Жюльетта Бенцони - Marianne

'But, when shall I see you again—'

'Soon, I promise you.'

'You don't even know—'

'What? Who you are? Or where you live? It does not matter. Duroc found you. He will find you again. Goodbye mio dolce amore. Don't catch cold, because of your voice – I love you.'

He got up and went quickly to the door and opened it. Marianne called after him.

'Charles!'

'Yes?'

'Take care of yourself, please—'

He only smiled at her, blew her a kiss and then he was gone. And not until then did it occur to Marianne that she did not know the first thing about him.

She waited, listening for the sound of carriage wheels, then after they had disappeared into the night, she sighed deeply. Now, she was truly alone.

She fought her way out of the cocoon of sheets into which he had bundled her and got up. She was no longer sleepy and felt no desire to remain longer in the house which, now that Charles had gone, seemed unfamiliar, almost hostile. The pink dress lay like a crumpled dawn cloud on the carpet. Marianne picked it up and hugged it to her with a surge of gratitude. She could never forget now, that it was in this dress he had loved her.

She saw her reflection in the tall mirror and could not repress a start of surprise. She saw herself from head to foot, but did not recognize what she saw. That woman with the dark-ringed eyes, the mouth still swollen from kisses, the provocative limbs, was that herself? She ran her hand slowly, experimentally over the thighs which Charles had caressed, realizing in some obscure fashion that the still innocent girl she had been when she came there was gone forever. She was a woman now, she thought with a sense of triumph, a woman in full possession of her powers and the thought made her glad because the change had come about through him and for him.

A light scratching at the door cut short her meditations and sent her scuttling for the reassuring shelter of the bedclothes.

'Come in,' she said.

Duroc's head appeared round a crack in the door.

'Forgive me for disturbing you but I wish for your instructions. Until what hour would you care to sleep?'

'I am not sleepy any more,' Marianne assured him. 'In fact, I should be happy to return to Paris at once.'

'But – it is still the middle of the night. And very cold!'

'I do not mind that. And it is best I should return. I do not know what his highness will think at my coming home so late. He will never believe I have been singing all this time—'

'Indeed no, but—' Duroc added with a quiet smile, 'I think that Monsieur de Talleyrand was prepared for you to return late, even very late. I will order something warming for you and have the horses put to.'

As she sat in the brougham that was ferrying her back to Paris, Marianne was still wondering why Talleyrand should have been so certain she would come home very late. Had he thought that Charles would ask her to sing for much longer than he had done? Or – or had the cunning mind of the Limping Devil foreseen what would happen? Had he foreseen how deeply his friend would be drawn to her and how completely Marianne on her side would be won by him? Had he known that they would fall in love? Had he, in introducing her to Charles Denis, meant to give him simply the pleasure of her voice, or Marianne herself? With such a man, anything was possible, but as the horses carried her onwards at a steady pace she sent a warm, grateful thought out to the wily diplomat. She owed him the most beautiful night of her life, her first real love, because now, with the passing of time and the events which had taken place between, Marianne was able to see her brief infatuation for Francis Cranmere in its true light, a romantic schoolgirl illusion, the normal attraction of a very young girl for any good-looking man. She would never forget that it was Talleyrand who, deliberately or not, had thrown her into Charles's arms.

But now, she was in a hurry to be back. She would question the prince, even if it meant being disrespectful. He must tell her everything he knew about Charles Denis. In her new-found love, Marianne identified herself completely with the man she loved. She wanted to live his life, even or especially if that life was dangerous. All this, Talleyrand must tell her or else she would apply to Dorothée who was surely bound to have heard at least something about the strange Monsieur Denis.

It was freezing hard now and the carriage windows were thickly frosted over but wrapped in her coat and plenty of rugs tucked carefully round her by kind Monsieur Duroc, and a footwarmer under her toes, Marianne felt wonderfully happy and comfortable. Duroc had begged her pardon for being unable to escort her himself and deluged the coachman with instructions, not to go too fast, take care the horses did not slip, make quite certain the young lady reached home safely, and a host of other things. Consequently, the man was driving with great caution, due probably to the steepness of the slope they were descending.

