The Sultan's Daughter

The whole field of battle lay spread before them. Full daylight had come and the sun glinted on the domes and minarets of the great fortress city. Parts of it were wreathed in smoke which was stabbed every moment by the flash of cannon. The still-standing towers stood out sharply against the blue sky and the whole was framed by the background of the bay, where lay the British frigates and gunboats. They too were partially obscured by smoke and rows of little white puffs kept on bursting from them as they fired broadside after broadside at the attackers. In three places where breaches had been made in the walls solid columns of infantry were carrying out assaults. Dotted about the plain were batteries of guns and dozens of other regiments, awaiting orders to enter the battle. The French Army numbered close on ten thousand men and was supported by several thousand auxiliaries: Copts, Druses, Armenians and other Christian warriors whom Bonaparte had enlisted in his war against the Turks. Even at that distance the roar of the guns and the constant discharge of thousands of firearms came to them like the rolling of thunder. To witness such a vast assembly—white, brown and black—which, including the garrison and the British ships' crews, amounted to some fifty thousand men engaged in conflict, was an unforgettable spectacle.

Roger's gaze was still roving over the amazing panorama when Zanthe touched his arm. An officer was calling to them and Bonaparte was beckoning. Side by side, they walked quickly forward. When they arrived within ten feet of him Roger stood stiffly to attention and lowered the standard until its crescent top touched the ground.

' Mon brave, I thank you,' Bonaparte said loudly. ^' Where did you capture this standard and when? '

^' Near the north-east tower, mon General, shortly before dawn this morning,' replied Roger promptly.

Bonaparte gave him a closer look and said, ^'1 know your face. Where have I spoken with you before? '

Roger gave a sudden laugh. ^' Mon General, you should know it. I am your Colonel Breuc.'

The Corsican's big, dark eyes widened and he exclaimed, ^' Breuc! By all that's wonderful! Where in thunder have you sprung from? '

^' For the past seven weeks I have been a prisoner in Acre; but last night, with the aid of my companion, I succeeded in escaping.'

^' Bonaparte's glance turned to Zanthe's dirt-smeared face above the far-too-large uniform coat, the shoulders of which sagged halfway to her elbows, and he frowned. ^' If you were issued with that garment I'll crime your Quartermaster-Sergeant. No soldier could be expected to fight his best in so cumbersome a uniform.'

^' We took our uniforms off the dead,' Roger answered for her, ^' and my companion is not a soldier of your Army. You will recall the reason for your sending me away from Cairo. Allow me to present the lady in the case—the widow of the Commander of the Turkish garrison.

^' Breuc, your audacity astounds me! To have captured both her and a Turkish standard you must be the Devil in person. But does this mean that instead of obeying my instructions you followed her to Acre? '

^' No, mon General, far from it. But, alas, I never reached France. I was taken first by Barbary Corsairs, escaped, was recaptured by the English and brought to Acre as a prisoner by Sir Sidney Smith. I am, though, happy to report that I succeeded in preventing that with which you entrusted me from falling into the hands of the enemy.' ^' God be praised for that! '

^'1 was about to add,' Roger went on, ^' that this lady is not my captive. She left Acre of her free will, and has done me the honour to promise to become my wife.'

Turning back to Zanthe, Bonaparte smiled.^' Then I congratulate you. For your husband you will have one of the bravest and most resourceful officers in my Army. What is your name, madame? ' She went down on one knee. ^' May it please you, Monsieur le General, I am called Zanthe. Although I am a stranger to you, it is possible that you have heard of my mother. She was a Mademoiselle Dubucq de Rivery. She later became the Sultana of Son Majeste Imperial le Sultan Abd-ul-Hamid.⁹

Again Bonaparte's eyes opened wide. He had not yet become used to Princesses kneeling to him. Stepping swiftly forward, he took both her hands and raised her to her feet exclaiming, ^'1 have indeed heard of Your Highness's mother! When young, in Martinique, Her Majesty and my wife were cousins and close friends.' Then, with his invariable courtesy towards women, he added, ^'1 am honoured to have Your Highness as a guest in my camp. We are but rough soldiers, and at the moment very badly found. But you shall lack for nothing with which it is possible for us to provide you.' Turning back to Roger, he said with a smile: ^' A moment ago I erred. It is not Madame I should have congratulated but you, mon brave Breuc. And to have you back rejoices me. You are, of course, reinstated as one of my aides-decamp and in my next Order to the Army I shall make mention of your return with this standard. It is the seventeenth that we have captured from the Turks.

As Roger thanked him, he spoke to his step-son, who was standing just behind him, then lifted his telescope to make another survey of the battle.

Young Eugene de Beauharnais bowed to Zanthe, shook Roger warmly by the hand and led them round the side of the marquee. On the slope behind it thirty or forty tents had been erected. Showing Zanthe into one, he said he would send a servant with water for her to wash and a light meal, and suggested that she should then get some sleep while he sent to Main Headquarters for some more suitable clothes for her. Roger he took to a larger tent, shared by the aides-de-camp, and told a servant to look after him.

With water from a canvas bucket, Roger washed the blood from his face and hands then ate a little fruit, washed it down with two glasses of wine, stripped off his outer clothes and lay down on the camp cot. Although it was barely twelve hours since Zanthe had come weeping to his room with the news that Djezzar meant to force her to marry him, that now seemed days away and he was desperately tired. Her plight had prevented him taking her aboard a British ship and so securing his longed-for passage home. But he knew that they had both been incredibly lucky to have come through the night unscathed, and Bonaparte's reception of them could not have been kinder.

His thoughts turned to the future and he recalled the heartiness of Bonaparte's congratulations on his having become affianced to an Imperial Princess. When suggesting that he should present her as his fiancee he had intended no more than the adoption of a measure which would ensure that no other man attempted to force his attentions on her; but her reply had implied that she had expected nothing less of him. He realized that, now she had cut herself off entirely from her own people, he was responsible for her. Previously the idea of marrying her had never entered his head, but now he had to consider doing so. And why should he not? She was utterly devoted to him, intelligent, charming, passionate and one of the most beautiful girls he had ever seen. Still musing over this thought, he fell asleep.

It was evening when he awoke, and shortly afterwards Eugene entered the tent. He brought with him the uniform of an officer of Chasseurs, who had been about Roger's build and had died of wounds a few hours earlier, and one of the scarfs, that distinguished aides-de-camp, for Roger to wear round his arm. He said that the man he had sent to Main Headquarters had rummaged through several chests there which contained loot from Jaffa and had found in them a number of rich, silk garments, jewelled girdles and sandals. These he had sent to Her Highness's tent; he had also raked up some spare shirts, a razor and other kit for Roger. Roger thanked him and asked the result of the day's battle.

Eugene shook his head and replied, ^' Since dawn there has been most desperate fighting and rumour has it that we have lost several of our best men. But the fighting continues and for the first time our troops have managed to force their way into the streets of Acre. My step-father is throwing everything in. His hope is to overcome all resistance before the reinforcements brought by the Turkish Fleet can be landed. But whether he will succeed in that still lies in the lap of the gods. You are to sup with him and he will probably give his views then on our prospects.'

When Roger had put on the uniform of the dead officer of Chasseurs he went along to Zanth£'s tent. He found her again dressed as a woman and the silk garments that had been brought to her did not, owing to their flowing nature, appear unsuitable. There was a young Arab woman with her, who had been brought from a nearby village to be her servant. When he had kissed her she asked him if he could come to her that night, but he shook his head:

'Alas no, my dearest. For the time being we must be most circumspect. Bonaparte has displayed a high regard for you. I could not spend the nights here undetected and discovery would lead to a scandal that would destroy your prestige in his eyes. We dare not risk that. I will seek your sweet company whenever possible, but until conditions are more favourable we must restrain as best we may our impatience to enjoy love's revels.'

After spending some time with her, talking over the excitements of the past night, he went to the marquee. There he was surrounded by a dozen of his old friends, all of whom slapped him on the back, congratulated him on his escape and wanted to hear what had happened to him. However, after the friendly welcome he soon realized that the general atmosphere was one of gloom and learned the reason. Generals Rambout and Langier had both been killed that day, Lannes had been so terribly wounded that his life was despaired of and Duroc had just been carried in with a wound in the thigh.

At supper Bonaparte placed Roger on his right and asked him for an account of his doings. Roger gave a fictitious description of his capture by Corsairs, his weeks of slavery in Tripoli, as a prisoner in a British ship and, more recently, in Acre. Contrary to custom, Bonaparte listened without interrupting and made only one comment, ' I see you have had your hair cut.'

During the past seven weeks Roger's hair had grown a good inch. It now stood up stiffly all over his head and, where before his previous ordeals had caused it to become prematurely grey only at the temples, the new hair was mainly white as a result of the terror he had experienced during his first day and night in Djezzar's palace. But he did not mind that, as older men still used powder on their hair in England. With a laugh, he replied: ^' It was cut for me, but I do not resent that: it is much more sanitary.'

^' You are right,' Bonaparte nodded, then added with a frown, ^' You have no doubt been told that there is a serious outbreak of plague inflicting the Army? '

^'1 had, mon General, and was greatly distressed to hear it.' ^' It has already robbed me of six hundred men,' Bonaparte went on gloomily, ^' and as we have no hope of receiving reinforcements I can ill afford them.'

After the meal Bonaparte said nothing of the battle. Obviously much upset by the day's losses, and particularly about Lannes and Duroc having been wounded, he said that he was going to bed. But before leaving the mess for his sleeping quarters he drew Roger aside and asked in a low voice:

^' My letters. What did you do with them? ' Producing the part of the hem of his travelling coat that he had cut off, Roger replied, ^' They are still stitched up in this, mon General. I was loath to destroy them as long as there was any hope of my getting through to France, but the Fates were against me.'

Bonaparte nodded and pulled his ear. ^' You have nothing with which to reproach yourself. No man could have done more. See Bourrienne in the morning, give him such intelligence as you can and he will inform you of our situation.'

Next morning, after a visit to Zanthe, Roger repaired to a tent that had been set apart as an office for Bourrienne. On the previous evening he had thought that the Chef de Cabinet looked far from well, and his friend told him something of the trials that had seriously undermined the health of the Army during the past three months.

The march from Suez across the desert of Sinai had been as bad as the original advance from Alexandria. The sufferings from thirst of everyone had been terrible and conditions had been little better while coming up the coast. The weary infantry had often openly cursed their own senior officers because, being mounted, the demands on the latter's endurance were not so great. Yet in spite of great reluctance to embark on the campaign, and terrible privations during it, the fighting spirit of the Army had remained unimpaired.

Apart from their capture of El Arish and Jaffa, and exposure to death or wounds for seven weeks under the walls of Acre, that spirit had been most gloriously displayed in a brief campaign against Abdullah, Pasha of Damascus. Early in April they had learned that the Pasha was assembling an Army, estimated at thirty thousand strong, for the relief of Acre. Bonaparte, with his usual aptitude for taking time by the forelock, at once despatched a force to attack he Turkish Army before it was fully organized. Junot led a reconnaissance in force with five hundred men, and Kleber's Division followed. On the road to Nazareth, Junot was surrounded by several thousand Nablousian warriors, but drove them off with terrible losses and captured five standards.

The Pasha's main Army had, in the meantime, crossed the Jordan and when Kleber, with his three thousand men, reached the base of Mount Tabor, he found himself opposed to at least eight times his own number. The French fought in square until on every side it had a breast-high rampart of dead horses, camels, Mamelukes, Syrians, Turks and Arnauts. After six hours of heroic resistance Bonaparte—from a feeling that Kleber might get into difficulties—arrived unexpectedly on the scene with Bon's Division. Forming it into two squares behind that of Kleber he surprised and enveloped the enemy, bringing utter destruction on the Pasha's Army and capturing his camp, four hundred camels and a great quantity of booty.

But gallant General Bon was dead and so was their beloved Chief Engineer, the one-legged General Caffarelli. On the 9th April he had been inspecting a trench and the men there had warned him that to show any part of himself was to risk being shot by an Albanian sniper. He had been careless and received a bullet in the elbow. His arm had been amputated but he had failed to recover. Bourrienne wept as he related to Roger how, eighteen days later, their gifted friend had died in his arms.

