As far as Marianne herself was concerned, the order for silence had been immediate and categorical. The very next evening, Savary came hurrying round to inform that his department had received stringent orders from Napoleon that the Princess Sant'Anna's name was in no circumstances to be mentioned in connection with the affair. Marianne found it difficult to be grateful for the favour.

'How can I be kept out of it when there is a horrid anonymous note accusing Mr Beaufort of killing Mallerousse for my sake?'

The Duke of Rovigo coughed discreetly and shifted in his chair, clearly ill-at-ease. He had endured a characteristically unpleasant interview with Napoleon and he could still hear the biting accents of the imperial displeasure ringing in his ears:

'His Majesty is of the opinion that the accused would be quite capable of killing for your sake, Princess, but he has condescended to inform me of the – er – ties of friendship which subsisted between yourself and the deceased and stated his conviction that it would be absurd to associate you in any way with his death.'

Napoleon's actual words had been a good deal more forceful than this but they appeared to Savary, in spite of their august source, to be more suited to the camp than to the drawing-room. Marianne, however, expressed some surprise.

'To inform you? But, my Lord Duke, are you not the Minister of Police? Is it possible that you, as Fouché's successor, can be unaware that when I first came to Paris I occupied the post of lectrice to Madame de Talleyrand-Périgord and that the name I went by was Marianne Mallerousse, although my code name in the files at the Quai Malaquais was the Star?'

'Unfortunately, Madame, both you and the Emperor would appear to have forgotten that the Duke of Otranto left me very little of any importance on which to build, that for three days he burned all his papers and files-three days!' he added sighing. 'And the Emperor blames me – as if I could have foreseen it! I have had to start from scratch, patiently finding out who was working for us and on whom I could still count.'

'Not on me, at all events,' Marianne cut him short. She was not in the least interested in the minister's troubles but she knew Fouché well enough to imagine the perverse pleasure he would have taken in making a clean sweep before his successor took over. 'But all this is beside the point. I must see the Emperor, Duke. It is of the utmost importance. I cannot let him do anything so dreadfully unjust as to allow Mr Beaufort to stand trial. To suspect him of so sordid a crime when he has always behaved as a sincere friend to our country would be a monstrous thing to do! Monsieur de Talleyrand knows him as well as I do, he can tell you…'

'No, Madame,' Savary said, shaking his head gloomily. 'His Majesty guessed that you would wish to see him. He charged me to tell you that it is quite out of the question.'

At this blow, delivered in a firm, though not unsympathetic voice, Marianne's colour drained away:

'The Emperor – refuses to see me?'

'Yes, Madame. He told me that he would send for you when he judged that the time was ripe, which it is not at present. There are certain circumstances which make it appear that Monsieur Beaufort may have been less our friend than you imagine.'

'And even if that were true,' Marianne cried passionately, 'even if he hated us, would that be sufficient reason to leave him to face an unjust and ridiculous charge?'

'My dear Princess, this is a serious matter and it is essential that it be cleared up. Leave it to the law to uncover the whole truth about what happened at Passy.'

'Yes indeed – and the law can only benefit from hearing what I have to say. I was with Monsieur Beaufort when the crime was committed and, what is more to the point, I know who is, or rather are, the real murderers of Nicolas Mallerousse. If the Emperor refuses to listen to me, then you, Duke, must hear what I have to say. The man who did this murder and carefully covered up his crime in order to throw the blame for it on to another was—'

But Marianne was not fated to find anyone willing to listen to her. Savary cut her short, laying a hand soothingly on her arm:

'My dear Princess, I have told you the Emperor does not wish to have you involved in the matter. Trust my department to discover the real murderer – if, that is, we have not already discovered him.'

'But won't you listen to me, at least! I was there, I know all about it, you must admit that I am a valuable witness! Even if what I tell you must remain between ourselves, surely it will save you from making a mistake?'

'Valuable, perhaps – but certainly not impartial. No,' Savary went on quickly, forestalling a further protest from Marianne, 'I have not yet done with the Emperor's orders concerning you.'

'Orders?' she echoed, with some alarm.

