. Something inside her remained frozen.

'Marianne,' he implored her, 'listen to me! I swear to you as I hope for salvation that I've not stopped loving you. Only – I no longer have the right.'