Bourrienne estimated that they had lost three thousand French troops from death in action, serious wounds, capture and death from plague; so the backbone of the Army of Syria had been reduced by nearly a third of its original strength. But if Acre could be captured they would not have suffered in vain. Bonaparte had already planned his march on Damascus and Aleppo and his prospects would be brighter than they had ever been.

The Turkish rule was so oppressive that many Chieftains in Palestine, Mesopotamia and Asia Minor were in secret negotiations with French agents and had expressed their readiness, when Bonaparte could march on Constantinople, to throw off the Turkish yoke and join him. There were also the Christian subjects of the Sultan, all of whom were ready to welcome the French. The warriors of these peoples totalled near a hundred thousand men. At present they were sitting on the fence. But once Acre had fallen Bonaparte would have a vast army at his disposal and, with his organizing genius, there could be little doubt that Constantinople and the whole of the Turkish Empire would fall like a ripe plum into his hands.

* He has never failed in anything he has yet attempted,' Roger remarked; ^' so I cannot believe he will in this, unless it be through something beyond his control, such as the spreading of the plague.'

Bourrienne nodded. ^' It is from that we have most to fear. But apart from it the odds against us are damnably heavy. By now we must have killed many thousands of Djezzar's men and we have taken many prisoners. Yesterday alone eight hundred of them were brought in. But the garrison is still as numerous as a swarm of ants, and I am told that the reinforcements, which by now must be landing from the Turkish Fleet, number twelve thousand. A matter, too, that causes me great anxiety is that we are running short of gunpowder. It is bad enough that, for weeks past, we have had to rely on the British to supply us with cannon balls; but there is now way in which we can secure powder from them.'

^' How mean you,' Roger asked, ^' that they supply us with cannon balls? '

^' We ran out long ago,' Bourrienne replied, with a sad smile, ^' but they appear to have unlimited supplies. They will even fire on our men when a few of them go down to the seashore to bathe. Our little man was prompt as ever to think of a way to remedy our shortage. He offered the troops ten sous for every ball they could bring in. So there is now a nightly hunt for British shot and next day we fire it back at Acre.'

After a moment Bourrienne went on, ^' We would have been in Acre, as we were in Jaffa, within a week, had it not been for those accursed English. They have good grounds for having adopted the bulldog as their symbol. The six hundred gunners whom, as we have learned from prisoners, they sent ashore to strengthen the defences have proved the rock upon which our assaults have been shattered. Their Commander is said to be no more than a Commodore, but he deserves to be a High Admiral. He is as courageous as their other seadogs, but far superior to them in brain. By using his intelligence he has caused us endless trouble. Aboard one of his ships he has a printing press, and he has used to run off thousands of leaflets. Some of them are distributed through Arab agents bought with British gold among our own troops. They are to the effect that Bonaparte is giving their lives not for France but only to advance his own ambitions. Others, distributed among the Christians of the Lebanon, contain a version of the proclamation issued by our General within a few hours of his first entering Alexandria. You will recall that he said in it that he regarded the Mohammedan religion as more sensible than the Christian.'

Roger grinned. ' So it has become a boomerang, eh? Has this propaganda had any serious effect? '

^' Naturally. It has disturbed the minds of the troops and has had a most adverse effect on the Christian tribes, on whom we have been counting as our future allies. Our little man was so enraged by it that he issued an order stating that Sir Smith is mad, and that anyone found in possession of pamphlets issued by him would be liable to severe punishment. At that, though you'd scarce credit it, Sir Smith sent a flag of truce ashore challenging the General-in-Chief to a duel.'

' What reply was sent to him? ' Roger asked with amused interest.

Bourrienne shrugged. 'The English are mad. Everyone knows it. No man of any other nation would have even thought of such a thing. Bonaparte naturally replied that he had many other matters to engage his attention. But, with a touch of humour, he added that if, at any time, Sir Smith could produce Marlborough to fight him, that would be a different matter.'

They then talked of the European situation, as far as they knew it. Roger could give only such information as he would have picked up as a prisoner when captured off Malta by Sir Sidney Smith in March. He gave a sketchy account of the Neapolitan war, adding that he understood that the French had finally subdued

Naples early in February and that England, Russia and Turkey had formed another Coalition against France.

Bourrienne's information, from neutrals and blockade-runners, was little better, but he could add that Austria had joined the Coalition and had declared war on France on March 12th. Rumour had it that the French were now having great difficulty in keeping control of the population in the recently created Republican States in Italy. No despatch from the Directors had reached Bonaparte since March. In this last despatch, they had given him the choice of striking at either Constantinople or India; but, as it had left Paris as far back as November, such news as it contained was already stale.

This exchange of views over, Roger went out into the brilliant May sunshine. The assaults on Acre were being continued with unflagging vigour and the General-in-Chief had gone up to the front to supervise them personally; so Roger was free to visit Zanthe. He found her outside her tent. A small table had been procured for her and she was sitting at it playing against herself the oldest paper game in the world, a form of noughts and crosses.

Not far from her two Mamelukes stood, leaning on their weapons. When Roger asked what they were doing, she replied, 'General Bonaparte has detached six of them from his regiment of Mamelukes to act as a guard of honour for me. I am greatly touched by this attention; but, alas, it is going to make it still more difficult for you to come to me at night without your visits becoming common knowledge.'

'I fear it is,' he agreed. 'We must do our best to remain patient.' As he had received no orders, he enjoyed a picnic lunch with her and remained talking to her for most of the day. Then, as the shadows lengthened, he went to the big marquee.

It was May 10th. For thirty-six hours the all-out assault had now been raging. The troops who had penetrated to the streets of Acre the previous afternoon had been halted and cut off. Two hundred of them had taken refuge in a mosque and held it all through the night. Sir Sidney Smith, who had come ashore to take personal charge of the city's defence, had generously saved this little party from massacre by forcing the Turks to allow it to withdraw; but that had put an end to the French penetration of the city. The Turkish troops who had been brought by sea were now taking up positions to defend the breaches made in the walls, and the French had suffered so severely that Bonaparte had decided to put a stop to the assaults.

In the French camp there were now twelve hundred wounded, but the British Squadron, which had become an integral part of the city defences, dared not leave its moorings; so the coastal waters from a few miles south of Acre were no longer under its control, and many of the French wounded were carried down in litters to the little port of Haifa, from which they were being sent by ship to Egypt. The indomitable Lannes still miraculously clung to life. He had already been severely wounded in the assault on Jaffa and on the previous day, when twice wounded, his Grenadiers had had to drag him out of the battle by his feet. The doctors said of him that his bones must be made of rubber, as it seemed that when hit by musket balls they bent but rarely broke. Bonaparte ordered a special litter to be made for him which sixteen Turkish prisoners were to carry in teams of eight.

Between the 11th and 18th of May the siege continued, but with less intensity; so Roger was not called on to run much risk in delivering orders from the General-in-Chief to officers commanding units down in the plain. Zanthe slept through the hottest hours of the day and spent the rest of the time sitting outside her tent. Some French books had been found for her to read and in the evenings a little Court, composed of Roger and friends whom he had introduced to her, surrounded her. All of them, having been deprived for so long of female society, found delight in her company.

It was on the evening of the 18th that Bonaparte sent for Roger and said, ^' Breuc, have a comfortable litter made for Her Highness, and take as many prisoners to carry it as you wish. Tomorrow she is to set off to Egypt and, as I shall not require you on our march, you have my leave to accompany her.'

^' On our march! . . Roger exclaimed.^' Can you mean . . . ? '

The Corsican nodded. ^' Yes. You will speak of this to no one. So far, I have told only Bourrienne and a few members of my personal Staff who will have to make the necessary preparations. If it got about that I mean to retreat, the whole garrison of Acre might sally forth and overwhelm our rearguard. But on the night of the 20th I intend to break off the siege.'

^' It was a terrible decision to have to take,' Roger murmured.

^'1 had no alternative. Scattered about Egypt we now have only some ten thousand troops, and a despatch from Menou informs me that trouble is brewing there. In high summer, too, conditions will be favourable for an invasion and I cannot doubt that the Turks will despatch a great Army by sea for an attempt to re-conquer the country. If I do not return there all my labours to make it a prosperous French colony will have been in vain and, with the loss of the ports, we would lose our one hope of receiving reinforcements.'

^' You think then that there is still a chance that the Directory may send them? '

^' One can but hope. The Brest Fleet under Admiral Bruix is still intact. With that of the Spaniards it could form a formidable armament and stand a good chance of bringing troops round to us through the Mediterranean. For months now I have been sending despatch after despatch, urging this course upon the Directors. It may be that they are so eaten up with jealousy of me that, rather than aid me to further triumphs, they would sooner see a French Army founder here. But it may be that I am unjust and that all my despatches have been captured by the accursed English.'

^' They have proved a most ugly thorn in our side here,' Roger commented.

^' You are right there. Had it not been for them, I should have been in Acre weeks ago and by now halfway to Constantinople. Do you know that the Sheiks have already offered me the keys of Damascus? Could we but advance the whole of Syria and the Lebanon would rise to aid us. But it is not to be. One man has robbed me of my greatest ambition. Nelson did no more than cut us off in Egypt, and there I proved that we could be self-supporting. But this Sir Smith has dealt me a vital blow. To my mind, he far surpasses any other English Commander. He has shown not only the greatest tenacity but the highest intelligence in handling his very limited forces, and in addition he has throughout maintained a most chivalrous attitude towards our wounded and our prisoners. Whatever his future may be he must now go down in history as the man who changed the fate of the whole Eastern world.'

As Roger left the tent with Bonaparte's generous tribute ringing in his ears he could not help recalling the contempt with which the British in Palermo had spoken of Sir Sidney Smith, dubbing him ^'The Swedish Knight' and ^'The Great Plenip'. He wondered if Nelson was still there, bewitched by Emma and dancing attendance on the despicable King and Queen of the Two Sicilies. But of one thing there could be no question. Sir Sidney had inflicted on Bonaparte his first defeat. Time was to show that on land no other British Commander, with the exception of Wellington, would ever defeat him.

On the following day Roger and Zanthe set off southward. He rode beside her litter, they were escorted by her Mameluke guard who kept in order the prisoners who acted as bearers and the rear was brought up by two camels carrying Zanthe's Arab woman servant and the baggage. That afternoon they crossed the river Kishon and in the evening made camp on the far slope of Mount Carmel. No longer fearing that his actions would be reported to Bonaparte to the detriment of Zanthe's reputation, Roger and his beautiful mistress spent a night of delight together.

During the next three days they followed the coast along the edge of the plain of Sharon, reaching Jaffa on the evening of the 22nd. Roger would have liked to press on, but the bearers were by then in very poor shape. As prisoners, their rations for the past ten days had been barely sufficient to keep life in their bodies. Most of them were suffering from dysentery and three, from complete exhaustion, had already had to be left at the wayside with a flask of water to fend for themselves. Soon after leaving Jaffa they would be entering the hundred miles of almost uninhabited coast with its long stretches of desert, where the going would be hard and water scarce; so before proceeding on this worst part of the journey Roger decided to give his people two days' rest.

While on the march there had always been other little caravans, mostly carrying wounded, within sight and, on the first day they spent in a little camp they made among some palm trees outside the town, the number of these increased considerably. On the second day the advance guard of the retreating Army arrived, and with it Bonaparte.

Food of all kinds had already reached famine prices; but Roger went into the town hoping still to be able to buy with gold some boxes of figs, dates or other preserved foods that would not be affected by the heat. In the muski he ran into Eugene de Beau-harnais, bent on the same errand. That normally cheerful young man was looking exceptionally glum, and Roger soon learned the reason.

There had been only a few sailing boats in which to send off sick and wounded from Haifa, but here there were many more and, with his indefatigable energy, Bonaparte was arranging for his hundreds of casualties to be shipped to Egypt. But it was not that which so perturbed Eugene. His step-father had visited the hospitals, urging everyone there who was capable of standing to get up and go aboard one of the ships in the harbour, rather than remain to be captured by the Turks. He had then gone into the plague ward and had spoken to the poor wretches there. It was a noble gesture but Eugene condemned its rashness, declaring that should his beloved step-father fall a victim to the plague the retreating Army would founder and be lost without his leadership.

