'Madame, that is excellent news,' Roger said quickly, 'and a truly wise measure. No ruler, however strong, can have too much support and, by granting religious toleration, our General will win the love of countless thousands of, yes . . . why should we not say it . . . his subjects—and yours.'
'No, no,' she chided him. 'You must not say such things. He insists that he is no more than an ordinary citizen charged with the duty of giving expression to the wishes of his fellows. But I had almost forgotten. There is special reason why you must not fail to be in attendance at the Tuileries on Christmas night. There is someone who by then will be in Paris and whom I shall invite: someone who is eagerly seeking news of you. I received the letter only yesterday from M. Ouvrard, who corresponds with a Greek banker named Sarodopulous. This lady is the daughter of one of my girlhood friends, who in the most romantic way has become the favourite wife of the Great Turk.'
For a moment, Roger was struck dumb. It could not possibly be anyone other than Zanthe to whom Josephine referred. Clearly Sarodopulous had made arrangements for her to travel to France, and she had arrived safely. Her only possible reason for undertaking the hazardous journey must be to rejoin and marry him. At the thought Roger felt panic rising in him. Only long practice at concealing his emotions enabled him to prevent Josephine from realizing the shock he had received.
She was going gaily on with an account of Aim£e Dubucq de Rivery's capture by Corsairs and how, by her entrancing beauty, she had captivated the Sultan. Roger listened with a fixed grin, hardly taking in a word she said. As soon as he decently could he turned the conversation, drew two other visitors into it, then bowed himself away and left the apartment.
Back at La Belle £toi!e he went up to his room, flung himself into an elbow chair and gave himself furiously to think. He could still return to the Luxembourg in the morning and ask Bonaparte for leave; but now it was most unlikely that the General would grant it until after Christmas Day. At his first reception as First Consul he would naturally wish to have all his paladins around him, 1 le brave Breuc' among them.
It occurred to Roger that he could cut loose. If he did not put in an appearance next day no one would start a hue-an-cry after him. By taking horse that night he could reach the coast before anyone even started enquiring about him. But he was very loath to do that.
While in Egypt he would have given anything to free himself from the double life he was leading, but since his return to Paris the excitement of being in the vortex of the political cyclone had again got hold of him. He had with pain and grief overcome the two great threats to his career as a secret agent. Talleyrand was now convinced of his loyalty and Fouche had forgone the chance to question his past, in return for a collaboration which would now make it impossible for him to do so and be believed. Added to which Roger enjoyed the friendship and confidence of the new master of France.
If Georgina were still free and willing to become his wife, he would have been happy to leave Mr. Pitt's service and settle down with her. But it was close on two years since he had seen her and, even if she were still free, he doubted if he could persuade her to marry him. Failing that, what did the future hold? A few happy, carefree months in England then, as he so well knew, the itch to be at the centre of great events would get him again. To set. off without explanation would be to become a deserter, and to throw away the extraordinary position he had achieved might later cause him the most bitter regrets.
There was then the personal problem. As Zanthe had risked shipwreck and capture to follow him to France, how could he possibly requite such love and courage by ignoring his obligation to her; still worse, leave her stranded in Paris? As he thought of her, his heart began to glow again with memories of her beauty, the intensity of her passion and the wonderful nights they had spent together.
It was still his inescapable duty to return to England and report to Mr. Pitt as soon as possible. That he must do. But at least he must remain in Paris over Christmas to welcome Zanth£. Then, on some pretext of duty, he would slip away and secretly cross the Channel. Yet not for the long, carefree months to which he had so greatly looked forward. Every decent instinct he had cried aloud that he must get back to France as soon as he could and take Zanthe for his wife.
In this frame of mind, wearing a new and brilliant uniform, he went to the Tuileries on the evening of Christmas Day. It was the first of scores of receptions that Bonaparte and Josephine were to hold there. In due course Kings, Princes, Grand Dukes and Eastern Potentates would be ceremoniously announced and bow before them, but this was just a large, jolly party drawn from every strata of society.