Ignoring the question in her voice, which might have led him into invidious explanations, the Duke of Rovigo confined himself to expounding the nature of his instructions, taking the trouble to soften them slightly in the process:

'His Majesty desires you to leave Paris within the next few days for some other locality which may be agreeable to you.'

Marianne rose at this, oblivious of the pains the minister had taken to wrap up the harshness of the command, for command it was.

'Let us be frank, Duke. The Emperor is exiling me? Then tell me so plainly, if you please.'

'By no means, Madame,' Savary said, with a suggestion of a sigh which spoke volumes for his longing to be anywhere but where he was. 'It is merely that His Majesty wishes you to spend the summer away from Paris. Anywhere you like – so long as it is at least fifty leagues distant… the summer and also possibly the autumn, no more. What could be more natural, indeed, for nearly all our beauties have left Paris for some watering place – my own wife is leaving shortly for the waters at Plombiëres… You will merely be following the general fashion. There could be nothing more natural, after all, when one recalls that you are barely recovered from your illness after the tragedy at the Austrian ambassador's ball. You will return to us fully restored in health and more beautiful than ever, Princess, and no one will be more happy to see you than your humble servant.'

Marianne listened to her visitor's words with an attentive frown. She did not understand this sudden determination to send her off somewhere to take the waters for what was after all, considering that she had incurred the imperial wrath, a comparatively short spell of time. When Napoleon ordered the retirement of one of his subjects who had displeased him it was generally for a much longer period. Because she liked to have an answer to her questions if it were at all possible, she framed this thought aloud:

'I should like the truth, Minister, if you please. Tell me why His Majesty is so anxious for me to take the waters.'

There was authority as well as pleading in the green eyes and with another sigh Savary capitulated.

'The truth is that the Emperor, as I have told you, is anxious to keep your name out of this affair. Now according to the way things go, Monsieur Beaufort may or may not be brought to trial. If it should come to this, the trial will probably take place in October or November… The Emperor does not wish to hear that you are in Paris until it is all over.'

'The Emperor wants me to abandon my best friend – more than that – and this is a truth which you may tell him I think, Duke? – the man I love!'

'His Majesty was not unprepared for this reaction. That is why it is a command – and why he will not see you.'

'And suppose I will not obey?' Marianne exclaimed, quivering. 'Suppose I am determined to stay in spite of everything?'

Savary's voice, which had so far been calm and gently resigned, acquired suddenly a new touch of hardness. He was discreetly threatening:

'I should not advise it. It can do you no good to force the Emperor to acknowledge your involvement. Remember that by imposing on you what is, after all, you must admit, a very slight penance, he is moved chiefly by the wish to shield you from a scandal which would bring discredit on the name you bear. Must I remind you that, quite apart from Monsieur Beaufort, there is already one man in prison on your account? When a woman of noble family lives apart from her husband, it is bound to cause comment when in the space of forty-eight hours two men find themselves in prison because of her, one for murder, the other for a scandalous duel with an officer of a foreign country who, as it happens, had that very evening called out the first man. Moreover,' the minister concluded, 'any action on your part which compelled us to take sterner steps would not bring you any closer to your friend. It is a long way from St Lazare, the women's prison, to La Force where Monsieur Beaufort is being held. Surely it is better to be free, even fifty leagues away, for both your sakes? Believe me, Madame, by obeying you will be doing the best for yourself and your friend.'

Defeated, Marianne bowed her head. Napoleon was treating her for the first time as a subject, and a recalcitrant subject at that. She would have to obey and go away, just when she longed with all her heart to remain in Paris, as near as possible to the blackened walls of the old prison behind which Jason must lie stifling for so many weeks. She was to be sent into the country, like a troublesome child who must be given a change of air, when the mere idea of Jason as a prisoner made her ill and took away any wish she might have had to enjoy the fine July sunshine. Jason of the seven seas, of the four horizons, as she called him to herself in the warm, tender pride of her love for him, Jason, whom the mighty albatross and the darting swallow could claim as their brother, Jason pining in a filthy prison cell at the mercy of ignorant turnkeys and unspeakable riff-raff of all kinds. To Marianne, it was like mud thrown at the clear blue sky, like blasphemy in the midst of a prayer, like spitting at a star.