Roger agreed with him. Then, during the few minutes that they continued to talk, Eugene urged Roger to set off from Jaffa with as little delay as possible. He said that, as soon as the retreat began, the Nablousian tribesmen had come down from the mountains in hordes, to harass the columns and cut off stragglers. The General-in-Chief had decreed a policy of scorching the earth. Every village and all crops were being burnt, and the wells stopped up, so that the Army would leave a great area of desolation behind it. But it was feared that it would not entirely stop these fierce irregulars and the pursuing Turkish cavalry.

Eugene's warning determined Roger to make a start that evening, but when he got back to his small camp he was met by terrible news. One of the Turkish prisoners had been vomoting and the others declared there could be no doubt that he had caught the plague. He had been carried some distance apart and a friend of his had volunteered to stay behind and do what could be done for him.

But that was not the end of the matter. Zanthe, having been brought up in Constantinople, which was rarely free from cases of plague, knew a certain amount about the disease. She assured Roger that the pestilence was not catching through the breath nor, if care were exercised, through touch, but was conveyed by fleas that lived on animals.

Roger was aware that the Arabs had inherited the knowledge of the ancient civilizations and that, in many respects, their medicine was still in advance of European doctoring. He accepted without question what Zanthe said and, when she insisted that one of their camels must be the carrier and that both of them should be killed, he felt that not to follow her advice would be flying in the face of Providence.

He had the camels taken away and slaughtered; but only with great reluctance, for he was now faced with the problem of how they were to proceed. Zanthe's woman could walk with the men; but they would need the tent to shelter them from the blazing sun during the middle of the day, and the spare litter-bearers, after their spells of carrying Zanthe, would collapse if they then had to take up burdens of food and water which, to start with must be sufficient for several days' journey.

He still had enough money on him to buy a score of camels at their normal price, but in the present circumstances he doubted if it would buy a couple. He proved right. Going into the town again, he spent the whole evening endeavouring to buy animals; but he could find no sellers until at last he came upon a peasant whom he persuaded to part with his donkey for five gold pieces.

It was by then too late to start that night; so they set off very early next morning. Even so, they now found themselves in the midst of the Army. Only a few of the regiments had been halted in Jaffa, to assist the engineers in destroying its defences. The main body had been ordered to reach Egypt with as little delay as possible, and was taking advantage of the cool of the night for the greater part of the marches.

The condition of both officers and men was pitiful. Their uniforms were faded, torn and blood-stained, and every third man had a bandage round his head or face or his arm in a sling. The horses of those who were mounted were skin and bone, as were also those which drew guns or light vehicles. The bands no longer had the strength to play. The only words uttered were curses and in quarrels over water. There were still many seriously wounded among them, either being carried in hammocks and reclining on the water and ration carts. Attempt was no longer made to march in formation. They trudged blindly on in ragged little groups, in couples and singles. All discipline had ceased to exist.

It was now less than a month until the longest day in the year. The sun rose each morning soon after five o'clock. By nine it was blazing down from a brassy sky; by midday the barren land became as hot as the inside of a furnace. During the hours of intolerable heat the troops threw themselves down on the burning sands and lay as though dead until well into the afternoon. They suffered most terribly from sunburn and frequently some poor wretch would go off his head with sunstroke.

On the fourth day out from Acre an order was passed down from the General-in-Chief that the wounded must be everybody's first consideration. All mounted men, officers included and of whatever rank, were to give up their horses to the sick or injured. For two days past Roger had not been feeling very well, so he was most loath to give up his mount; but since he had to do so he felt that Zanthe was his first consideration. They had lost three more bearers, which had reduced their number to nine, and it was a pitiful sight to see six of them at a time staggering along with the litter. Should many more of them collapse the litter would have to be abandoned, and he then intended to mount Zanthe on his horse. Although she was not wounded he knew that no Frenchman would cavil at her riding it. So to keep the animal with them he made her mount it there and then, which also relieved the wretched bearers and gave them a better chance of surviving as they then had only to carry the baggage in the litter.

Zanth£'s hard Mameluke guard were bearing up well and, although Roger had to walk himself, he felt decidedly better. Next day, however, he developed a splitting headache. By midday he knew that he was running a high temperature and he assumed that his wretched state could be put down to a touch of sunstroke; but he was puzzled by a stiffness that seemed to be affecting his limbs and the strong light began to hurt his eyes.

When these disorders came quite suddenly upon him he was lying beside Zanthe in the shade of the tent. Seeing his distress she anxiously questioned him, then, undoing his tunic, slid her hands up to his armpits. Under the left one her fingers felt a lump. Her great tawny eyes distended with terror, but she did not cry out. With a sob in her voice, she said:

^' My love! My love! It is useless to conceal it from you. Four to six days is the usual period for the horror to reveal itself after one has been infected. Oh, that accursed camel! A flea from it has given you the plague.'

21

Plague and the Great Temptation

Had it not been for Zanthe there is little doubt that at the age of thirty-one Roger would have died in Palestine. During that terrible retreat the French Army went to pieces. The men fought among themselves for water. In many cases wounded officers who were being carried in litters were abandoned at night by the bearers, who stole the supply of water that had been allotted to the officers, and their valuables. Anyone showing symptoms of the plague was driven away by his comrades and left to die alone or be butchered by the Arabs. As the French retreated, setting fire to every village, farm and field of crops that they left behind them, the numbers of desperate, homeless Arabs seeking vengeance constantly increased. Like the carrion crows that hung in clouds on the rear and flanks of the Army, bands of these Arabs pressed on it night and day, forcing it to keep to the shore and falling upon any small parties rash enough to seek shelter or water by leaving the main, straggling line of march.

The course of Roger's affliction was no exception to the rule. First the rather seedy feeling for a day or so, recovery to normal spirits for about forty-eight hours then, almost without warning, the onset of stiffness, blinding headaches, nausea and rise in temperature. He was overcome so swiftly that he would not have been capable even of sending the Mamelukes among the retreating Army to try to find a doctor or a senior officer who would at least have ensured that he would not be abandoned by the roadside, and but for Zanthe that would have been his fate.

362

Neither could a European woman have saved him, however great her courage and devotion, for the Mamelukes and Turks would certainly have made off with the water and left her to die with him. As it was, when she told them that the Effendi was smitten with the pestilence they accepted the situation with the fatalism of Orientals and, through a mixture of devotion and fear, continued to accept her orders. The devotion of the Mamelukes was partly inspired by. Bonaparte's having entrusted her safety to them; since, as a great leader of fighting men, he had inspired an almost religious respect in them, and partly because she was a beautiful woman. The element of fear, which equally affected the Turkish prisoners, was due to the fact that, as the daughter of a Sultan, she had in her veins the Blood of the Prophet; so to abandon her would have meant certain hell-fire in the Hereafter.

She explained to them that plague was neither infectious nor contagious, unless pus from a plague boil came in contact with a scratch or open wound. She then had Roger lifted into the litter and carried down to the seashore. There, while with glassy, staring eyes he twisted and moaned, she got his clothes off and had the men in turns support his head as he lay in the creamy surf. By this means she reduced the heat of his fevered body until the sun went down. She made them strip, too, search all their garments minutely, in case they were harbouring a flea, wash them in the sea and bathe themselves.

All night and for most of the two days that followed Roger was delirious. For a part of the time he raved in English but, as he had spoken and thought in French for a long time past, broken sentences in that tongue came equally often from his cracked lips and at times he shouted in Turkish. His eyes were red and inflamed, his tongue swollen and covered with white fur. From time to time he vomited and, although Zanthe kept him for hours each day immersed in the surf, he broke out in profuse sweats when taken from it. On the third day he was prostrate with exhaustion, but Zanthe still had hopes for him because he was constipated and that, in a case of plague, she knew to be a good sign.

In addition to her intense anxiety about Roger she had another. The shattered Army was, all this time, trudging past them on the track a hundred yards away. Bonaparte's policy of scorching the earth might delay the pursuit by regular Turkish cavalry, but the merciless Arabs would, she knew, be close on the heels of the French rearguard and, even should they spare her, she felt sure they would murder Roger. In consequence, on the morning of May 30th she decided that they must abandon the little camp they had made by the seashore and move on.

But when she examined Roger soon after dawn she found that the bubo under his arm was so swollen that it was ready to burst. As he was conscious she had two of the Mamelukes hold him down, then lanced the great swelling with her sharp dagger, squeezed out the pus and washed out the cavity with seawater. He was then put in the litter and they took the road again.

After the operation he sank into a coma and all day Zanthe feared that any moment he might die from weakness, but when they made camp that evening he was conscious and able to mutter a few words. Again they bathed him in the sea and for the first time in four nights he slept. Next day he was a little easier and, provided his heart held out, it began to look as if he would pull through.

The halt of two days had been a welcome respite for the prisoners and the seabathing had helped to recruit their strength, so they were now making better progress. But, by then, their store of water was running low. The seawater thereabouts had an exceptionally high degree of salt and, if allowed to dry on Roger after his immersions, it tended to clog his pores and prevent him from perspiring. As he could not be rubbed down hard Zanthe had to sponge off the salt with a moistened cloth, and this had eaten into their limited supplies of water. By June 3rd their need had become desperate so, at sundown that evening, she sent four of the Mamelukes out with orders to get water, even if they had to kill for it.

Some hours later they returned in triumph with several gallons of water, and they had not had to rob others in order to obtain the precious liquid. In certain places along the coast, near the southern end of the Syrian desert, there are small sand-dunes, composed of such fine sand that the heavy rains in winter are absorbed by them as though they were giant sponges. Later, when the dry weather comes, their crust hardens; but it can be pierced with a stick and, even after many months, water will trickle out. The Mamelukes had recognized some dunes as this type of natural reservoir and laboriously, but joyfully, filled from them the empty waterskins they carried.

After a further four days' march they reached the Roman ruins of Pelusium. At the nearby village on the shore Zanthe succeeded in hiring a native dhow, so that they could make the remainder of the journey by sea. For much of the time Roger had been sunk in a lethargy, and still had hardly the strength to raise his arm. But he had recovered sufficiently to know what was going on round him and, when Zanthe told him about the boat, he asked her to release the Turkish prisoners and make for Alexandria.

They called at Damietta, where Zanthe went ashore with two of the Mamelukes to buy more palatable provisions, fruit and various other things. On her return Roger dictated to her a letter to Bonaparte, which they later sent ashore to the garrison Commander, General Menou, for forwarding. In this letter Roger reported his misfortune and narrow escape from death, then said that he proposed to convalesce in Alexandria at the villa of his friend the Greek banker, Sarodopulous.

On June 1'th they reached Alexandria. It was now two and a half weeks since Roger had been smitten with the pestilence and the past week spent at sea had done him a lot of good; but, even so, he was still so weak that he could not walk without assistance and had to be carried in a litter by the Mamelukes out to Sarodopulous's villa.

He had lost so much flesh that his face was gaunt and his clothes hung loose about him. For a moment Madame Sarodopulous failed to recognize him; then, greatly shocked by his appearance, she gave him a most friendly welcome which was fully endorsed by her brother-in-law and son when, that evening, they returned from their counting house in the city. Roger had already been put to bed and it was Zanthe who, while dining with the family, gave them a full account of the grim time he had been through since he had been taken prisoner three months earlier at Acre.

Next day Roger signed a chit empowering the banker to draw for him his arrears of pay from the French Paymaster in Alexandria and asked the Greek to have the blades of six fine scimitars engraved. Each was to be inscribed with the name of the Mameluke concerned and the words: ^' Member of the guard that conveyed Her Highness Princess Zanthe safely from Acre to Alexandria during the great retreat in the year of the Hegira 1177. For courage and fidelity, from Colonel Breuc, aide-de-camp to General-in-Chief Bonaparte.'

When the scimitars were ready Roger asked Zanth6 to present them. Then, giving each of the Mamelukes a handsome present of money, he thanked them for all they had done and ordered them to proceed to Cairo and rejoin their regiment. Overwhelmed by such kindness, these simple but magnificent fighting men kissed Zanthe's feet and, with tears in their eyes, took leave of Roger.