There were a handful of aristocrats who, like Talleyrand, had survived the Revolution and a number of the Members of the Institute who came from well-to-do families; but the majority of the guests had once been poor and were still ill-educated. There were the soldiers, clinking about in their spurred top-boots, as yet innocent of sonorous titles and glittering Orders. They used the language of the camp. Lannes and Augereau were incapable of opening their mouths without using some obscene expression and most of the others were little better. With them they brought their wives, nearly all looking awkward in their hastily assembled finery. They had no idea how to adjust feathers in their hair or make a curtsey in response to the bow of a gentleman. Many of them were ex-prostitutes who talked the argot of the gutter and Lefebvre's wife had, when Bonaparte was a seedy young Lieutenant, been his washerwoman. The remainder of the guests were mostly sharp-featured or florid-faced politicians in ill-fitting cloth suits and their women were no worse, but no better, than those of the soldiers.
Among this motley throng Roger took his place in a queue that was moving slowly up the grand staircase. At the top Josephine and Bonaparte were receiving. Grouped on either side of them were already a score of attendant men and women. Having made his bow Roger, as an aide-de-camp, was about to take his place among them; but Josephine turned her head and signed to one of the women near her to come forward. She was Zanthe, but dressed in European clothes, which accounted for Roger's not at once catching sight of her.
His heart throbbing, he smiled a greeting. To their right, in the great salon, the band had just struck up for the first dance. To cover his confusion Roger bowed to Josephine again, then gave Zanthe his arm and led her into the ballroom. For a few moments they were both tongue-tied, then he said:
' How wonderful it is to see you again.'
'I am glad you feel that,' she murmured. '1 was somewhat doubtful if you would be.'
' That is not surprising, seeing the way I left you.'
'1 learned that you had sailed with General Bonaparte, but I took it hard that you lacked the courage to say goodbye to me or even leave a message.'
' When I rode away that night I had no knowledge of the General's intentions, and it had occurred to him to take me with him only at the last moment. When I got aboard the anchor was already weighed.'
At that moment, Murat called to Roger, 'Come, Breuc! You and the lovely lady you have with you are just what we need to make up a set.'
Roger could hardly refuse, so he led Zanthe out and they took their corner for a minuet. The dance that ensued had little resemblance to those trodden by Marie Antoinette, her ladies and their gallants in the royal palaces of France. Zanthe was not alone in never having before danced such a measure. Fewer than half the dancers knew the figures, but they gaily clumped round, twirled the women about and—shades of Versailles—two of the men committed the impropriety of embracing and kissing their partners when they met at corners.
Almost unconscious of the barn-dance behaviour that was going on round him, Roger bowed and twirled with the others. At the first sight of Zanthe he had been chilled by the realization that the European clohes she was wearing robbed her of much of her glamour; but her face and figure were as lovely as he remembered them and within a few minutes he was again under her spell.
When the dance was over he led her into one of the long, broad corridors that were furnished with
settees for sitting out. As soon as they had settled themselves he decided that this was no case for half-measures. Since he was to marry her, she must not be allowed even to suspect that he had ever had second thoughts about doing so. Taking her hand, he said:
' As I was telling you, Bonaparte gave me no chance to decline to go with him. Otherwise I would have done so and returned to you so that we could be married.'
Her big eyes opened wide in surprise and she stammered, 'But . . . but you said yourself that if you ever got another chance to leave Egypt you would take it, and that nothing would ever induce you to come back.'
' No, surely! ' he protested. '1 have no memory of ever having said anything like that.'
' You did. It was on the occasion when you were nearly stung by a scorpion.'
' Why, yes. I do remember now. But when I spoke of a chance to leave Egypt, I meant one that would have enabled me to take you with me. As things were, my voyage back occupied near two months, and for the past six weeks everything here has been in a state of great uncertainty. Now that Paris has settled down I intended to write to M. Sarodopulous and ask him to arrange for you to travel, with as much safety as he could devise, to France.'
