'He harmed me, yes, but I think that I did worse to him unwittingly. I want to forget the wrongs that lay between us and remember only what we suffered together and that Jean Le Dru saved my life, and more than that, when I was washed up from the sea into the hands of the wreckers.'

Napoleon was silent. Marianne could see his taut face close to hers. His fingers bruised her wrists until the pain brought tears into her eyes. He was breathing hard and she was conscious of the hot breath on her eyeballs.

'Swear to me,' he rasped into her face, 'swear to me that he has never been your lover…'

The moment she dreaded had come and Marianne almost swooned with the anguish of it. She could not lie and yet she had to lie to him, to the man she loved more than all else. If she refused him the oath he demanded he would banish her without mercy. Within the space of a few minutes she would have left the Trianon, banished like a slave who had ceased to please, for she knew that he would give no quarter. Already he was growing impatient, was shaking her roughly.

'Swear, I tell you! Swear, or get out!'

No, that she could not take. They could not ask her to tear out her own heart. Mentally praying for forgiveness, she closed her eyes and with a little moan—

'I swear,' she said. 'He has never been my lover…'

'That is not enough. Swear by the great love you say you bear me!'

The pain of her wrists made her cry out.

'For pity's sake! You're hurting me!'

'Never mind. I want the truth—'

'I swear, swear there was never anything between us – I swear it by the love I bear you!'

'Take care! If you are lying, our love will not endure…'

'I am not lying!' she cried in terror. 'I love only you… and I have never loved that boy. I feel nothing for him but pity – and a little kindness.'

Only then did the terrible fingers relax their hold.

'Good,' the Emperor merely said. He took a deep breath. 'Remember you have sworn.'

Superstitious, like all Corsicans, he attached an almost fanatical importance to oaths and feared the vengeance of fate on perjury. But the ordeal had been too much for Marianne. Once the cruel hands no longer supported her, she fell to the ground, convulsed with sobs. She was broken by the fright she had endured and also by shame that was already overwhelming her for her perjured oath.

But she had been forced to do it, as much for Napoleon himself as for the wretched Le Dru.

For an instant longer, the Emperor remained motionless, as though petrified, listening perhaps to the chaotic pounding of his own heart as it slowly returned to normal. The hand he brushed across his forehead was trembling slightly. Then, suddenly, he seemed to become aware of the desperate weeping that filled the room. He looked down and saw the girl huddled at his feet in heartbroken tears, and at the pitiful sight the demon jealousy relaxed its grip at last. Kneeling swiftly, he put his arms around her and gently raised the tear-stained face to his and began covering it with kisses.

'Forgive me – I am a brute but I cannot bear the thought of another man touching you. Don't cry now, mio dolce amore – It's all over now. I believe you—'

'T-truly?' she sobbed. 'Oh, you must believe me – or the grief of it would kill me. I couldn't bear it.'

He laughed suddenly, the young, lighthearted laughter that sometimes followed his worst rages.

'I will only let you die of love. Come, we must wipe out all this.'

He helped her to her feet and holding her close against him led her softly to the bed. Marianne went with him, scarcely conscious. But he was right, only love could restore them to what they had been before the arrival of the courier from Madrid. She felt the silk counterpane beneath her shoulders and closed her eyes with a sigh.

Some while later, as Marianne emerged from her happy trance, she saw Napoleon leaning on his elbow gazing earnestly at the great purple bruise that marked one of her wrists. Thinking that she could guess his thoughts, she tried to draw her hand away but he held it fast and laid his lips to the place. She expected some word of regret but all he said was:

'Promise me you will not try to see that boy again.'

'What! Are you still afraid—'

'Not in the least! But I should prefer you not to see him. Love is too strong.'

She smiled a little sadly. What a man he was, and how hard it was to understand him. When he himself was actually on the point of taking a new bride, he could still demand that his mistress break off all connection with another man whose only fault was that he loved her. She might perhaps have said something of this, when another idea came to her. Very well, it should be tit for tat. She would make a bargain with him.

'I promise,' she said sweetly, 'but on one condition—'

He stiffened at once and jerked away from her a fraction.

'A condition? What is it?'

'That you repair the hurt I inflicted without meaning to. Don't let him go back to that dreadful Spain where he will get killed for nothing, for a country he does not know and cannot understand. Send him back to Baron Surcouf. One word from you and he will certainly forgive him and take him back. Then he will have the sea again, and the life he loves, and a man he loves to serve under, and so he will more easily forget me.'