Roger had been helped down to the terrace for this little ceremony and it became his routine to spend most of his time there dozing, talking or walking up and down leaning on Zanthe's arm, for gradually more lengthy periods. The Sarodopulouses could not do enough for them. Nowhere could Roger have been provided with more nourishing fare to restore his vitality. Breasts of quail, chicken livers a la brochette, curried lobster, gazelle meat stewed in wine, soups made from pressed wild duck and the finest fruits succeeded one another to tempt his appetite. The Sarodopulouses displayed the greatest admiration for Zanthe's courage in having nursed Roger through the pestilence and, without servility, showed how honoured they felt at having as their guest a Princess of the Imperial House. Madame Sarodopulous insisted on replenishing Zanthe's wardrobe with many beautiful garments and her son Achilles made himself her slave, endeavouring to anticipate her every wish and thinking up all sorts of pastimes to amuse her.

Even Zanthe's efforts to save Roger's life might have proved unavailing had it not been for his splendid constitution. For many years he had frequently ridden long distances at the utmost speed possible. Whenever he had had no serious matter to attend to, he had always spent an hour or more a day in a fencing school and, when shooting game, had been capable of walking many miles without feeling fatigue. In consequence, his health had been excellent and his muscles as strong as whipcord. Now, his splendid physical condition before he caught the pestilence stood him in good stead. With every comfort, the most nourishing food and no worries, he began to put on flesh and feel like his old self again.

For the first few days Roger remained too lethargic to think of much besides his miraculous preservation, Zanthe's love and her devotion to him, the kindness of the Sarodopulouses and the joy of having his recovery aided by security, quiet and lazing in the shade of the terrace watching little green lizards darting from place to place along the sunlit balustrade. But, as his mental faculties returned to him, he began again to enjoy speculating with his host on the course of the war.

As usual, Sarodopulous's agents had kept him well informed; so he was able to tell Roger of the major events that had taken place in Europe up till about eight weeks earlier.

Austria had dragged her feet in the matter of actually committing her Armies to the new war of the Second Coalition. Although already negotiating an offensive alliance with Russia, Turkey and Britain in the winter, she had allowed both Piedmont and Naples to be overrun by the French without lifting a finger, and in the early spring had still shown great reluctance to take positive action. At length it had been forced upon her through the entry of a Russian Army into Austria, under the late Catherine the Great's famous Commander, General Suv6roff. The French had demanded that, within eight days, the Russians should withdraw from Austrian territory; the Emperor had ignored the demand and it had then been tacitly accepted by the two countries that a state of war existed between them.

The Directory, made over-confident by the long series of victories won by Bonaparte in Italy, had, regardless of numbers, instructed its principal Commanders—the Republican veteran Jourdan on the borders of Austria, and Massena in Switzerland —to assume the offensive at once.

Apparently the strategy of the French had been based on the idea that, if they could secure the bastion of the Alps, they would at any time be able to emerge from it and dictate the situation in the neighbouring plains; so they had given little attention to the upper reaches of the Danube or the Rhine. On March 1st Jourdan crossed the latter and on the 6th Massena moved into the Grissons to expel the bands of anti-French Swiss there, who were eagerly awaiting Austrian support.

Jourdan, meanwhile, advanced into the Black Forest between the source of the Danube and Lake Constance; so the war seemed to have opened well for the French. But, during the uneasy peace, the Austrian Emperor had been extremely active in reorganizing his Army, calling up and training reserves and making every sort of preparation against another outbreak of war. In consequence, he had been able to put into the field two hundred and twenty-five thousand well-equipped troops, which far outnumbered those with which the French could oppose him.

The first fruits of this numerical superiority were seen on

March 21st, in the first collision of the Armies. Jourdan's thirty-six thousand French clashed head-on with some seventy-eight thousand Austrians under the Emperor's most capable General, the Archduke Charles. The French fought courageously, but were forced to give way and retire on the village of Stockach.

The village was of considerable strategic importance, because the roads from Switzerland and Swabia met there. Rallying his forces there on the 25th, Jourdan decided to advance and give battle. The Archduke also advanced troops in that direction, intending only to make a reconnaissance in force. Confused fighting resulted, which later developed into a most desperate conflict involving both armies fully. Although Jourdan had Lefebvre and St. Cyr among his Divisional Commanders, the French were heavily defeated and a large part of their Army fled in terrible confusion across the plain of Liptingen.

Jourdan retired with the remnants of his force into the Black Forest, while Mass^na's offensive had been checked and he was being hard pressed in Switzerland by another Austrian Army. At the same time the Allies launched a third powerful Army, consisting of thirty-six thousand Austrians and Suvoroff's eighteen thousand Russians, into northern Italy. They were opposed there by General Scherer, who had one hundred and two thousand men under him. But the French were widely scattered and Scherer, one of the old-type Republican Generals, was incapable of co-ordinating his forces effectively. The French were driven back over river after river until they were behind the Adda, and there Scherer was relieved of his Command by Moreau.

Yet even that hero of many victories could not hold the enemy. Suvoroff's Russians, fighting like tigers, forced the bridge at Cassano and on April 27th captured General Serurier with three thousand men. The French had already had to leave the great fortress of Mantua to be besieged and now the Allies entered Milan.

In southern Italy also the French had suffered a severe blow. Called on for help, General Macdonald left strong garrisons in the three great castles at Naples then marched north with thirty-six thousand men. The withdrawal of his Army at once resulted in a peasant rising, led by a militant Cardinal named Ruffo, and in April there ensued the massacre of the Neapolitans who had collaborated with the French. To complete this tale of woe for the Republic, although their garrison on Malta continued to hold out, Corfu was captured from them by a combined Russo-Turkish Fleet towards the end of April.

Another matter about which Sarodopulous told Roger was the ending of the Conference of Rastatt, and how the manner of it had excited indignation in every Court in Europe. Ever since the late autumn of '97 the French plenipotentiaries had remained at Rastatt, negotiating with Austria and a horde of German and Italian petty Sovereigns, on the final clauses to be inserted in the Treaty of Campo Formio* By that treaty, the Austrians conceded to the French the Germanic territories up to the left bank of the Rhine and recognized the Cisapline Republic, which embraced the greater part of northern Italy. The object of the Conference had been to compensate such Princes as had been dispossessed of their territories by giving them others.

The plenipotentiaries chosen by the Directory had been the most vulgar, brutal type of die-hard revolutionaries. Making capital out of Bonaparte's recently concluded Italian campaign, they had behaved with the utmost arrogance and had acted throughout like bullies rather than diplomats. On several occasions the Austrian plenipotentiaries had withdrawn in disgust, but the French had kept the Conference going with the Princes and Grand Dukes on the excuse that their future status could not be left unsettled. After sitting for a year the Conference became a complete farce, for by then a French Army was besieging the fortress of Ehrenbreitstein on the Rhine and, when it surrendered, the Emperor decided that no possible good come of continuing the negotiations.

But the French plenipotentiaries refused to depart. Even when Austria and France became openly at war, and after the Archduke Charles's victory at Stockach, they still remained there, chaffering with the Princes and seeking to undermine the Empire by tempting them with offers of territories which were to be taken from the Church lands ruled by the German Prince-Bishops.

At last, on April 8th, the Emperor formally decreed the Conference at an end and annulled all its acts. The Germans withdrew but the French protested violently and stayed on until a military force was sent to turn them out. On the evening of April 28th they left with their families, in three coaches. Just outside the town they were set upon by a regiment of Szekler Hussars and dragged from their coaches. Two of the plenipotentiaries were murdered in the presence of their horrified wives and the third escaped only because he was left for dead after a terrible beating. That the men themselves had been brutal ex-terrorists was beside the point, and on all sides Austria was condemned for this shocking breach of the immunity always accorded to diplomatic representatives.

By the end of June, Roger was still very much, an invalid physically, but sufficiently alert mentally to give some thought to his future and that of Zanthe's. Since their brief conversation on the morning after they had escaped from Acre, neither of them had mentioned marriage; but he had introduced her to the Sarodopulouses as his fiancee and he felt sure that she expected him to make her his wife as soon as he was fully recovered.

His recollections of her as a mistress were such that, although his health debarred him, for the time being, from resuming his role of her lover, he had begun to long for the time when they could again share a divan. Even so, being no callow youth and having been the lover of a number of beautiful women, he could not help wondering for how long the passionate attraction between them would last. Through the years Georgina had never failed to rouse him, but hers was a case apart. Moreover he knew there to be a great deal in her contention that their continued physical desire for one another was largely due to the fact that they had never lived together for more than a few months at a time, and even then at long intervals.

In Zanthe's case, although he reproached himself for thinking of it, there was a special reason why her attraction for him should decline more swiftly than would that of other beautiful women he had known. When he had met her ten months ago she had been seventeen but by European standards looked to be in her early twenties. She was now eighteen, but in England would not have been put down at less than twenty-five. The cause was her half-Eastern blood and her wholly Eastern upbringing. Eastern women aged much more swiftly than Europeans and Zanthe also had the normal Eastern woman's love of rich foods and sweetmeats. With a true fatalist's disregard for her figure, she ate Rahat Lacoum, sugared nuts and preserved fruits by the pound. It would have been as agonizing for her to deprive herself of them as it would have been for a Frenchman to deny himself wine; so the odds were that by the time she was thirty she would, like most upperclass women of that age in the East, be able only to waddle.

There was also the factor that, unless Georgina would change her mind and have him, Roger had not wanted to marry again; at least, not for another few years and then only should he find someone to whom he was greatly attracted and who would also make a suitable step-mother for his little daughter Susan. And how could Zanth6, with .the best will in the world, be expected to bring up a young English girl fittingly and launch her in Society?

On the other hand, physical attractions apart, Zanthe was of a most lovable disposition, had been well educated by her French mother and was quick to learn. With such qualities, Roger had no doubt that she would take Susan to her heart, prove as good-tempered a wife as any man could wish for and perhaps, after a while, acquire the manners and attitude of mind of an English lady of quality.

In any case, the more he thought about it the more convinced he became that honour demanded that he take a gamble on the future. Zanthe had twice saved his life and now, having severed herself from her own people, all she had in the world were some valuable jewels and himself. Sarodopulous had examined her jewels and had declared that, if sold, they would provide her with a handsome dowry; so, had Roger decided against marrying her, she could have found another husband. But he believed that it would break her heart to have to do so, and after all she had been to him he could not bring himself to do that.

As a result of these deliberations, he broached the subject to her, one afternoon during the first week in July, on the score that, as in another month or six weeks he hoped to be fully restored to health, they ought to begin making plans. Just as he expected, she at once raised the question of religion. He had no intention of becoming a Mohammedan and had thought it probable that, as they would in due course be going to make their home in Europe, she would consent to becoming a Christian.

He was not disappointed in that but, to his surprise and dismay, he met with most determined opposition when, evading the awkward implications of saying he was Church of England, he declared himself to be a Protestant. Zanthe's mother had been brought up as a Roman Catholic, so she respected that faith and was perfectly willing to subscribe to it in order to marry him.

But she had been taught that Protestants of all denominations were as evil as Jews and was greatly shocked to learn that Roger was what Christians of her mother's faith termed a ^' heretic '.

During the next few days they had several sessions in which they argued the matter passionately. Zanthe suggested that both of them should become Catholics, but Roger would not hear of it. He was far from being a religious man but, like most Englishmen of his day, had been brought up to regard the Pope as anti-Christ and all his works as of the Devil. Such beliefs, when inculcated young, die hard, and he was fully convinced that he would lose his hope of salvation should he become a Catholic as she was that she would lose hers should she become a Protestant.

The resistance she displayed might have caused another man to have seized on it as an excuse to refuse to pursue matters further, but in Roger it only aroused a determination to make her his wife. He suggested that they should be content with a civil marriage, which was now the normal form of ceremony in Republican France. But Zanthe would not hear of it. She protested that, unless their marriage were blessed either by a Mulim imam or a Catholic priest, it would be no marriage in the sight of Heaven. Then, in tears, she declared that, if Roger were not prepared to sacrifice his scruples to make her his wife, she loved him so dearly that she would accept the terrible humiliation of accompanying him back to France as his concubine.

