She was about to leave the table which stood near the room's only window when something drew her attention to the other side of the street. A large, black travelling coach, bearing no arms on the panel but drawn by a team of very fine greys, was drawn up outside the blacksmith's shop. The coachman, muffled in a vast, green overcoat, was standing with the smith by one of the lead horses and both men had their heads bent over what was no doubt a faulty shoe. There was nothing unusual in this sight but it held Marianne's attention. It seemed to her that the coachman was familiar.

She leaned forward to catch a glimpse of the occupants of the coach but could see nothing beyond two vague, but undoubtedly masculine, figures. Then, suddenly, she bit back a cry. One of the men had leaned forward for a second, probably to see how the coachman was getting on, revealing through the window a pale, clear-cut profile surmounted by a black cocked hat, a profile too deeply engraved in Marianne's heart for her to fail to recognize him. It was the Emperor.

What was he doing in that coach? Was he already on his way to the rendezvous at La Folie? If that were so, why was he waiting in the coach for the shoe to be repaired? This struck Marianne as so improbable that her sudden gladness at seeing him, at the very moment when she was losing faith in this mysterious meeting, was shortlived. She had seen Napoleon in the coach make a quick, frowning movement, the gesture of a man in a hurry. But where was he going at such speed?

Marianne had no time to ask herself more questions. The smith stepped back, the coachman climbed back to his box and cracked his whip. With a clatter of harness the vehicle was away. In a moment Marianne was outside and found herself face to face with Arcadius who was leading out the horses.

Without a word of explanation, Marianne sprang into the saddle, rammed the felt hat which covered the coiled mass of her hair hard down over her eyes, and shot away in pursuit of the travelling coach which was already disappearing into the muddy spray thrown up behind it. Arcadius followed automatically but when he realized that they were travelling in the opposite direction from La Folie, he spurred his horse to catch up with the girl.

'Hey! Where are we off to?'

'That coach —' Marianne flung into the wind over her shoulder. 'I want to know where it is going.'

'What for?'

'The Emperor is inside…'

It took Jolival a moment to assimilate this news, then, abruptly leaning forward in the saddle, he seized hold of Marianne's bridle and, with a strength surprising in a man of his slight build, succeeded in bringing her horse to a walk while at the same time retaining control of his own mount.

'What do you think you're doing?' Marianne flung at him furiously. 'Are you mad?'

'Do you want his majesty to see that he is being followed? On a straight road we can hardly miss him. If, on the other hand, we were to take the path you see there on the right, we should be on a short cut which will get us to Courcelles before the Emperor.'

'What is Courcelles?'

'Merely the next village. But if I am not mistaken, the Emperor is simply going to meet his bride, which he will do before very long.'

'Is that what you think? Oh, if I could be sure —'

Marianne had gone white to the lips. The frightful pangs of jealousy returned, more fiercely tormenting than ever. Arcadius nodded with a small, unhappy smile.

'But you are, quite sure. Be honest with yourself, Marianne. You know where he is going and you want to see her for yourself first, and then witness their meeting.'

Marianne gritted her teeth and looked away, turning her horse's head at the same time towards the narrow lane. Her face had hardened but she did not contradict him.

'Yes, it is true. And nothing and no one shall stop me.'

'I did not think of stopping you. Come if you must, but you are making a mistake. It can only bring you useless suffering.'

The two riders resumed their gallop, regardless of the mud and rain. They followed the track along the course of the Vesle, now swollen to twice its normal volume by the torrential rains. The weather seemed to get worse as they advanced. The fine drizzle had become a solid downpour, out of a dismal, lowering sky. The riverside track proved quicker, even so, and it was not long before the first houses of Courcelles came in sight.

Marianne and Arcadius emerged on to the high road in time to see the coach racing towards them, its great wheels throwing up fountains of spray.

'Come,' Arcadius said. We must not stay here, unless you want him to see you.'

