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 Zanthé 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. ‘I was somewhat doubtful if you would be.’
‘That is not surprising, seeing the way I left you.’
‘I 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 Zanthé 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. Zanthé 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 Zanthé he had been chilled by the realisation that the European clothes 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. ‘I 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.’
Zanthé 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. Realising 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 realised 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.’
‘I 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 realise 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:
‘I must try to accept my misfortune with courage. Let us find Achilles, so that I can congratulate him.’
Then 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 Zanthé’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 Zanthé 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 tills 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 fri
end. 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 Nivôse, an VIII
FRENCH REPUBLIC
SOVEREIGNTY OF THE PEOPLE—
LIBERTY—EQUALITY
Bonaparte, 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 civilised 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 Zanthé 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.’
‘I … I have done nothing,’Roger murmured.
‘Nay, you have done much. I know you for an Englishman by birth, but you have ever put your trust in me and aided me whenever possible, Besides, was it not you who pushed Bonaparte out on to the balcony of St. Cloud? But for that neither he nor we would be here tonight. Tomorrow morning come to my Ministry. I will then give you this, and all the papers necessary for your journey to London.’
‘To London!’ Roger exclaimed.
‘Why, yes,’ Talleyrand smiled. ‘Who could be more suitable than yourself to carry this message of goodwill to England? When I suggested it to our little man, he at once agreed. You will travel in a frigate flying a flag of truce, as our Envoy Extraordinary to the Court of St. James.’
Roger could hardly believe that he was not dreaming. He had taken the Great Risk and had again proved right in doing so. But that he was to be the bearer of this wonderful news was a triumph beyond anything for which he had ever hoped.
He stammered his thanks and they continued talking for a further ten minutes, then Talleyrand said he thought the time had come when they ought to show themselves again.
As they were about to re-enter the ballroom, they approached a tall, handsome, fair-haired man, standing alone near the wall. In a low voice Talleyrand said to Roger. ‘That is the Baron von Haugwitz, the new Prussian Ambassador. He has just ben transferred from London and presented his credentials only this morning. From a talk with him you might gather useful information of recent developments in the English capital.’
Talleyrand made the introduction, bowed and moved away. Roger opened the conversation by saying that he knew London well and hoped that while His Excellency had been en poste there he had found life pleasant.
The Baron, who found himself very much a fish out of water in this strange new French society, was delighted to talk about the three years he had spent in England. For a while they talked of the Government and British foreign policy, then of Vauxhall Gardens, Cremorne and the social whirl of London. Roger then asked a question that he had had in mind for several minutes.
‘Did Your Excellency perchance make the acquaintance of the Countess of St. Ermins?’
‘Why, yes,’ replied the Baron. ‘A most lovely lady and one with an enchanting wit. She moves much in political and diplomatic circles, and at her house in Berkeley Square I met many interesting people.’
Roger gave an inaudible sigh of relief. Georgina had not then remarried, otherwise the Baron either would not have known her by her old title, or would have told him of her marriage.
But the Prussian’s face became grave as he went on, ‘Alas, when I left London, all Lady St. Ermins’s friends were greatly concerned for her. She has two children. They caught scarlet fever and she contracted it from them. In children, the disease is not as a rule dangerous. But in an adult it can be fatal. It was feared that Her Ladyship might die of it.’
• • • • •
The following afternoon Roger was driving towards Calais with all the speed that six good horses could give a well-sprung coach. With him were a middle-aged Foreign Office official named Broussalt, whom Talleyrand had nominated to advise Roger on protocol, a secretary and a valet, also provided by Talleyrand.
As the coach bounded along the rutty roads, Roger could think of only one thing. Beautiful Zanthé had gone from his mind like yesterday’s ten thousand years. Even the fact that he carried Peace in his pocket and had achieved the greatest triumph of his career meant nothing to him now. His beloved Georgina, the one woman in the world who really mattered to him, had been stricken by a fell disease and lay in danger of her life. She might even by now be dead.
At that terrible thought he groaned aloud. Broussalt anxiously enquired what ailed him. He brusquely replied that it was the bumping of the coach but, when the others pleaded with him to order the postilion to reduce the pace, he would not hear of it.
/> By using his powers unscrupulously to deprive other travellers of their relays, by threatening laggard Postmasters with the loss of their positions, by bribes, courses and twice using across men’s shoulders the riding switch he carried, he kept the coach hurtling through the night, so that his companions, now hungry because he refused to stop for meals, thought that they had been saddled with a madman.
He performed the seemingly impossible at that time, and reached Calais in twenty hours. Driving straight to the Port Authority, he presented his credentials and demanded the immediate use of the fastest vessel in the harbour. In vain Broussalt remonstrated with him that it was beneath the dignity of an Envoy Extraordinary to sail in anything less than a twenty-gun frigate. Neither of the frigates in Calais Roads could be made ready to sail before night; but a Revenue cutter was about to drop down to Boulogne, so he commandeered it and went aboard.
Since Britain and France were at war, the French Embassy in London was closed and empty. Therefore, the proper procedure would have been for the vessel carrying him to sail up the Thames and anchor in the Pool below the Tower, so that she could be used as a temporary Embassy. But Roger knew well that, if the wind were unfavourable, a day or more could be lost while tacking up the twisting bends of the river; so he ordered the Captain of the cutter to land him at Dover.
Fortunately the weather was mild, so the crossing was smooth and took less than three hours. Five miles out from the English coast they were challenged by a frigate; but they ran up the white flag with the Tricolour, and the frigate escorted them into Dover harbour.
There, Roger told Broussalt that it was his intention to go to London by road. He then ordered him to remain in the cutter and arrange for it to be escorted round to the Pool, where it was to a wait his pleasure.
The unhappy official threw his hands in the air and turned up his eyes to heaven. It was, he declared, unheard of for an Envoy Extraordinary to arrive unaccompanied at a foreign capital. The loss of prestige! What would the English think of them? He might have argued with a stone statue for all the satisfaction he got. Roger told him that the First Consul did not have a red carpet put down before giving battle and that he, Roger, needed no frills to aid him in conducting the mission upon which he had been sent.
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