This impasse continued for some days until on July 11th Roger was given other things to think about. On that day Sir Sidney Smith's Squadron appeared off Alexandria, convoying an armada of transports carrying a considerable Turkish Army. For the past week Roger had been going for short rides, accompanied by a groom. In view of this emergency he felt that, to maintain his status as an aide-de-camp to the General-in-Chief, he must, although still far from strong, offer his services.

Ignoring the protests of Zanthe and the Sarodopulouses, he rode into Alexandria and reported to Marmont, who was now in command there. The young General was a gunner. He was one of Bonaparte's oldest friends and had served with him at the siege of Toulon, where Roger had also met him. Their greeting was cordial but, after one look at Roger, Marmont declared him unfit for active service. However, he said that he would welcome his help in his bureau; so Roger was given a desk and set about dealing with urgent administrative matters.

Couriers had been sent post-haste to Bonaparte at Ghizeh. They reached him on the 15th and he at once set out for Rhmaniyeh. From there, he ordered a concentration of troops headed by Kleber's Division, then at Rosetta. By the 21st he had at his disposal an Army nearly as large as that of the Turks, which was reported to number ten thousand men. Meanwhile the Turks had landed on the peninsular of Aboukir, massacred the garrison of the small fprt there and dug themselves in behind a double line of entrenchments.

On July 25th Bonaparte attacked. Lannes, amazingly recovered from his wounds, and d'Estang outflanked the village which formed the strongpoint centre of the first line of Turkish defences, then Murat followed with his cavalry and drove a great number of the Turks into the sea.

During the terrible heat of midday Bonaparte gave his troops two hours' rest. He then sent them in against the Turks' second line, which had a strong redoubt in its centre. Again the French charged with tremendous elan but this time the attack failed, largely owing to the supporting fire of the Turkish gunboats that had been brought close inshore. The Turks, confident of victory, surged out of their entrenchments, but delayed to butcher the wounded French and mutilate the dead. Seeing them to be scattered while engaged in this barbarous business, Bonaparte ordered another attack. Catching the Turks at a disadvantage, the French reached and seized the second line of trenches. Murat, with his cavalry and camelry, again drove the fleeing Turks into the surf and hundreds of them were either sabred or pursued into deep water until they drowned. Heavy cannon were then brought up to bombard the small fortress into which the surviving Turks had crammed themselves. It became a massacre. After two days, two thousand of the Turks surrendered—all that was left of an Army of ten thousand.

Roger saw nothing of this, but received gruesome accounts of it while working at Alexandria in Marmont's office. The emergency over, he returned to Sarodopulous's villa, a little tired from his exertions but otherwise in good heart, to continue his convalescence.

It was on the day after his return that he had a most unnerving experience. While sitting on the privy, he felt something furry tickling his left buttock. Leaping up, he found it to be a large scorpion. At his sudden action the poisonous beast fell off on to the floor. Next moment he had crushed it with his boot; but he stood there for a few moments, white and shaking. Had it stung him he might have died in agony. Shortly afterwards, on returning to the villa, he told Zanthe of his lucky escape and added:

^' This is the most accursed country. I managed to escape from it once. When next a chance comes for me to do so I'll take it, and never, never will I return. Not even wild horses shall drag me back to it again.'

Three days later it so happened that he was given a. chance to leave Egypt. The fortnight he had spent working in Marmont's office had proved no undue strain upon him. On the contrary, he was inclined to think that, before it, he had allowed Zanthe and the Sarodopulouses to pamper him too much; for on his return to the villa he felt considerably fitter. In the early mornings, before the sun got too hot, he was going out riding on his own and ever further afield.

On the morning of July 30th, having ridden some five miles along the coast to the west, he trotted to the top of a big sand-dune and saw below, in the little bay, a group of men. A British sloop-of-war was lying about half a mile off-shore and the men had obviously landed from her. At a glance he saw what they were about.

The coast of Egypt was far too long for the French, with their limited number of troops, to patrol the whole of it regularly; so at times the blockading ships landed parties on deserted stretches of coast to collect springwater. Such sources were too small for the larger ships to pick up the hundreds of gallons they required, so from time to time they had to water at Crete or Cyprus; but even half a barrel of fresh springwater was a great luxury so now and then, in order to obtain it, blockading vessels took the risk of their parties being surprised by the French.

Down in the bay a semi-circle of half a dozen sailors with muskets kept guard some distance from a cluster of rocks above the tide-line. Among the rocks, under the supervision of an officer, others were filling three small casks from the spring with pannikins while, a hundred yards away, a boat was being kept in readiness to take them off.

As Roger brought his mount to a halt on the top of the dune, the sailors spotted him, gave the alarm and raised their muskets. Before they could draw a bead on him he swung his horse round, put spurs to it and, crouching low in the saddle, cantered off back down the slope. But as soon as he was well under cover of the crest he pulled up.

Wild thoughts were racing through his mind. He was alone; so if he appeared again, waving his white handkerchief, the men would not fire upon him. He had only to ride down to them and give himself up to be taken aboard the British sloop. Within a few days he could get himself transferred to Tigre and be again with Sir Sidney Smith. After all he had been through he had no doubt at all that the Commodore would take the first opportunity to send him home.

It was seventeen months since he had left England. During that time he had twice secured important despatches from Bonaparte, and had also sent back from Naples a very full report on the resources of the French Army in Egypt. Meanwhile, he had suffered grievously and several times had narrowly escaped losing his life. No one, with the possible exception of the fanatically patriotic Nelson, could possibly contend that he was not now entitled to give up the desperately dangerous double life that he had been leading for so long.

If he did not take this chance, in a few weeks he must return to duty in Cairo. And what then? On re-entering Egypt Bonaparte had issued a proclamation containing more flagrant lies than even he had ever before given out. He claimed that he had totally destroyed Acre and that this had been his only object in invading Syria. He declared his total casualties to number a mere five hundred, when everyone in the Army knew that they ran into thousands. With superb effrontery he had organized a triumphant entry into Cairo, with the captured Turkish standards being carried before him, and claimed to have returned from a campaign of victories equalling those he had achieved in Italy.

This unscrupulous propaganda had deceived the greater part of the Egyptian people and had even, to some extent, been swallowed by the French regiments which had not taken part in the Syrian campaign. But Roger knew the truth.

During its thirteen months in Egypt the French Army had been reduced, by casualties and pestilence, to little more than half its original number. It had not received a single reinforcement from home and, as long as the British blockade continued could not hope to do so. Even with the regiments of Mamelukes and other natives who had been enlisted, it was now barely strong enough to hold Egypt, let alone undertake other campaigns further afield. All prospect of raising the Arab races against their overlord, the Sultan, had vanished with the failure to take Acre. Gone, too, was the dream of capturing the Red Sea ports and from them invading India as a prelude to creating a great Empire in the East. Now the French were like a garrison in a besieged city that had no hope of relief, and in which the population was hostile. From attacks on their convoys by Bedouin, knifings by night in the streets, accident and disease, they must gradually be weakened to a point at which the Egyptians felt strong enough to rise and massacre them.

As Roger thought of those months ahead during which, if he remained in Egypt, he must continue to suffer from the sweltering heat, myriads of flies, possibility of being killed by an Arab or stung by a poisonous reptile, and living all his time among companions growing daily more desperate with fear about their future, he had never before so greatly longed to be back in the green fields of England.

Only the thought of Zanthd deterred him from galloping back over the crest, pulling out his white handkerchief and waving it aloft for the little party of seamen who meant home and safety to him. She had given him intense pleasure. She loved and needed him. She had twice saved his life and had nursed him back to health. Could he possibly desert her? Still worse, could he simply disappear without a word, leaving her to months of misery, wondering whether he were dead or alive and what had happened to him? She was very beautiful and he would soon be strong enough to become again her lover in the fullest sense. But there were other women as beautiful, even if in a different way, and as passionate in England. In a few years she would look middle-aged and have become fat and unwieldy. Why should he sacrifice every other thing for which he craved to saddle himself with a half-Asiatic girl whom he would have to take with him as his wife wherever they went, whether they actually married or not?

For a few agonizing minutes he wrestled with the most terrible temptation that had ever beset him. Then he knew that he could not give in to it. The shame of having left her, after all she had been to him, would haunt him all his days. He must remain in Egypt and share the lot of Bonaparte's ill-fated Army. Sadly, he kneed his horse into a walk and rode back to Alexandria.

Having resolved not to abandon Zanthe, he committed himself to her still further that evening. It chanced that the Patriarch of Alexandria called at the villa to solicit a large sum from Sarodopulous for a charity. He was a big, jolly man with a fine, curly black beard and, while they were all consuming coffee and cakes, the talk turned to different faiths.

When Roger was in St. Petersburg he found that, under Catherine the Great, Russia was then the most tolerant country in the world with reg'ard to religious matters. Priests of all denominations were encouraged by the Empress to establish churches there, and every year the Metropolitan gave a reception to which he invited Catholics, Lutherans and Calvinists as well as brethren of his own Church. Three kinds of wine were served at these receptions, and it was his custom to welcome his guests with the words: ^' Gentlemen, these wines are different; but all of them are good, and so are the different faiths which we follow.'

Recalling that, Roger was not at all surprised to find that the Patriarch showed a most tolerant respect for other Christian faiths; but he stoutly maintained that, owing to its unbroken descent from the first teachings in the Holy Land, the Eastern Orthodox Church adhered more closely to the true principles of Christianity than any other religion.

Zanthe showed great interest and questioned him closely. Roger, too, was intrigued and it occurred to him that, while nothing would have induced him to become a Roman Catholic, the undemanding tolerance of the Orthodox Church would make a ceremony performed by one of its priests quite a different matter. In consequence, when the Patriarch had gone he took Zanthe aside and asked her how she felt about it.

To his delight he found that, while her abhorrence of Protestants still equalled his of Popery, she had always regarded the Orthodox Christians with respect. She could hardly contain her joy at his having proposed a way in which he could make her his wife in the sight of God, without either of them having to commit an act that they would have detested.

When they told the Sarodopulouses of their intention, the banker and his family showed the greatest happiness and Madame Sarodopulous began to describe to them the charming marriage ceremony of the Orthodox Church, at which they would both wear crowns and carry candles. But her brother-in-law warned them that their marriage could not take place for at least a month. They would first have to receive instruction in the Orthodox faith and learn by heart its catechism and numerous prayers and responses.

On hearing this the tall, dark, handsome Achilles, who, ever since they had arrived at the villa, had made himself Zanthe's willing slave, at once offered to act as their tutor. It was agreed that he should coach them daily in the Orthodox prayer book and that it should be arranged for them to visit the friendly Patriarch twice a week to be prepared for reception into his Church.

Later that evening Roger again drew Zanth6 aside and said to her with a smile, ^' My beautiful. For having arranged matters like this I feel that I may ask a reward from you.'

^' Count it already given,' she smiled back. ^' What is it that you wish? '

^' That you should let me come to your room tonight,' he whispered.

She hesitated a moment. ^' Dear love, you cannot believe how terribly I have desired you during these two months since you were stricken. But, as long as we remain guests here, we are not free to do as we will. Should we be discovered, what Madame Sarodopulous think of us? For having abused her hospitality in such a way I would die of shame.'

^' Oh, come! ' Roger protested. ^' Your room is but a few yards from mine, and I will use the utmost discretion. I'll not come to you until everyone has retired for above an hour and should be sound asleep, and I'll leave you well before the servants are awake. For the past fortnight or more I have thought of little but making love to you again. And you have already said that you would grant my wish.'

^' But . . . but,' she murmured, ^' will it not harm you? Nothing must interfere with your complete recovery. And if . . . if it is for your good, I ... I can still wait.'

^' On the score of my fitness have no fears, my sweet,' he smiled. ^'1 have reached a point at which to be denied your caresses would harm me more.'

Her big, tawny eyes had become moist and she was trembling as she replied, ^'1 would have to be made of iron to resist your pleading. But I'll allow you to stay with me no more than half an hour. On that, for your health's sake, I insist.'

So that night Roger again entered Paradise in the arms of his beautiful fiancee.