For a moment there was silence. Then Napoleon smiled. He gave Marianne's earlobe a gentle, loving little tug.

'There are times, carissima mia, when you make me feel ashamed, and I tell myself I do not deserve you. Of course I promise. He shall not go back to Spain…'

When Marianne took her seat at the supper table two hours later, she found beside her place a green leather case stamped with the imperial arms. Inside, were two wide bracelets of chased gold set with a pattern of seed pearls but when, the next day, she sought discreetly for news of Jean Le Dru, she learned that he had left the palace at dawn in a closed carriage for an unknown destination.

She experienced a momentary sadness but she was bound by her promise and, when all was said, only one thing mattered to her. The single cloud that had nearly overshadowed these few days of happiness had disappeared, leaving her free to enjoy the last hours of this wonderful gift from heaven in peace. There was so little time.

On the last evening, though she desired above all to leave him an unforgettable memory, it was all Marianne could do to smile. She felt deathly sad. For dinner, the last they would have alone together, she dressed with special care, striving to make herself more beautiful than ever. Her dress of heavy, pale-pink silk moulded every line of her body. Her neck and shoulders rose from the draped and silvered corsage as though from a huge, dew be-spangled flower, and not a single jewel broke the pure line of her throat. The high-piled curls held in place by silver ribbon showed off the graceful poise of her head. But the green eyes under their soft, sepia lashes were bright with unshed tears.

For once, the meal took longer than usual, as though Napoleon too thought to prolong these last private moments. When at last they rose from the table, he took Marianne's hand and kissed it tenderly.

'Will you sing for me tonight? Just for me?'

Her eyes said yes, and leaning on his shoulder, she went with him to the music room. Gently he seated her at the gilded harpsichord but instead of going away and sitting down, he remained standing behind her, his hands gripping her shoulders.

'Sing,' he told her softly.

Marianne could not have said what made her, in that grieving moment, choose the sad song which Marie-Antoinette had once sung, here in this very Trianon, for the handsome Swede with whom she was secretly in love.


'C'est mon ami, rendez-le moi,

J'ai son amour, il a ma foi,

J'ai son amour, il a ma foi.'


Sung by her warm voice, the words of love and regret became charged with such a poignant sadness that on the last note the melody broke and Marianne's head drooped. But the hands on her shoulders became hard and commanding.

'Don't cry,' Napoleon said. 'I forbid you to cry.'

'I – I can't help it. It's stronger than I am.'

'You have no right! I have told you, I must have a wife who will give me children. No matter whether she is pretty or ugly, so long as she can give me fine boys! I will give her that which is due to her rank, but you, you will always be my escape. No! Don't turn around! Don't look at me! I want you to trust me, as I trust you – she shall never have what I have given you and will give you again. You shall be my eyes, my ears – my star.'

Overwhelmed Marianne closed her eyes and sank back against Napoleon. The burning hands on her shoulders came to life, slowly caressing the smooth skin, moving down towards her breasts.

The little room was warm and very private. A deep silence fell, scarcely broken by Marianne's trembling sigh.

'Come,' Napoleon murmured hoarsely. 'We still have one night left.'

Early the next morning, a closed carriage left the Trianon at full gallop bearing Marianne back to Paris. This time she was alone, but to avoid any risk of a repetition of what had occurred on the way back from La Celle St-Cloud, a company of dragoons was to follow at a distance as far as the bariére de Passy.

Never had Marianne's heart felt so heavy. Muffled in the big green velvet cloak she had worn on her arrival, she gazed out absently at the passing wintry landscape. The morning was very cold and grey. It was as though the world had used up all its store of joy. It made no difference that she knew nothing was at an end between Napoleon and herself. It made no difference that he had sworn to her that as the ties between them were now too strong for anything to harm them, not even the marriage of convenience which he was bound to make. Still Marianne could not help thinking that never again would things be as they had been during those few days. For an instant, her love had shone out in the broad light of freedom, now it must return to shadows and secrecy. For however strong the passion which bound her to the Emperor, in future there would always be between them the figure, vague as yet, of the wife who officially would have all and who must not be offended. And Marianne, in an agony of fear and jealousy, could not help trembling at the thought of what might happen if Marie-Louise had only a fraction of the irresistible charm of the unfortunate Marie-Antoinette. Suppose she were to resemble her ravishing aunt, that proud bewitching creature for whom so many men had been prepared to die? Suppose he were to love her? He was so easily won by women's charms.