'I congratulate you on your courage,' he said with heavy irony. 'You were very sound asleep. Apparently the knowledge that you had incurred my displeasure weighs little with you.'

The tone was loud and bullying, clearly calculated to overwhelm someone starting out of sleep, but Marianne possessed the faculty of coming instantly and completely awake, however deeply she had been sleeping.

'The Grand Marshal warned me I should have a long wait,' she said quietly. 'Sleep seems the best way of shortening a period of waiting.'

'It seems to me decidedly impudent, madame – moreover I have not yet seen your curtsey.'

Napoleon was clearly seeking a quarrel. He had been prepared to find Marianne agitated and alarmed, trembling and red-eyed perhaps. The woman who woke so calmly could not fail to rouse him to annoyance. Ignoring the ominous spark in the grey eyes, Marianne risked a smile.

'I am ready to fall at your feet, sire, if your majesty will step back sufficiently to permit me to rise.'

He turned on his heel with an exclamation of fury and marched over to the window as if he meant to go straight through it.

Marianne slipped from the sofa straight into the deepest and most respectful of curtseys. 'Sire.'

There was no response. Napoleon continued to stare out of the window in silence, his hands clasped behind his back, for what seemed to Marianne an eternity, obliging her to remain in her uncomfortable, semi-kneeling position. Realizing that he was deliberately seeking to humiliate her, she gathered her courage for what was to come, knowing that it was bound to be unpleasant. She had only one desire, and that was to save her love.

Abruptly, without turning, Napoleon spoke.

'I await your explanation, if you have one to offer, of your astounding conduct. Your explanation and your apologies. It would appear that you were suddenly bereft of your senses, and of the most elementary notions of respect towards me and towards your Empress. Have you gone mad?'

Marianne was on her feet at once, the blood rushing to her cheeks. The words 'your Empress' had struck her like a blow.

'Apologies?' she said clearly. 'I think it is not I who should apologize.'

He did turn round at this, his eyes alight with anger.

'What did you say?'

'That if anyone here has been insulted, it is I! What I did was for the sake of my own dignity.'

'Your dignity? You are ridiculous, madame. Do you forget where you are? You forget that you came here at my command, by my good pleasure, with the sole object of providing entertainment for your sovereign.'

'My sovereign? If I had thought for one moment that you had brought me here for her sake, I would never have crossed this threshold.'

'Indeed? In that event, I should have had you brought here by force.'

'Maybe. But you could not have forced me to sing! Besides, how edifying for your court to see your mistress dragged on to the stage under guard! A spectacle to match the one you presented to them earlier of eminent churchmen dragged through the dust, exposed to vulgar mirth – as if it were not enough to have laid hands on the Vicar of Christ himself!'

In a couple of strides the Emperor was on her and Marianne knew from his dreadful pallor that she had gone too far, but it was not in her power or her nature to draw back now. She tensed to meet his wrath as his face was thrust into hers.

'You dare to say that!' he flung at her. 'Those men insulted me, mocked me, should I have spared them? You should be on your knees in gratitude for my forbearance and mercy. I could have flung them into prison, or worse, you know that!'

'And given more substance to your own legend? No, you did no worse because you dared not and you are angry with me because, by offering a carriage to my godfather, I refused to take part in your petty revenge!'

For a second curiosity overcame the Emperor's fury.

'Your godfather? That Italian cardinal —'

'Is no more Italian than I am. His name is Gauthier de Chazay, Cardinal San Lorenzo. He is my godfather and I owe him my life because it was he who saved me from the hands of the Revolutionaries. In helping him, I was doing no more than my duty.'

'That's as may be. But my duty is to put down all opposition to my throne, my family, my marriage. I command you to go to the Empress and beg pardon on your knees.'

The picture he conjured up succeeded in casting Marianne into a rage equal to Napoleon's own.

'No,' she said flatly. 'Have me thrown into prison, executed if you like, but such an abject submission you will never get from me, never, do you hear! I, on my knees to that woman…'

Transfigured with fury, rigid with all the accumulated pride and rebelliousness of her race, it was she who dominated now. Unable to bear the sight of her arrogance and disdain, Napoleon let out a growl of rage and seized her by the arm, twisting it in a cruel grip that made her cry out with pain.