During the three weeks that followed they visited the Patriarch regularly and learned from the red lips of the dark, flashing-eyed Achilles to recite the Greek Church credo and other religious pieces from the Orthodox prayer book. Meanwhile, Zanthe put great restraint upon herself and refused to allow Roger to come to her room more than two nights a week. But on those nights they gave themselves up to their mutual passion with as much ardour as they had while in Acre.

It was on August 16th that a blockade-runner brought Sarodopulous further news of events in Europe. Throughout May and June matters had gone from bad to worse with the French. Towards the end of the former month the Allies, with the help the the Piedmontese Royalists, had regained possession of Turin. Moreau had only with great difficulty cut his way through the passes of the Alps to seek safety in Genoa.

Macdonald, arriving in the north with the French Army that had occupied the Kingdom of Naples, had, in mid-June, defeated the Austrians at Modena; but Suvoroff, by a rapid concentration and forced march, had thrown his Russians on Macdonald's force before Moreau could come to his aid. Three days of desperate fighting had ensued, at the end of which the terrible Muscovites had proved the masters of the French. Macdonald's troops had broken and, in small parties, staggered back across the Apennines, to reach Genoa in a state of utter exhaustion. Suvoroff, for these brilliant victories in the Allied cause, had been given the title of Prince Italiski.

These disasters to the French had led to the fall of the puppet States they had created: the Cisapline, Roman and Parthenopean Republics. On all sides priests, Royalists, bourgeoisie and fanatical peasants were exacting vengeance for the repression, brutality and robbery to which they had been subjected by the bringers of 'Liberty'. Mob leaders, gentle intellectuals with Liberal views and all who had collaborated with the French from either the worst or best motives were, through the length and breadth of the peninsula, impartially dragged from their homes by the hundred and shot, hanged, slashed to death or burnt in public.

It was in the south that this ferocious vengeance reached its peak. In Naples the three castles, garrisoned by French troops and so-called 'patriots', continued to hold out; but by mid-

June Cardinal Ruffo's irregulars had entered the city, butchered every Republican they could find and laid siege to the castles.

Ruffo, wishing to pacify the kingdom, offered these garrisons the honours of war and a safe-conduct to France if they would capitulate. The Republicans agreed to these generous terms and Captain Foote, then the senior officer with the British Squadron lying off Naples, also signed the terms of capitulation.

But on June 2'th Nelson arrived, invested with unlimited powers by King Ferdinand who was still in Palermo. The British Admiral promptly asserted that Cardinal Ruffo and Captain Foote had exceeded their authority in granting terms to the enemy garrisons. He declared the capitulation agreement null and void and, with a vindictiveness difficult to understand in so gentle a man, but evidently largely inspired by Emma Hamilton as the mouthpiece of the Queen, had the Republican leaders who had surrendered executed and the Neapolitan Admiral Caracciolo hanged from his own yardarm.

Secretly, as an Englishman, Roger rejoiced to hear these tidings. Although he had the warmest personal feelings for many friends he had made among the French, he had never wavered in his conviction that the hyrda-headed monster that had been produced by the Revolution could bring only evil to the peoples whom it first fascinated and then enslaved. It was excellent news that the Italians were, with the help of the Austrians and Russians, again achieving their freedom and from a worse tyranny than any they had known before. He hoped that it heralded the downfall of the collection of atheists, murderers and thieves who had for so long controlled the destinies of France.

But policy demanded that he should allow the Sarodopulouses to continue to believe that he was a French Colonel, and he had felt that it would be time enough to disclose to Zanthe the truth about himself when, and if, he could succeed in getting her out of Egypt. So, at this latest news from Europe, he had to pull a long face and pretend grave concern.

Roger and Zanthe had fixed the date of their marriage as August 29th. On the evening of August 22nd, just as the sun was about to set, a Lieutenant of Bonaparte's favourite regiment, the Guides, rode up to the villa on a lathered horse, bringing a despatch. Tearing it open, Roger saw it was in Bourrienne's writing and was an order signed by the General-in-Chief. It read:

I require you to report to me immediately. You will accompany the bearer of this with a minimum of delay.

Roger was greatly puzzled, but felt that he could not possibly ignore the summons. Thinking it unlikely that he would be away for long, he told Zanthe that he would send her a message as soon as he possibly could and, in any case, would get permission to return for their we'ding day. While he was taking leave of her and the Sarodopulouses, a horse was being saddled for him. Ten minutes later he rode away with the Lieutenant of Guides.

When Roger asked the Lieutenant where they were making for the latter replied, ^'1 regret, mon Colonel, that I am under orders not to reveal the whereabouts of the General-in-Chief; but we have no great distance to go. We must, though, make all speed, because I lost my way when coming to find you and so was more than an hour behind time in delivering my despatch.'

The Lieutenant had turned west and, alternately trotting and cantering, they rode along the coast until they reached the little bay in which Roger had come upon the British landing party collecting springwater. Darkness had fallen, but a solitary boat lay there in which were men with lanterns. Their light showed thirty or forty saddled but riderless horses wandering loose about the beach. As soon as Roger reached the shore, a naval officer in the boat shouted to him to be quick and come aboard.

More puzzled than ever he dismounted, abandoned his horse and, followed by the Lieutenant, scrambled over the gunwale. The boat pushed off at once and, after fifteen minutes' rowing, came alongside a ship that Roger judged to be a frigate. The crew were in the act of setting sail.

He found a group of men on the quarter-deck which was lit by flambeaux. In its centre stood Bonaparte. With him were Berthier, Murat, Lannes, Marmont, Bessieres, Andreossi, Monge, Berthol-let, Bourrienne, Duroc, de Beauharnais, and the other members of his personal Staff. Marching up to him, Roger saluted and said:

' Mon General. You sent for me.'

Bonaparte nodded. ' You are late, and lucky to be taken off in time.'

'Your pardon, but in time for what? ' Roger asked.

' Why, to accompany me back to France, of course,' snapped the pale-faced little Corsican. ' Where else should I be going in a frigate? '

Roger stared at him aghast. The boat in which he had been brought aboard was being hauled in. The frigate's sails were filled with wind and she was already moving through the water. It was now too late to ask to be set ashore. Bleakly, he realized that his marriage to Zanthe would now never take place. Three weeks earlier he had overcome the temptation to desert her. Now Fate had decreed that without having any say in the matter he should do so. But he was not going home.

Back into the Secret Battle

There was tremendous jubilation aboard the frigate. It was fifteen months since Bonaparte's expedition had sailed from Toulon and those who accompanied him had said good-bye to their wives and sweethearts. During thirteen of those months they had lived in an utterly alien land, where white women were as rare as white blackbirds, where wine was almost unobtainable and where the food was unappetizing and monotonous. As soldiers it was their trade to face danger but there had been added to it terrible marches under a blistering sun, days of torture from thirst, fear of the plague and a never-ending irritation from swarms of flies. Now, the seemingly impossible had happened. The nightmare that was Egypt was being left behind. The frigate was actually under sail. They were on their way back to France, which meant everything in life they held dear. Roger could not wonder that joy was depicted on every face.

He soon learned the reason for his inclusion and why it had been so belated. When those selected by Bonaparte to accompany him were already on board, Marmont happened to mention to Eugene de Beauharnis the help that Roger had given him in his office at Alexandria during the emergency caused by the Turkish landing. Eugene spoke to his step-father and the General-in-Chief at once agreed that ' le brave Breuc' must not be left behind if there was still time to fetch him. As Roger thanked the chubby-faced youngster he felt that never had so handsome a return been made for a pair of pistols as for those he had given Eugene when only a boy of fifteen.

From Eugene he learned that there were two frigates, Muriou and Carrdre, under the command of Vice-Admiral Gantheaume.

They had been sheltering in the harbour of Alexandria and, at Bonaparte's orders, had been secretly prepared for sea. But Bonaparte's departure had been made possible only because Sir Sidney Smith had had to withdraw his Squadron to Cyprus for repairs, thus raising the blockade temporarily and leaving the coast clear.

Bonaparte had packed nearly five hundred passengers into the two frigates. They consisted of the pick of his officers, a number of the most gifted savants, a big bodyguard of his Guides and many personal servants. As Roger heard this he realized that had he been left behind the fate he had dreaded would have been more likely than ever to overtake him. Bonaparte had not only abandoned his Army, but had weakened it immeasurably by taking with him the greater part of its brains and guts.

Of the best Generals, only Kleber, Desaix and Junot had been left behind, and the two latter only because they were too distant to recall in time. Desaix was in command of the forces in Upper Egypt and Junot, with his Division, was on the Syrian border. Kleber had been nominated General-in-Chief. He was a fine fighting man, but had little talent for administration; and it was that, above all, which was needed at headquarters if the Army was to be kept from becoming mutinous from despair and shattered morale.

But at the moment those who had escaped were not thinking of the fate to which they had left their comrades. The wind was light but steady, the sea calm and the frigate carried a good stock of wine. For hours they laughed, drank and sang gay choruses. Roger joined in. It would have been contrary to his nature not to do so; but, later, when he lay in a narrow cabin, cheek-by-jowl with the other aides-de-camp, it was a long time before he could get to sleep from picturing Zanthe's distress when she learned that he had left her.

Next day he had a talk with his old friend Bourrienne, and learned what had led to their master talking his momentous decision. At the recent battle of Aboukir the Turks had taken a number of captives. Sir Sidney Smith had intervened to prevent their being murdered, then arranged with Bonaparte an exchange of prisoners. The Commodore had also sent ashore a number of French wounded whom he had rescued from Jaffa. To show appreciation of the Englishman's chivalrous behaviour, Bonaparte had sent some presents to him. Sir Sidney had returned the compilment, and among his gifts had been a bundle of news-sheets covering events in Europe up to June 10th.

It was ten months since any official news had been received from France. By way of Algiers and Tripoli, or Greece and Crete, carried by blockade-runners, rumours had trickled through to the effect that Austria was again at war with France and that all was not well in Italy. But it was not until the night of August 2nd-3rd, during which Bonaparte had sat up until the small hours in Alexandria reading these news-sheets, that he had realized the seriousness of the situation. The following morning he had exclaimed to Bourrienne:

^' My presentiments have come true; The fools have lost Italy! All the fruits of our victories are gone. I must leave Egypt in order to save France.'

Having taken his decision, he acted with speed and secrecy. He told only Berthier and Gantheaume; ordering the latter to prepare the two frigates and two small supply ships with enough food for a two-month voyage. On August 5th he left Alexandria, on the 10th he arrived in Cairo. There, he gave out that he intended to carry out an inspection of Desaix's force in Upper Egypt. A few days later he announced a change of plan: he was going to make a tour of the Delta. Meanwhile Bourrienne had collected all the people Bonaparte intended to take with him, but it was not until they reached Alexandria on the 22nd that any of them were told that they were going home to France.

Kleber had been at Damietta and Bonaparte had written, asking him to meet him for a conference at Rosetta. But with the duplicity that was typical of his methods the Corsican had never intended to keep the appointment. To escape protests and reproaches, he had simply sent a letter to await Kleber's arrival. It appointed him General-in-Chief, with powers to surrender to the British, but only if the ravages of the plague became so bad that the Army became incapable of resistance. The unfortunate Kleber had been left to find out for himself that the Army was ten million francs in debt and that Bonaparte had taken with him every sou of ready money.

When Roger asked Bourrienne for the news that had been gleaned from the papers sent by Sir Sidney Smith, the Chef de Cabinet told him of the serious reverses the French had met with in the neighbourhood of the Rhine and from north to south in Italy. Roger had already learned most of this from Sarodopulous, but there was later news about Switzerland. Matters were going badly for the French there also. Mass£na had been compelled to relinquish the Grissons; then, on May 2'th, two Austrian armies, joining forces, had brought such a weight of numbers against him that he had been driven back to the line of the river Limmat and Zurich.

Bourrienne, with intense indignation, gave an account of the murder of the French envoys at Rastatt and went on to speak of affairs in Paris. In mid-May the retirement by ballot of one of the Directors had become due and this time the lot had fallen on Jean-Francois Rewbell. The handsome, corrupt, licentious aristocrat Barras had been the most prominent figure in the Directory, right from its formation; but it was the coarse, ruthless, dyed-in-the-wool revolutionary Rewbell who had managed it and, time after time, frustrated the attempts of the Moderate majority in the Legislative Assembly to restore some degree of true liberty to the French people.