' What! ' she exclaimed, her lip trembling. ' You meant to send for me? '
' Of course. But, brave girl that you are, you took it on yourself to make the voyage. So you have rejoined me three months or more before I could have hoped you would. All we have to do
now is find a priest of the Orthodox Church to marry us.'
Zanthe swayed towards him. For a moment he thought that she was about to faint, but she recovered herself and gasped, ' Marry! But I am already married.'
' What say you! ' Roger exclaimed. 'To ... to whom? '
' Achilles . . . Achilles Sarodopulous,' she stammered. ' Did not Madame Bonaparte tell you? *
He shook his head. Still too astonished to be certain if he was pleased or sorry, he muttered, ' Then you did not come to Paris on my account? '
' No. The relations which were opened by you between M. Sarodopulous and the French Army have proved so profitable that Achilles has been sent here to open a branch of the Sarodopulous bank.'
Roger's work often made it necessary for him to lie, but he was no hypocrite. Realizing now how much having regained his freedom meant to him, he could not bring himself to reproach her; but it would have been unkind to her not to appear distressed, so he asked in a low voice, ' How did this come about? '
For a moment she was silent, then she said, ' From the way in which Achilles was always so eager to please me you surely must have realized that he had fallen in love with me. But he attempted nothing dishonourable against you. When . . . when you had gone, neither of us thought you would ever come back and he did his best to console me. He is a fine man, kind, generous and of the East—so in some ways better suited as a husband for me than you would have been.'
'1 understand,' said Roger gently, ' and, if the fault for our separation lies with anyone, it is with me rather than with you.'
' It was the Will of Allah—blessed be the name of His Prophet. But . . . but there was another reason. I mean why I decided to accept Achilles soon after you had gone, instead of waiting in case some message came from you.'
Roger gave her a quick look of enquiry.
She nodded. ' Yes, I am enceinte. While we were in Acre old Gezubb, who was wise in such things, looked after me. But during that last fortnight at the Sarodopulouses' ... it was then. Your son ... I know it will be a son . . . will be born in May.'
' Does Achilles . . .? ' Roger hesitated.
' No. I hate deceit, but he adores me and has made me truly fond of him. It is much kinder to him that he should believe himself the father and that it is a seven-month child.'
All that had to be said between them had been said. Roger was quick to realize that for them to prolong their talk now must lead to embarrassment for both of them. If they remained there discussing the affair further he could not, in decency, do less than pretend acute distress at having lost her. Then if she loved him still, as he believed she did, she might break down and avow it. Inwardly wincing at his own words, he said:
'1 must try to accept my misfortune with courage. Let us find Achilles, so that I can congratulate him.'
Ten minutes later they came upon the handsome young Greek in the card-room. The game he was about to join had not yet started. On seeing Roger approach he gave him an uneasy smile; but Roger, lightly touching Zanthe's hand, which rested on his left arm, said:
' Since it was fated that this pearl among women was not to become my wife, I could wish for her no better husband than yourself.' They then cordially shook hands and talked for a few minutes about the future. The Sarodopulouses were to take a house in Paris and live there permanently. Roger said that he would shortly be leaving for the south of France, but on his return in the spring would look forward to calling on them. As the game was by then about to start Roger asked Zanthe if she would like to dance again, but she tactfully replied:
' No, I thank you. Achilles says that I always bring him luck, so I will remain here and watch him play.'
Roger took a last look into the magnificent tawny eyes of the woman who had twice saved his life and said she was going to bear him a son. Tears sprang involuntarily to his own. He made her a deep bow, then quickly turned away.
Half an hour later he came upon Talleyrand. Limping gracefully along on his malacca cane, the statesman looked like a peacock that had by mistake got into a hen-yard. From his powdered hair to the diamond buckles on his shoes, not an item of his apparel would have been different had time moved back ten years and this been a gala night at the Court of Queen Marie Antoinette.
