'No, thank you. And I should prefer not to be disturbed.'

'As you wish, madame.'

With a lordly gesture he beckoned to the woman who sat by the bed and went out with her, closing the door behind him. Marianne was left alone with the wounded man. A deep silence reigned in the room and she hesitated a trifle nervously before going forward.

The curtains, patterned with exotic flowers, had been drawn against the early dark outside and the room was unlighted except for the glow of the fire in the hearth and the nightlight burning on a table by the bed.

The bed was placed in such a way that its occupant was unable to see the door and Marianne moved forward softly in case he should be asleep. It would scarcely be wondered at if he were after his long ride, and with his wound and the sedatives which the doctor must have given him. But then she heard a very human sound: someone sniffing hard, like a person who had been crying.

Without more hesitation, Marianne stepped up to the bed and into the pool of light thrown by the nightlight. Once there she saw that the man who had once sailed with Surcouf and was now a soldier of Napoleon was indeed crying like a baby.

At the sight of Marianne, however, Jean Le Dru stopped short and stared at her, without surprise this time but with sudden anger.

'What do you want?' he asked abruptly.

'To know how you feel – and also, perhaps, a little how we stand, you and I. Don't you think it might be time you confessed at last that you were wrong about me? And that we were both serving the same cause, you knowingly, I without yet being aware of it?'

She spoke with great gentleness, firstly because she was dealing with an injured and exhausted man, and secondly because she genuinely wished to make an end of the tragic misunderstanding which had developed between them as a result of the mischievous words of Morvan's vindictive mistress, Gwen. But the boy was determined to regard her as an enemy and no amount of sweetness in her voice could have any effect on him. He gave a short, bitter laugh.

'The same cause? When we know where you came from?'

Marianne shrugged, hugging the big, soft shawl more closely round her.

'When will you make up your mind to understand? Or are you really too stupid to accept the truth? When we met, I was escaping from the English police and you from the hulks. We were equal then. I had nothing left but my life and I did my best to keep that.'

'You seem to me to have succeeded admirably. When I asked just now who was the woman in the green dress I saw with the Emperor, no one could tell me your name but they said you were his latest love and that you were living here in this palace with him – and if I wept just now, it was for rage and helplessness because I was powerless to save him from you!'

Marianne had heard that Bretons were accounted unusually obstinate but she would never have believed they could be so to this extent. She sighed resignedly and sat down on the bottom of the bed.

'Suppose we have a little talk – if you are not too feverish.'

'I have not yet lost my reason.'

'Then try to use it. Let us take matters up from where we left off. When you denounced me and had me thrown into prison you were convinced, if I remember rightly, that I was an English spy sent here especially to bring about the downfall of the corsair, Robert Surcouf. Is that correct?'

'Correct,' Le Dru admitted unwillingly.

'I was therefore thrown into prison, only to be released through the intervention of that very Surcouf who did not seem to appreciate your part in the affair.'

'He sent me away,' the Breton said sourly. 'Sent me packing just like a felon, me, one of his best seamen who loved him more than anything in the world, except the Emperor, of course.'

'And I realize that is something you find hard to forgive me for. But afterwards, I had every chance to do what I liked with Surcouf. With you out of the way, I could carry out my supposed purpose at leisure?'

'Yes.'

'Are you trying to tell me that anything untoward has happened to the man you admire so much? I have not seen the baron since but I do know that he is at present at St Malo and threatened by no worse dangers than those he ordinarily runs at sea. So what do you think happened? Did I betray my masters and abandon my mission? Or will you finally admit that I was never a spy except in your own imagination?'

'The fact that you are here with the Emperor is the best answer to that. Beside him, even Surcouf is a poor prize! You'd be a fool to stick to the first when you could have the second!'

