'His grace is expecting Mam'zelle Mallerousse,' he announced, 'but no one else.'

'And what may that mean?' the Corsair exclaimed with quick annoyance.

'That my orders are to admit the young lady, and the young lady alone.'

'Indeed? We shall see!'

Taking Marianne firmly by the arm, Surcouf flung open the double doors guarding Fouché's office.

It was a small room, its simplicity in strong contrast to the importance of its occupant. The only furniture was an enormous desk, cluttered with documents and files, three or four straight backed chairs and a cupboard. Fouché himself was sitting, sipping from a cup of some infusion just handed to him by a servant. Beside him was a crowned bust, representing, or so Marianne assumed, some Roman Emperor. He jumped at Surcouf's entry.

'I wasn't to be let in, it seems, citizen minister,' the Corsair grumbled loudly leading Marianne to one of the unprepossessing chairs. 'Care to tell my why?'

Fouché choked, spilling his scalding tisane over his fingers. It was several moments before he was able to speak. While the servant hastened to mop him down, he pushed the cup irritably from him.

'For the love of heaven, my dear baron, when will you lose this detestable habit of bursting in on people like a tidal wave?'

'When people learn to treat me with courtesy! Why did you see fit to deny me entry?'

'But I have not denied you entry. I was expecting Mademoiselle Mallerousse and I gave orders accordingly. I had no idea you would escort her here. Do I take it you've turned nursery maid?'

'By no means, but when I undertake something, I see it through. I want to know what you are going to do with her. And I shall not go away until I do.'

With that, demonstrating his firm resolve to miss nothing of what was to come, Surcouf sat down on another of the hard chairs, folded his hands on top of his cane and waited. Marianne repressed a smile. The man was irresistible! And, certainly a great comfort. One could follow him to the ends of the earth with absolute confidence. Fouché, however, sighed elaborately.

'Anyone would think I was some kind of ogre! What do you think I'm going to do? Send her back to St Lazare? Shut her up in a convent or send her off as a camp follower with the Guard? Can't you trust me just a little?'

Surcouf said nothing but his expression left his trustfulness in some doubt. Fouché raised one eyebrow, took a pinch of snuff and then continued silkily:

'Have you anything against the Duchess of Otranto? I would remind you that having four children of her own, my wife is a perfectly proper person to have the care of a young woman. For, to cut a long story short, I intend to give our young friend who comes to me with a strong recommendation of an old comrade of my own, into her charge. Are you satisfied?'

Whether he was or not, the Corsair said nothing but Marianne repressed a look of distaste. The idea of living in this house with its police court atmosphere did not appeal to her at all, especially since, apart from Black Fish's recommendation, she could not understand why Fouché should show such interest in her. Perhaps she was being highly honoured and no doubt she should be very grateful but this was not what she had come to Paris for.

'I thought,' she began timidly, 'that I might go to live with my cousin d'Asselnat—'

'And even last week, that might have been possible. Unfortunately, since then, your cousin has brought some trouble on herself. She is no longer in a position to take care of you.'

'What does that mean?'

'That she set out five days ago for Auvergne where she will remain under house arrest. Before that, I may add, she had been for three days a guest of the police in the Madelonettes prison.'

'In prison? My cousin?' Marianne exclaimed, startled that fate should apparently be leading all the last bearers of her name into dungeons. 'But what for?'

'For throwing a letter reflecting upon the conduct of the Emperor's private life into his majesty's carriage. Considering the somewhat violent tenor of this missive, we deemed it best, for her good as much as for our own, that Mademoiselle Adelaide should be sent to recover her temper in the peace of the countryside.'

'Then, I will join her there!' Marianne announced firmly.

'I should not advise it. Do not forget that you are at present, under your real name, an émigrée entering the country illegally and therefore subject to severe penalties. It is best that you should remain Mademoiselle Mallerousse – and so quite unconnected with your cousin. Moreover, her opinions are not such as I would wish you, for your own safety, to share.'

With this, Fouché appeared to consider the subject closed. Turning to Surcouf, who had been awaiting the end of this dialogue with furrowed brow, he gave him his most attractive smile.

'I think, my dear baron,' he purred, 'that you may now make your farewells to our young friend before I present her to the duchess.'

But Surcouf did not budge from his chair.