Somewhere over the fields, a church clock struck five. It was answered from close by by the sound of bells ringing for masses. There must be a convent somewhere near. After a few minutes driving on level ground, the carriage slowed down and stopped. Marianne leaned forward in surprise, and rubbing a clear patch on the glass, she saw a broad band of water a little way off. They had come to the river Seine. Suddenly, the door opened and the coachman looked in.

'You will have to get out here, Madame,' he said. 'We have to take the ferry.'

'The ferry? What ferry? We took no ferry when I came?'

'Because you came by the bridge of St Cloud. But they've been rebuilding it for two years now and when it freezes as hard as this it is not safe. Better to take the ferry. This is Suresnes.'

Looking beyond the coachman's swaddled figure, Marianne could see a big barge with a lighted lantern on it waiting a little way off. But it looked quite empty and the air which came in through the open door was so bitterly cold that she shivered and huddled deeper in her rugs.

'It is much too early,' she said irritably. 'No one will take us across at this hour. Let us go back and take the bridge.'

'Not worth it, Madame. The ferry man will take us, I promise you. It's early yet but he's already got people waiting on the other side. Folk come every morning to hear mass with the trappists of Mont-Valérien. So if you'll be so good as to get out. It's best the carriage should be as light as possible to go on board.'

'Very well, if I must,' Marianne sighed, putting aside her rugs regretfully. She gathered up her skirts and taking the hand the coachman offered with an injunction 'to take care and not slip' she jumped lightly to the ground.

At the same instant, a black cloth was flung over her head.

Marianne screamed but a hand was clapped roughly over her mouth outside the cloth and she quickly realized that all resistance would be useless. Terrified and half-suffocated, she felt arms round her knees and shoulders as she was lifted off the ground. A slight rolling movement told her that her kidnappers had boarded the ferry. A masterful voice spoke.

'Make it a little quicker, if you please. It's damnably cold. The horses will be freezing on the other bank.'

There was another sound, as of a bag of money being thrown, followed by muffled, obsequious thanks and she guessed that the coachman had been paid. Certainly the coach did not come aboard. There was a noise of metal shod wheels on the pebbled shore, a noise which soon faded and disappeared. Then there was nothing but the slap of water against the side of the boat.

Marianne was flung down on the bare planks of the deck but a strong arm still held her firmly pressed against an unknown chest. Marianne fought desperately against imminent suffocation and driving panic. Who were these men, and what did they want with her Were they merely carrying her over to the other side or – she felt sick at the thought of the black water she had glimpsed briefly. She wriggled, trying to loosen the choking folds of cloth but the arm only clutched her more tightly.

'Lie still, little fool,' ordered the same commanding voice. 'Or I'll throw you in the water—'

The fact that he should threaten her with it meant that he did not mean to do away with her at once. Ever so slightly reassured, Marianne tried to fight down the feeling of suffocation but she failed. The material, a cloak it might be, was too thick to let even a breath of air reach her lips. She was being slowly suffocated.

'I can't breathe,' she managed to gasp. 'For pity's sake—'

'Take off the cloak,' a fresh voice advised. 'In any case, we are here—'

The thud of the barge striking the banks came just as the cloak was loosened round her head. It was only just in time. Half-fainting, Marianne gulped instinctively at the icy air while a heavily gloved hand slapped her sharply to revive her.

'She's fainted,' said the man with the harsh voice critically.

'A faint may be worse than it looks,' the other answered.

Both voices sounded cultivated. They certainly did not belong to ordinary highway robbers Marianne thought, her mind still working automatically. She opened her eyes and saw two men in black masks bending over her. They wore round hats and voluminous riding cloaks. They were now on the other side of the river and just underneath the trees of the Boulogne, which at this point came close down to the bank, she could see two other horsemen waiting beside a carriage she recognized all too readily.