Marianne exclaimed angrily. She had a sudden, strong desire to slap the stubborn face which looked at her with such implacable sternness from the shadow of the bed curtains, but she controlled herself with an effort and managed to ask in a tone of the utmost detachment:

'And what, according to you, am I supposed to be doing with him? Am I to persuade him to abandon his empire and his subjects and go with me to England to live in perfect love so that, no doubt, I can hand him over duly bound and gagged to the British government? Or do you expect me to open the palace gates one dark night and let in a band of secret conspirators? Unless, of course I am hiding a dagger under my clothes—'

Sarcasm was, to all appearances, lost on Jean Le Dru. He was a Breton, solemn, obstinate and utterly without imagination. He answered roughly:

'I don't know. But I daresay you are quite capable of any of those.'

'Simply because I failed to return the sentiments you were pleased to feel for me,' Marianne finished for him calmly. 'It has not occurred to you that I too could love the Emperor as much or even more than you do, that I could be his in soul as much as in body?'

Jean Le Dru said nothing but his eyes closed for a second and Marianne could have sworn that a fresh tear slid furtively from beneath his lid.

'And yet, suppose it were so?' she persisted gently. 'Don't you think, you who serve him with such blind devotion, that he has charm and glory enough to make a woman mad about him? For that is what I am. Believe me or believe me not, Jean Le Dru, but I love Napoleon as no one, except perhaps the Empress Josephine, has ever loved him. And, let me tell you, you are wrong once again if you think me at the peak of happiness. There is a poison in my joy. My days here can have no future to them because the future belongs to the one who comes here to marry him, the Austrian stranger who will take from me – and from you too, perhaps, a little of his heart! And you can never know how wretched I am!'

Le Dru spoke slowly, as though speech were infinitely painful to him.

'You love him – so much?' Then he added, as if to himself: 'Of course! How could it be otherwise! Even if you were the lowest of the low, you could not help it! I know he casts his spell on women almost as readily as he dominates men. No woman has been able to betray him yet and why should you be the first? No one can help but love him…'

'And yet, I know those who hate him, though it is true that they are men…' She was silent for a moment, allowing the Breton to think his own thoughts. She knew, all her quick woman's intuition told her, that she was gaining ground and that his doubts were gradually lessening. After a few seconds, she stretched out her hand and laid it on the boy's hot, feverish one.

'Since we both love and serve the same master, can we truly not be friends, Jean Le Dru?'

'Friends? You and I?' he said slowly, as though striving to weigh the words he uttered. Then, with sudden anger: 'No! It cannot be!'

'Why not?'

'Because—' A pause, followed by an explosion. 'Because you are you. And because there has been that between us which I cannot forget! And yet, God knows I have done my best! When I entered the army, I knew it was for Spain but I was glad to go because it was a long way off and perhaps I might not think of you when I was there. But you would not let me go, not for all the distance I travelled, not for the battles, the sun and the snow, the blood and all the horrors that I saw! You can have no idea what it is like, those frozen sierras where nothing seems to live, where one is cold and hungry and yet where death is hidden behind every rock, in every hollow – and such a death!'

Jean had forgotten Marianne. His eyes were wide open as if on a present terror. Marianne held her breath and when she spoke it was very gently, so as not to break in too suddenly on the tragic scenes she sensed were in his vision.

'Was it – so very dreadful?'

'Worse than that. The men there are savages! And worse than savages. I have seen savages in my seafaring days and none of them had faces so twisted with hatred and hideous cruelty. But these – these olive-skinned devils can make our poor fellows suffer endless tortures before they let them die. They are worse than animals! Woe betide any isolated detachments or any stragglers! They'll soon be carried off into some barn or other lonely spot by a band of leering demons, as often as not led by a priest waving a crucifix, and tortured cruelly. They even mutilate the wounded and not even dead men can be left in peace without their corpses being treated to fearful indignities. We found them all along the road, some half burned, others with their limbs lopped off, yet others nailed to trees or hung up by their feet, their eyes and nails torn out…'

Marianne shrank with horror and put her hands before her eyes.

'For pity's sake – no more!' she cried. 'Don't say such things!'

He started at her cry and turned to look at her in vast surprise.