Rewbell had been replaced by the Abb£ Sieyes, one of the strangest figures of the Revolution. He had become prominent in its earliest days and had remained so ever since. When asked, in after years, what he had done in the Revolution he replied, 'I survived.' For anyone who had been one of the original leaders that was no small feat. A few others, such as Talleyrand, had done so, but only by going into exile during the worst years of the Terror. Sieyes, the most subtle of intriguers, had, by changing his coat a dozen times, not only kept his head on his shoulders but occupied some post of importance in every successive Government.

He was not a bloodthirsty man but had an intense hatred of the aristocracy and was incredibly vain of his intellectual powers. Above all he fancied himself as a drafter of Constitutions, although many of his ideas on the subject were impracticable. On the fall of Robespierre he had been among the first chosen by the rump Convention to be one of the new governing body of five—the Directory. But as his proposals for a new Constitution had been rejected he had, in a huff, refused office.

This change in the personnel of the Directory was of far greater importance than any which had preceded it, and later in the day Roger pondered over its possible results. As Sieyes was a renegade and an atheist, his appointment would not lead to greater religious toleration and, as a revolutionary, he would, no doubt, support the Directory in their policy of continuing to repress individual liberty. But he was far too careful of his own skin to act as Rewbell would have done in a crisis and back his opinions with ruthless force. In consequence, this change in the Directory must greatly weaken it; and for a long time past it had been hated and despised by both the great mass of the people and the Liberal majority which sat, powerless under its rule, in the Legislative Assembly. Therefore, it now needed only a strong man to play Cromwell in order to put an end to the Directory.

Roger had no doubt that Bonaparte must be well aware of this. Overtures to lead a coup d'etat to overthrow the Directory had been made to him in the spring of '98 and Talleyrand had told Roger that the little Corsican had refrained only because, being an extremely astute politician, he had decided that the time was not yet ripe. Instead he had gone off to Egypt, with the possibility of carving for himself an Empire in the East while time worked for him in France. He had failed in the first, but time had marched on just the same and now the plum looked ripe for the picking.

As Roger thought of this he realized that a sudden change had taken place in his own mentality. He had gone to Egypt only because Talleyrand had virtually forced him to. While there he had twice furnished Nelson with valuable information about Bonaparte's intentions. But that had given him no great satisfaction. It was not to secure information about the situation of an Army operating three thousand miles from England that Mr. Pitt had sent him to Paris. The work in which he had specialized for so long and in which he had been so successful was using his wide acquaintance with enemies in high places to assess the future policy of their Governments. To be back in Paris again and, perhaps, be able, to some degree, to influence events in favour of his country was a very different matter from remaining virtually useless and cut off from all the amenities of life in Egypt.

One thing seemed certain: Bonaparte's return to Paris would lead to a crisis of some kind, and the more Roger speculated on its possibly far-reaching results the more eager he became for the voyage to be over.

For some days, and particularly at nights, he was haunted by thoughts of Zanthe. When the news reached her that Bonaparte had decamped, taking his finest Generals and his personal Staff with him, she would realize that Roger was with them and on his way back to France; but she could not be expected to guess that he had not had the option of refusing to leave her, or even the opportunity to send her a message. She could only suppose that, having been given the chance, he had callously deserted her. That worried him even more than having lost her; although at times such was his feeling for her that he almost wished he had been left behind to marry her as they had planned.

It was on the third day out that, up on the quarter-deck, Bonaparte suddenly asked him, ^' What happened to your Princess? '

Roger told him; but the Corsican only gave a grunt, then said, ^'1, too, have had to deprive myself of much happiness by leaving behind in Cairo my little Bellilotte. She implored me to take her with me, but I refused. We have to face the fact that we may be captured by the English. Most of the English sailors have been without women for many months and I could not bear to think what might happen to her if she fell into their hands.'

Roger was so shocked by this slur on British chivalry that only long habit prevented him from making his leanings suspect by entering on an angry defence of his countrymen. That he would have been amply justified was proved some months later, when the Corsican's violet-eyed mistress endeavoured to follow him to France in a blockade-runner. The ship was captured by the English. They delighted in her company, entertained her royally and went out of their way to set her safely ashore in France.

While Roger was inwardly seething, Bonaparte, being in one of his confidential moods, went on,^'1 should have liked to have had a child by her; but the little stupid seemed incapable of producing one. She vowed that it was not her fault, and implied that because I have never yet begotten one it must be mine. Yet I'm as virile as other men, so I'll not accept it that I'm incapable of becoming a father.'

Raising a smile with difficulty, Roger replied, ^' You are not yet thirty, so have ample time. It may be that one's mental state when making love has an effect on such matters. You are constantly beset by so many urgent problems that it would surprise me if you ever gave your whole thoughts to a woman even for a few moments.'

Bonaparte gave him a swift glance. ^' That is an interesting thought. Perhaps you are right. At least it gives me some comfort. But there are more important things in life than women. One's country must come first, and you shall see what I will do in Paris. As I've often said I would, I'll put an end to these fops and puppies who are bringing about our ruin.'

This conversation did not console Roger for the loss of Zanthe; but it did help a little to take his thoughts from her, for Bonaparte had confirmed his belief that exciting imes lay ahead when they reached .the French capital and the various ways in which events might develop gave him much on which to ponder.

However, it was to be many weeks before they reached Paris. After their propitious start the weather became unfavourable. As in the case of the outward journey, Bonaparte allowed their Admiral no say about the course he should take, preferring to trust in his own star rather than let anyone else decide how they should endeavour to evade Nelson's ships.

He ordered Gantheaume to hug the coasts of Tripoli and Tunisia until they came opposite the ruins of ancient Carthage, then head north for Sardinia. His plan was sound, for if they had encountered British warships in the open sea they must either have surrendered or been sunk; whereas, should they be intercepted near the coast, it was his intention to have the frigates run ashore then, accompanied by some eight to nine hundred fighting men, make his way to an African port, from which he might hope to get another ship and again attempt to reach France. But for twenty-one days without intermission the winds were adverse. Laboriously the frigates tacked from side to side, making a few miles each night, only to be blown back towards Alexandria next day.

The gaiety on board soon subsided. For three whole weeks the voyagers suffered the most agonizing frustration and apprehension. Each morning it seemed impossible that dusk should again fall without Sir Sidney Smith's squadron having come upon them. The sighting of even the smallest sail on the horizon made Bonaparte's pale face still paler, from fear that he was about to be captured; for he knew that there could be no escape and that resistance would be futile.

His companions did everything they could to distract him, almost forcing him to play cards and letting him cheat as much as he liked at vingt-et-un; for he could not bear to lose at any game, although he always gave away his winnings.

At last, in mid-September, the wind changed and for long, monotonous days they sailed west along the coast of Africa until they rounded Cape Bon. Soon afterwards they entered on the worst hazard of their journey—the hundred-and-fifty-mile run from the neighbourhood of Bizerta across to the southern tip of Sardinia—for the narrows there were always patrolled by British ships. Fortune favoured them and fair winds continued to carry them up the west side of the big island. But when they had passed it a great storm blew up, driving them with it into the Gulf of Ajaccio, and, failing to beat their way out, the frigates were forced to put into the port.

Far from being pleased at this opportunity to revisit his birthplace and see his relations, Bonaparte was furious at the delay. Moreover, he had long since lost all interest in Corsica and presented a surly face to the innumerable people anxious to claim kinship with him and the scores of mothers who presented their offspring to him vowing that, although the great man's memory might have failed him about such trivialities, he was the godfather of their children.

In Ajaccio they learned that further disasters had befallen the French in northern Italy. On July 22nd the citadel of Alessandria had surrendered and, eight days later, the great fortress of Mantua had fallen. The successful end to these sieges had released many thousands of Austrian troops. In addition, Suvoroff had received reinforcements which brought the strength of the Russians up to twenty-seven thousand men.

Joubert, a young General of great promise, had been sent to Genoa to supersede the veteran Moreau. Ambitious to win laurels for himself but unaware that Mantua had fallen, and hoping to save it, Joubert had left the shelter of Genoa and advanced to Novi where he had seized the heights above the town. There he was attacked by an Austrian Army, under General Kray, and Suvoroff's Russians. Early in the day the young Joubert's promising career was cut short during an encounter with skirmishers. In spite of having lost their General, the French fought valiantly but were surrounded. In the final phase of the battle they had to retreat down a valley choked with their own baggage wagons. Hungarian troops had moved round to the heights commanding it and poured down a relentless fire upon them. The valley became a shambles. Only a remnant of the French got away and at Novi they had lost twelve thousand men.

Meanwhile, terrible things were happening in the south. Nelson had refused to recognize the capitulation of the garrisons of the castle at Naples that had been agreed with Cardinal Ruffo, so these unfortunates became the victims of a White Terror. Instead of being given a safe-conduct to France, as they had been promised, many hundreds of them were executed. King Ferdinand had arrived from Palermo and made his headquarters in Nelson's flagship. Bewitched out of all sense of reason by his Neapolitan friends, Nelson allowed himself to be made their sword of vengeance. Even one hundred and twenty of the noble Eletti, who had endeavoured to maintain order in the city after the departure of the Sovereigns, were summarily put to death. As chief executioner in this blood bath, Nelson was created Duke of Bronte by His Sicilian Majesty. But when he later returned to England his own Sovereign, King George III, received him with chilling coldness.

On October 7th the two frigates left Ajaccio on their last desperate run for the French coast. Another thing Bonaparte had learned in Ajaccio was that, as far back as the preceding April, Admiral Bruix had brought his Atlantic Fleet round into the Mediterranean. But instead of employing it to convoy reinforcements to Egypt, as Bonaparte had so consistently implored the Directory to do, they had retained it to protect the south coast of France.

Even so, the Corsican was still haunted by the fear that he might yet be captured; so while in Ajaccio he had had a cutter built. It was to be towed behind Murion, with twelve stout rowers in it, so that should the frigate be intercepted by the British, he could at once jump into it and still have a chance of landing in France.

From having to take to it he had the narrowest of escapes. The weather proved fair, but on their second evening out they sighted a British Squadron of fourteen sail. The Squadron recognized the two frigates as Venetian-built and, knowing that the Venetian Fleet had been stolen by the French, at once altered course and came in pursuit. Darkness fell, but they were still in danger of capture. All night, as they heard the reports of the signal guns of the British ships, they sweated in panic. It seemed inevitable that when morning came they would again be sighted, then run down. Their voyage had lasted nearly seven weeks and the thought of being taken prisoner on the very last day drove them frantic with despair. Gantheaume lost his head and urged an attempt to get back to Ajaccio; but Bonaparte, practically alone among them kept calm. He ordered every sail to be spread and, instead of trying to reach Toulon, decided that a course should be set to the north-west. By morning it brought them to St. Raphael, the harbour village that served the ancient town of Fr£jus.

Intense as was their relief at their safe arrival, there was another matter that had caused Bonaparte grave concern. Having come from the Near East, where plague was endemic, they were subject to three weeks' quarantine. But a sailing boat came out and hailed them. As soon as it was known that Bonaparte was on board, scores of craft, crammed with people, put out from the Mttle harbour. Shouting, cheering, they forced their way on board, determined to give the conqueror of Italy an unforgettable welcome back to France. Crowding round the slim, pale-faced figure on the quarter-deck, they fought to wring him by the hand or even kiss the hem of his coat. Owing to this the quarantine was rendered pointless. If the frigates had brought plague with them, the populace of Fr£jus had been exposed to infection. So by mid-morning it was decided that Bonaparte and his entourage should go ashore.

The latest news to be had in this remote little town was still of French disasters. Of all Italy, France now held only Genoa and the narrow lands of the Ligurian Republic of which it was the capital. The Army of the Archduke Charles was besieging Phillipsburg and Mainz. Suvoroff's Russians had crossed the Alps and entered Switzerland, where another Russian Army, under General Korsakoff, reported to be thirty thousand strong, had joined him for an attempt to crush Mass£na. Lastly, the French were being attacked on yet another front. On August 27th a British Army commanded by the Duke of York landed at the Helder and, assisted by Dutch Royalists, had seized the Fleet moored at the Texel. Then, a fortnight later, the British had been joined by a Russian contingent of seventeen thousand men, brought round by sea from the Baltic by General Hermann.

