'Dreaming?' Fortunée's voice sounded teasingly in her ear. 'What were you thinking of? You were staring at the Sullivan as if you meant to hypnotize her.'

'I'd like to meet her…'

'Nothing simpler! Especially as the wish is undoubtedly mutual. But—'

Before she could finish, the door opened and Talleyrand, with Jason at his heels, made his way into the box. There was an interlude of bowing and of dainty fingers raised to masculine lips before the incorrigible Creole, having first favoured Jason with a smile so dazzling that it could not fail to contain a strong element of flirtatiousness, laid her hand compellingly on the prince's arm and guided him inexorably from the box, announcing that she had something of the very greatest secrecy to impart to him. Marianne and Jason were left alone.

Instinctively, Marianne had pushed her chair back into the comparative shadow of the back of the box. Out of the direct light, she felt less vulnerable and it was easier to forget Pilar's black gaze fixed on her. It was so little to ask, a moment alone together in the midst of this great chattering throng, but for Marianne everything to do with Jason, everything that came from him or related to him, had become infinitely precious. Their surroundings vanished in an instant: the red and gold furnishings, the glittering crowd of people with their idiot noises, the refined artificiality of it all. It was as if Jason possessed some strange power of breaking down any setting in which he found himself, however civilized, and substituting for it his own world, made to his own size and with the strong, sea-scent of adventure blowing through it.

Speechless, she sat gazing at him with eyes luminous with joy. She had forgotten everything, even the very presence in the theatre of Chernychev, whom she had nevertheless deliberately chosen as her escort for the evening. Because Jason was here beside her, all was well. Time could stand still, the world come to an end, nothing else mattered.

Looking at him, she was conscious of a deep feeling of happiness and she tried vainly to understand how she could have failed to guess, how she could have missed the impalpable signs by which two beings who love each other are bound together secretly and which would have told her that she could never love any other man.

And even the knowledge that he belonged to another woman could not quench that happiness, as if the love she felt for Jason were of a kind that nothing human could touch.

Jason, however, did not appear to share her speechless happiness. His eyes had barely rested on her as he made his bow, and then had slipped away towards the far corner of the auditorium, as if he had indeed nothing to say. He stood with arms folded, his lean face turned in the direction of the royal box as if to find there the answer to the problem that made his fine-drawn face look sterner than ever and brought that dark, brooding look into his eyes…

To Marianne, this silence soon became unbearable, unbearable and insulting. Had Jason come to her box for no better reason than to show the world how little he cared for her? When she spoke, it was with unconscious wistfulness:

'Why did you come here, Jason, if you can find nothing to say to me?'

'I came because the prince asked me to go with him.'

'Is that all?' Marianne's heart contracted. 'Do you mean to say that but for Monsieur de Talleyrand you would not have come to see me?'

'Precisely.'

The curtness in his voice stung Marianne and she began to ply her fan with quick, nervous movements.

'Charming!' she said, with a tiny laugh. 'I suppose you are anxious not to offend your wife who, I see, has her eye strictly upon us? Well, I would not wish to detain you. Pray return to her.'

'Don't talk such nonsense,' Jason ground out through his teeth. 'Mrs Beaufort has nothing to say to what I may do or not do, nor would she dream of it. I should not have come because you had no need of my presence. I think you made your feelings abundantly clear tonight.'

'Did I indeed?' Marianne said furiously. 'Is that what you think? And, pray, where am I at fault in appearing in public escorted by a very gallant gentleman to whom I owe my life?'

This time their eyes met, Jason's dark with anger and contempt, Marianne's glittering with rage. He gave a harsh crack of laughter:

'That is something you should ask your husband, my dear! Your latest husband, I mean. This Tuscan prince who seems to fill so negligible a place in your life! You have not been married three months and far from staying at home like any decent woman on your own estates, you flaunt yourself half-naked in that ridiculous costume in the company of the most notorious rake in two hemispheres, a man who boasts that no woman has ever denied him!'