He was trying to draw her aside into the little church which stood close by but Marianne would not be drawn. Her eyes were riveted on the approaching vehicle and she was conscious of a dreadful urge to stay where she was and let him see her, to meet that masterful gaze and read in it – just what precisely, she could not have said. But there was no time for further thought. The coach swerved suddenly, it may have been on account of the already faulty shoe, and the off-side fore wheel caught the steps of the small shrine erected at the entrance to the village. The wheel was wrenched off and Marianne cried out involuntarily, but the coachman, acting with great skill, managed to bring his horses under control and stop the coach.

Two men jumped out. One was tall and dressed with a degree of finery strangely out of keeping with the weather. The other was all too easily recognizable. Both were furiously angry. Marianne saw the taller of the two men point towards the church, then both began to run quickly through the rain.

Arcadius seized her arm. 'Now come,' he told her firmly, 'or you will come face to face with him. They appear to intend to take shelter here while the coachman goes in search of a wheelwright.'

This time she suffered him to lead her where he would. Jolival hurried her out of sight round the back of the church. Here there was a clump of trees, to one of which they tethered their horses. Arcadius guessed that since the Emperor was stranded here, nothing would persuade Marianne to ride on. She had already spotted a small door in the side wall of the building.

'Come inside,' she said. We shall be able to see and hear without being seen.'

Inside the little chapel the air was cold and damp, smelling strongly of mildew. It fell about their wet shoulders like a leaden cloak.

'We'll catch our deaths in here!' Jolival muttered but Marianne took no notice. The place was in semi-darkness and seemed to have fallen into almost complete disuse. Numerous broken window-panes had been replaced with oiled paper. In one corner there was a heap of broken pieces of statuary; only two or three pews remained and the pulpit and churchwardens' pew were draped in cobwebs. But the main door beneath the tiny gallery was slightly open, allowing a view of what was happening in the porch as Napoleon and his companion hurried in out of the rain. A dipped, impatient, all-too-familiar voice broke the silence of the little church.

'We'll wait here. How much farther, do you think?'

'Not far,' the other man answered. He was a large, floridly handsome fellow with brown, curly hair. At present he was occupied in doing his best to shield a vast, plumed hat beneath his cloak. 'But why wait here with water dripping down our necks from these abominably leaky, rustic gutters when we might seek shelter in some farm-house?'

'Your stay in Naples has done you no good, Murat,' the Emperor said mockingly. 'Are you frightened of a few drops of rain?'

'Not for myself, but for my dress. I shall be obliged to greet the Empress wearing sodden plumes, like a wilting palm tree!'

'If you dressed more plainly, you would have nothing to worry about. You should do as I do.'

'Your style of dress is deplorably sober, sire, as I have always said. You cannot go to meet an Archduchess dressed like a shopkeeper.'

This remarkable exchange gave Marianne time to regain control of herself. The breathless pounding of her heart had stopped and jealousy was giving way a little to sheer feminine curiosity. So this was the famous Murat, the King of Naples and the Emperor's brother-in-law. Despite his impressive height and the splendours of the blue uniform glimpsed beneath the enveloping black cloak, Marianne thought there was a vulgarity in his features and an excessive swagger in his bearing. He might be the finest horseman in the Empire but if that were so he should take care never to be seen without his horse. On foot, he seemed only half a man. But Napoleon was speaking again.

'I told you, I wish to take the Archduchess by surprise and show myself to her without frills. And I want to see her in her plain travelling dress. We'll step out into the road when the cortege comes in sight.

A sigh loud enough to reach Marianne's ears indicated Murat's opinion of this plan but he said resignedly: 'Very well, we'll wait.'

'Now don't look so gloomy. All this is very romantic, you know. Must I remind you that your own wife is with Marie-Louise? Aren't you glad to see Caroline again?'

'Oh yes, but we have been man and wife long enough for the first shock to have worn off. Besides —'

'Hush! Don't you hear anything?'

All the occupants of the church, the watchers and the watched, strained their ears. There was a rumbling in the distance, like an approaching storm, still faint and very far away but coming slowly nearer.

'Ah yes,' Murat agreed, with evident relief. 'That must be the coaches. Yes, surely —' The King of Naples plunged bravely out into the rain and after a quick glance along the road came running back, crying: 'I can see the leaders of the escorting hussars! Your bride approaches, sire!'