Roger had not seen him since, two days before, Bonaparte had reappointed him Foreign Minister. As they bowed to one another Roger congratulated him with the greatest heartiness.
Talleyrand took snuff, smiled and said, 'Thank you, dear friend. But with the good Reinhard sitting in the chair, I have never really ceased to be Foreign Minister. Unfortunately, those miserable little people at the Luxembourg were too stupid to take the advice I sent them through him; but now things will be better.'
Pausing, he surveyed the crowd through his quizzing-glass, sniffed at his perfumed lace handkerchief and went on, ' Are they not terrible? Many of them smell! What sacrifices people like you and me make for France by hob-nobbing with them. Take me away from them, Breuc. Take me away.'
Roger laughed. 'But where? We are expected to remain here for at least another three hours.'
' Yes, yes. We will not leave the building, but will go to the west wing. Our little man has provided a room for me there. The idea is that I should occupy it at especially busy times, and thus produce my rabbits for him more swiftly than if I had to go back and forth to my Ministry.'
As they strolled slowly down one of the long corridors, he continued, ' No doubt he thinks that I shall labour there day and night. In that he is much mistaken. I am no Bourrienne. How I pity that good fellow. He cannot have had time for a decent meal or a pretty woman in months. I have never liked work; and to do too much of it is folly, because it exhausts one. Do you know, I never draft despatches myself. I tell others what I want said and, at most, scribble a few notes for them. The most important maxim to observe, if one wishes for a happy life, is " Never do anything yourself that you can get someone else to do for you."'
By this time they had reached the end of the corridor. There, they entered a lofty room that looked out on the Tuileries garden. Taking a key from the fob pocket of his satin breeches Talleyrand unlocked a cabinet, took a paper from one of the pigeonholes and handing it to Roger, said:
'The first fruits of my new Ministry, dear friend. I should be glad to have your opinion upon it.'
Roger spread out the paper; translated, it read:
Paris, le 5 Nivose, an VIII
FRENCH REPUBLIC
sovereignty of the people-liberty—equality
Bona
parte, First Consul of the Republic, to His Majesty the King of Great Britain and Ireland
Called by the wishes of the French nation to occupy the First Magistracy of the Republic, I have thought proper, in commencing the discharge of the duties of this office, to communicate the event directly to Your Majesty.
Must the war which for eight years has ravaged the four quarters of the world be eternal? Is there no room for accommodation? How can the two most enlightened nations in Europe, stronger and more powerful than is necessary for their safety and independence, sacrifice commercial advantages, internal prosperity and domestic happiness to vain ideas of grandeur? Whence is it that they do not feel peace to be the first of wants as well as the first of glories?
These sentiments cannot be new to the heart of Your Majesty, who rules over a free nation with no other view than to render it happy.
Your Majesty will see in this overture only my sincere desire to contribute effectually, for the second time, to a general pacification by a prompt step taken in confidence and free from those forms which, however necessary to disguise the apprehensions of feeble States, only discover in those that are powerful a mutual wish to deceive.
France and England may, by the abuse of their strength, long defer the period of its utter exhaustion, unhappily for all nations. But I will venture to say that the fate of all the civilized nations is concerned in the termination of a war the flames of which are raging throughout the whole world.
I have the honour to be, etc.,
(Signed) Bonaparte.
Tears had sprung to Roger's eyes three-quarters of an hour earlier when he had left Zanthe in the card-room. As he finished
reading the document they again welled up, then flowed over.
' But this is Peace! ' he cried. ' Peace! Blessed Peace! '
Talleyrand for once betrayed emotion. He put both arms about Roger's shoulders and embraced him as he said, with a catch in his deep voice, ' Yes; the Peace for which we have striven for so long. At last we triumph.'
'1 . . . I have done nothing,' Roger murmured.
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