'So the cousin's in disfavour, very well,' he said distinctly, 'but there is another member of the family. You have not, I think, placed the Empress under arrest?'

'Poor soul!' Fouché's sigh told the extent of his compassion for Josephine. 'I did think of her, but to be honest with you, the reports I am receiving from Malmaison are not encouraging. The poor Empress weeps day and night and will receive no one but her particular friends. She is really in no state to be burdened with anyone else, especially a distant connection she has never seen. I believe we must let a little time elapse. Later, when her majesty is more herself, I shall certainly inform her. Until then, mademoiselle Marianne must be content with our protection—'

Fouché rose, seeming to indicate that the interview was at an end, but continued to forage among the papers on his desk. He soon found the letter he was looking for and, after a glance at its contents, he remarked:

'In any case, my dear baron, I think that your own stay in Paris will not be prolonged. You will be anxious to return to St Malo. I have here a report of a pretty feat carried out by one of your men. Gauthier, captain of the Hirondelle, has been to Guernsey and recovered your brig the Incomparable, captured in November, from under the very noses of the English.'

'Is that true?'

This time, Surcouf was on his feet in an instant, his eyes shining with joy. His face was flushed and the suspicion which could have been read openly on it a moment before had vanished as by a miracle. Marianne thought, a little sadly, that he was looking at the minister as if he were a messenger from heaven, and that she herself was almost forgotten. But, to a sailor, what was the passing attraction he had felt for her compared to what was the very essence of his soul, his ship and his men? Already, he was picking up the hat he had placed on the cupboard.

'I'll take the night mail! Thank you my dear minister. You have given me the best possible news. It remains only for me to bid you farewell—' He turned to Marianne and bowed. 'And you also, mademoiselle,' he said in a soft voice. 'I leave you in good hands and wish you the very best of luck. Do not forget me!'

He was going away, he was leaving Paris, leaving her in this disagreeable place! A little bitterness crept over Marianne. She discovered that she had grown used, astonishingly quickly, to this solid, reassuring and utterly reliable friend. Perhaps because he reminded her of Black Fish. Now, he was going back to his own affairs, leaving her to her fate, and tomorrow, perhaps sooner, he would have forgotten her completely. She realized, instinctively, that this man was a rare beast. There was a scent about him of fresh air, freedom, of joie de vivre, while when she looked at Fouché's pale, narrow face she found herself thinking, she could not have said why, of dimly lit chapels, whispering voices, the reek of incense and secret confidences. Later, learning that Fouché had been destined for the church and educated at the Oratory in Nantes, she would recall this impression and understand it better.

Forcing back the disappointed tears, she held out both hands in a spontaneous gesture to the friend who was leaving her.

'Thank you for everything! And write to me, please.'

He gave her a quick smile and caught her outstretched hands in a grip that almost made her cry out.

'I promise! Only, you must forgive me if I write badly. I am no man of letters but, for your sake, I would do things still more difficult. If you are ever in need of anything, call on me. I will come running.'

Dropping a quick kiss on Marianne's suddenly icy fingers, he picked up his cane and left the room without a backward glance. Fouché's eyes followed him inscrutably. As the door closed behind him, the minister sighed.

'Well, there is pure, disinterested devotion for you. I congratulate you. Surcouf is a big fish and by no means an easy one to unhook. I thought I should never manage to get him away from you. But, now that it is done at last, we can have a serious talk, you and I.'

'Were we not talking seriously before?'

'Yes and no—'

As he spoke, Fouché rang a small bell on his desk. A little, yellow-complexioned, hollow chested man all dressed in black came in, bearing a portfolio under his arm, and murmured something in the minister's ear. This was Maillocheau, his secretary.

'Very well,' Fouché said. 'Take him in the other way. I'll come at once.'

With a courteous apology for the fact that he was obliged to desert his visitor for a few moments, Fouché stepped into an adjoining room, leaving the door sufficiently wide open for Marianne to see something of the room beyond. It was a small room, simply furnished, and at first Marianne gave little attention to it. She had no particular interest in Fouché's sudden visitor, assuming it to be some police matter. A criminal to interrogate, perhaps. Yes, for she heard dragging footsteps and also the clink of chains. The man must be in fetters. Marianne shivered and made an effort to turn her eyes away from the door and look at the window. But Fouché was speaking and what he said soon forced itself on the girl's attention.