'More of this and you will be on your knees to me, you crazy vixen! On your knees begging my forgiveness! I was right, you are mad —'

He made a move to throw her to the ground. Fighting desperately to keep her balance and stave off the pain, Marianne managed to gasp out: 'Mad? Yes, I am mad – or I was! Mad to have loved you as I did! Mad to have believed in you! To think I trusted your love! It was all words, smoke! Your love is given to the newest. That fat, red-faced creature had only to appear to make you her slave, you – the master of Europe, the Eagle – at the feet of that cow! And I hid my grief because I believed the things you said to me! A political marriage, indeed! When you flaunt your love openly in the eyes of all, a love which kills me, tears me apart! Well, you have played with me enough. You are right, I was mad – and I am mad still because in spite of this I love you. I wish I could hate you, yes, hate you, as so many others do! It would be so easy, so wonderfully easy…'

Overcome by her grief and the pain of her bruised arm, she fell to the ground, collapsing with the abruptness of a summer storm, and buried her head in her hands and wept. It was all over, she had said it all and now she wanted nothing but final, blessed oblivion. The terrifying anger which had lifted her out of herself and driven her to defy the Master with such insensate daring had gone, leaving only a horrible wretchedness. Careless of what he might do to her now, Marianne wept over the ruins of her broken love.

Napoleon stood rigidly staring at the figure in blue and silver lying in a crumpled heap on the carpet, hearing the heartbroken sobs. Perhaps he was wondering how to react, or trying to maintain his anger in the face of this dreadful display of grief, these cries of love which strove to transform themselves to cries of hate. Perhaps, too, his private love of the dramatic made him secretly relish the theatrical aspect of the scene. But suddenly the door opened and a plump, pink female form appeared. A childish voice with a pronounced German accent lisped complainingly:

'Nana! Vot are you doink? I am lonely vizout mein naughty lover! Come to me, Nana!'

The effect of this voice on Marianne was like acid on an open wound. She jerked up her head and stared at the Emperor and his wife. The Habsburg was looking at her in surprise.

'Oh, Nana!' she lisped. 'You beat ze vicked voman, Nana?'

'No, Louise. I have not beaten her. Leave me, sweet, and I will come to you soon. Go now…' He led her to the door with a smile that sat badly on his drawn face, and kissed her hand as though embarrassed by the domestic interlude which had fallen like a bucket of cold water on the fires of tragedy. Marianne herself was too dazed even to rise to her feet. Nana! She called him Nana! It was funny, if Marianne had had the heart for laughter.

But now they were alone again. The Emperor turned slowly back to his desk. He was breathing hard, as though with difficulty. The gaze that fell on Marianne was blank, as if all life had vanished with his anger. He leaned with both hands on the massive table and hung his head.

'Get up,' he said dully. He raised his head again and looked at her with unexpected softness but when, surprised by the change in his tone, she opened her mouth to speak he stopped her and, taking a deep breath, continued: 'No, don't speak. You must not say any more, you must never anger me again as you have done. It is too dangerous. I – I might have killed you and I should have regretted it all my life. It may be hard for you to believe it but – I do love you. There are some things you cannot understand.'

Marianne got to her feet, as slowly and painfully as if she had been fighting. She was obliged to hold on to the sofa for support. Every muscle in her body ached. Even so, she tried to go to Napoleon, but he restrained her with a gesture.

'No. Stay where you are. Sit down and rest. We have hurt one another cruelly tonight, have we not? It must be forgotten. Listen, I am leaving Paris tomorrow for Compiègne. From there, towards the end of the month, I go to the northern provinces. I have to show my – the Empress to my people. It will give us time to forget – and I shall not be obliged to send you away, as I should be if I were to remain here. I will leave you now. Stay here a while. Constant will come for you and take you to the carriage.'

He turned to the door, his step curiously heavy. Unable to help herself, Marianne held out her arms to him, her eyes full of tears, trying instinctively to hold him back. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and pleading.

'Do you forgive me? I did not mean —'