'If I did not know that America was a land of barbarians,' Marianne flung back at him, crimson as the feathers in her hair, 'that would have taught me! Not content with being a pirate, or sea rover or whatever, and then a special, and my goodness what a very special, envoy! Now you must needs turn preacher! The Reverend Beaufort! It sounds very well, to be sure! And I can assure you that with a little practice your sermons will be admirable! But then of course when one numbers among one's forebears—'

'At least I number some respectable women! Women who knew enough to stay at home!'

Jason's face might have been carved out of stone and there was a saturnine twist to his mouth which made Marianne want to hit him.

'To hear you, anyone would think I chose my own fate! As if you didn't know—'

'I know all right. All of it. While you were obliged to struggle for your life or liberty you had right on your side – and I admired you for it. Now, you have one right only: to repay the man who gave you his name by at least showing some respect for that name.'

'And how have I failed to respect it?'

'Not three months ago you were known to be the Emperor's mistress. Now you are generally regarded as the mistress of a Cossack famed more for his valour in the boudoir than on the battlefield.'

'Aren't you exaggerating a little? Let me remind you that the Emperor decorated him with his own hand at Wagram, and Napoleon is not in the habit of handing out decorations to all and sundry.'

'I appreciate the ardour with which you spring to his defence. What better proof of love could he ask.'

'Love! I love Chernychev?'

'If you do not love him you are giving a fair imitation of it. But I begin to think imitations are your stock-in-trade. Did you do another for your mysterious husband?'

Marianne sighed wearily. 'I thought I had told you all about my marriage. Must I tell you again? Except in the chapel where the service was performed, and where I saw nothing of him beyond one gloved hand, I have never met Prince Sant'Anna. And let me remind you, if you had received a certain letter in time, there would have been no wedding to the prince…'

She broke off as Jason began to laugh, hard, painful laughter, rasping like a false note on a violin:

'After what I have seen here tonight, I may thank heaven that letter did not reach me. Because of it, I have been able to save Pilar from a fate she had done nothing to deserve, while as for you, I think you are best left to a future which does not seem altogether repugnant to you, and which seems to me, considering the ease with which you are able to transfer your affections, to be no more than you deserve.'

'Jason!'

Marianne sprang to her feet. Her face changed from crimson to white and her fingers clenched on the fragile sticks of her costly fan. There was a pathetic little cracking sound as the sticks snapped. She fought with all her strength to keep back the tears which started to her eyes from a heart overflowing with unhappiness. Whatever happened, he must not be allowed to see how deeply he had hurt her… For she was too much hurt to see that his words had sprung from a bitter, yet reassuring, jealousy. She groped briefly, but in vain, for a biting reply, to give back blow for blow, hurt for hurt and blood for blood. Before she could speak, a tall, green-clad figure had interposed itself between herself and Jason:

'You have just insulted both Her Serene Highness and myself. It is too much. I regret only that I am unable to kill you more than once.'

Chernychev's accent sounded a little thicker, his manner was a little more dramatic, but he was making a visible effort to control his temper. Jason faced him with a faint, contemptuous smile which only added to the Russian's rage:

'It does not occur to you that I might possibly kill you?'

'Never,' Chernychev said simply. 'Death is a woman. She will do as I wish…'

Jason laughed. 'If you rely on a woman, you will be disappointed. Nevertheless, I do not go back on my word. I am at your service, Sir. Although I was not aware it was your habit to listen at keyholes.'

'No!' Marianne stepped quickly between the two men. 'No! Please! I won't let you fight over me!'

Chernychev took the hand which she had laid instinctively on his arm and dropped a swift kiss upon it:

'Permit me to disobey you for once, Madame.'

'And suppose I were to add my entreaties, eh?' Talleyrand had entered the box hard on the Russian's heels and now he continued in his leisurely tones: 'I do not care to have my friends slay one another…'

This time, it was Jason who answered:

'Just so. You know us both too well, Prince, not to have known that this was bound to happen, sooner or later.'

'That may be so, but I should prefer it to be later.' He turned to Marianne as he added: 'Come, Madame, I am sure you cannot wish to remain here. I will escort you to your carriage.'