With such enormous forces arrayed against her it was clear that France's situation was now desperate and that before winter set in she might be invaded. Bad as was the news, all Bonaparte's companions knew that it favoured the prospects of their master. His reception at Frejus could not have been more enthusiastic, but Frejus was only one small town. Paris and the greater part of France might give him anything but a warm welcome. He had left his Army to rot in the sands of Egypt and families all over the country had husbands, brothers, sons and lovers among those he had abandoned there. When sending him out, the Directory had given him a somewhat ambiguous permission to return in certain circumstances; but he would have to account for his act to the Minister of War, and that Minister was his enemy Bernadotte. There was, too, the awful possibility that he had brought plague to France. He would, therefore, stand or fall by the country's need of him. Only a great public outcry, that he was the one man who could save France, could safeguard him from his enemies.

Roger's little chateau lay only a few miles away in the direction of St. Maxime, so he naturally offered it for his master's accommodation. But Bonaparte was anxious not to lose a moment in getting to Paris and, as soon as coaches and horses could be collected, he set off with his Generals and personal Staff.

The journey took seven days and proved a triumphal progress. The news of Bonaparte's return had spread like wildfire. People came from miles round to stand along the roadside and cheer him; the streets of the towns and cities through which they passed were choked with crowds hailing him as their deliverer, and from every balcony the women threw down autumn flowers on the little cavalcade. After the first day it was already clear that not one in ten thousand in those seething crowds was giving a thought to Egypt. To them the little, pale-faced General was the heroic conqueror of Italy and the one man who might hold France's enemies at bay.

On October 16th they arrived in Paris. Bonaparte drove straight to his house in the Rue de la Victoire, Roger to his old quarters at La Belle £toile. The good Norman couple were, as ever, delighted to see him and asked him to dine with them. Over the meal Maitre Blanchard gave him the latest news, which confirmed rumours he had heard while on the road, that things had taken a turn for the better.

General Brune's Army in Holland had, on September 19th, inflicted a severe defeat on the Anglo-Russian expeditionary force, so that it was now on the defensive. Better still, from the main theatre of war came the news of a great triumph in Switzerland. One of Massena's lieutenants, General Lecourbe, with troops used to mountain warfare, had taken heavy toll of Suv6roff's Army as it had forced its way through the defiles of the Alps. Korsakoff, meanwhile, had stormed Zurich. Using the divisions of Mortier and Soult to bar his further advance, Mass^na despatched Oudinot's corps of fifteen thousand men to encircle the Russian rear. Korsakoff had then found himself caught in the city with his back to the lake and the river Limmat. A terrific battle had raged for two days until, on September 25th, Korsakoff had formed his infantry into a solid mass and cut his way out through Oudinot's corps. But eight thousand Russian prisoners, a hundred cannon and the whole of Korsakoff's treasure and supplies had been taken. The bastion of Switzerland remained in the hands of France and Massena had earned himself a place among the greatest of her Generals.

For the time being at least France was no longer in danger and Roger wondered how seriously that might detract from the popularity that Bonaparte had enjoyed during the past week with the fickle masses. His thoughts were, however, abruptly diverted by a serving man coming in to say that M. de Beauharnais was outside and asking to see him urgently.

Apologizing to his host and hostess, Roger left the parlour and went out to find Eugene in a state of great agitation and distress. Taking his young friend by the arm Roger led him into a small room nearby that was empty, sat him down and asked him what was the matter.

Manfully choking back his sobs, Eugene poured out his story. His step-father had thrown his mother out of the house and intended to divorce her.

The former statement was not strictly accurate, but as near the truth as made no difference. Eugene had learned from the servants that, on the previous day, his mother had dined with Louis Jerome Gohier, who in June had been made a member of the Directory. As, by rota, he was that month its President, a despatch announcing that Bonaparte had landed in France was brought to him. It arrived in the middle of the meal and he informed Josephine of its contents. She had at once gone home, packed her prettiest clothes, ordered her fastest horses and set out to meet her husband. But she had guessed wrongly the road by which he would come, so had missed him.

When Bonaparte arrived in the Rue de la Victoire, instead of finding his wife he was met by his mother. Soon afterwards they were joined by the rest of the Bonaparte clan. One after the other, and at several of them together, they poured into his ears the tale of Josephine's infamies. She had always been hopeless about money and during his absence had piled up a mountain of debt. Before leaving for Egypt, he had said that he would like to have a small house in the country; so Josephine had bought, for four hundred thousand francs, the Chateau of Malmaison and had furnished it as. though it were a palace. But, infinitely worse, they accused her of having hopped into bed with practically every man who had asked her. They then nailed her infidelity beyond question by stating that his servants would confirm that, for weeks at a stretch, she had lived openly and at Malmaison with M. Hippolyte Charles.

Roger knew all about M. Hippolyte Charles. He was just the sort of handsome, amusing blackguard that women adored, and an old flame of Josephine's. When, in the first year of their marriage, she had at last given way to Bonaparte's passionate appeals to join him in Italy, two of the officers who had escorted her had been Junot and Charles. The former had earned her displeasure by making love during the journey to her pretty maid-companion, Louise Compoint, and Roger was inclined to wonder now if it had not been, at least in part, a desire to pay her out that had prompted Junot to show Bonaparte in Egypt the letter reporting her infidelity.

However that might be, dashing Lieutenant Charles had been the life and soul of the party; so much so that soon after its arrival in Italy Bonaparte had found a pretext for forcing him to resign his commission.

That had not worried Hippolyte in the least. He was already performing profitable services for Army contractors, so he became one himself and was said to have since made a fortune.

Eug&ne maintained that his mother had been indiscreet in seeking distraction during her husband's long absence, but certainly no more. Roger did not contradict him but, knowing Josephine's congenital inability to say ' No' to any request and the warmth of her Creole temperament, he had no doubt at all that out at Malmaison she had given Hippolyte the fullest proofs of her affection. She must, of course, have been scared almost out of her wits by the news of Bonaparte's unexpected return and by the thought that his family were certain to tell him about the sort of life she had been leading. Her only hope had been to reach him before they did and do her utmost to re-arouse his old desire for her; but she had missed him and they had got hold of him first.

When Bonaparte, foaming at the mouth with grief and rage at his worst suspicions having been so fully confirmed, had at last got rid of his puritanical mother, his grave-faced brothers and his screaming sisters, he had gone upstairs, rammed all Josephine's belongings into several trunks, had them carried down into the hall for her to collect, then locked himself in his bedroom and refused to see anyone.

When Eugene had finished his woeful tale Roger considered the situation, both from the personal angle and as it might affect his duty as a secret agent of Mr. Pitt. He had had a considerable hand in the intrigue that had led to Bonaparte marrying Josephine. In fact, but for a great service he had rendered her, the marriage would probably never have taken place. She had more than repaid that by unfailing kindness to him and by saving his life in Venice. These ties constituted a bond between them that would prove invaluable should Bonaparte's star continue in the ascendant and he succeed in his ambition to secure a dominant voice in the future direction of affairs in France. On the other hand, if he rid himself of Josephine he would soon, his temperament being what it was, find himself another woman to fill her place. To establish the same sort of relations with a newcomer would at best mean an immense amount of work, or might even prove impossible. It took Roger less than a minute to decide that friendship and duty marched hand in hand. Clearly he must help in any way he could to prevent Bonaparte from divorcing Josephine; so he said to Eugene:

^'1 think your mother's future lies not in her hands but in yours. As things are at the moment it is certain that, whether she be guilty or not, your step-father will not listen to her. His family must have poisoned his mind against her to such an extent that nothing she can say will move him. But his weak point is children. He would, I know, greatly like to have one of his own, but so far his attempts in that have been unavailing. Meanwhile, you and your sister partly fill his craving to be a father. He is devoted to you both. My advice, for what it is worth, is that you should return and not only plead your mother's cause but say that, if he abandons her, you and your sister will be driven to despair, because where she goes duty requires you to follow. But you both love him so dearly that to have to leave him would break your hearts.'

Eugene thanked him for his counsel and left the inn. As Roger watched him go, he was far from sanguine about Josephine's chances. He felt that, had La Bellilotte accompanied Bonaparte back to Paris, there would have been no hope at all for Josephine; but after his two-month journey the passionate little Corsican must be in a susceptible,state with regard to women, so it was just on the cards that, if only Eugene could persuade him to see Josephine, she might arouse his old passion for her and win him back.

Early next morning Eugene came to La Belle £toile again. He was tired but beaming, and told Roger about the terrible time he had been through. During his absence the previous evening his mother had got back to Paris, found her trunks in the hall and, overwhelmed with despair, gone to pour out her woe to Madame de Chateau-Renault. Her friend had insisted that she make a light for it and sent her back. Eugene had found her kneeling outside Bonaparte's door, pleading with him, but he had maintained a stony silence. With his fifteen-year-old sister, Hortense, Eugene took his mother's place. Alternately they implored their step-father to have mercy on their mother and themselves, while Josephine lay at the bottom of the stairs weeping hysterically. At last, the children had persuaded Bonaparte to see his wife. Josephine had staggered up on to the landing. The door had opened. The faces of both were streaming with tears. Without a word, they had fallen into one another's arms.

Pleased and relieved at the outcome of this domestic crisis, Roger sallied forth to savour the autumn air of Paris and order some new uniforms. Later in the day he heard that during the morning Bonaparte had made an official call on the Directors. It was reported in the cafes that they had received him coldly and rumoured that Bernadotte had urged that, for having deserted his Army, he should be arrested. But the Moniteur carried heavy headlines announcing his arrival in Paris, and giving an account he had sent them of what he termed his ^' greatest victory'.

With splendid effrontery de declared that at Aboukir he had driven thirty thousand Turks into the sea, thus permanently destroying the power of the Sultan to make any further attempt to regain Egypt. He stated that, but for this achievement, he would never have left his beloved Army; but it was in good health and splendid spirits so, with Egypt secure, he had felt it his duty to return and place his sword at the disposal of the Government against the enemies of France nearer home.

It was the first news to be given out in France about the battle of Aboukir, and Paris was thrilled by it. For so many years the Parisians had been fed on accounts of victories in Europe, or defeats that had been more or less covered up as brilliant strategic withdrawals, that such news meant little to them. But the picture conveyed of a few thousand Frenchmen, far from home, triumphing over ten times their number of ferocious barbarians was something new about which to cheer in earnest. Brue's able generalship in Holland and the fact that Massena had in Switzerland saved France from invasion by a Russian horde were, in a moment, forgotten. Bonaparte was once more the hero of the hour, the idol of the populace.

Roger felt that he had good reason to be pleased with things. The master to whom he had attached himself might be a liar and an opportunist, but he was in most ways a far finer man than the corrupt and inefficient politicians to whom he was secretly opposed; and he was more than holding his own against them. Josephine, meanwhile, had been reinstated. She was once more being hailed by the people as ' Our Lady of Victories' and Roger knew he could count on her friendship.

His own position left nothing to be desired. He had now been a member of the great man's Staff for well over two years and had become one of his intimates. That he did not fully deserve his companions' belief in his bravery he was well aware, as several of his exploits had been faked. But everyone believed that he had escaped from the British after the battle of the Nile, escaped from slavery in Tripoli, escaped again from Djezzar during the siege of Acre and brought with him a Turkish standard. That he had actually come through several desperate situations by his own courage and resource was beside the point. He had been cited in an Order of the Day by Bonaparte, after personally defending him near Venice, and had been presented with a sword of honour. He had again been cited in an Order of the Day, after rejoining Bonaparte outside Acre, and was now known in the Army as ' le brave BrecuConning over his record to himself, he felt that even the astute Talleyrand must now be convinced that at heart he was truly French. It had needed only that to make his position unassailable.

That evening he decided to call upon his charming and brilliant friend. Before doing so he returned to La Belle £toile to freshen himself up and have the patched and faded uniform he still wore smartened up as far as that was possible. As he entered the inn a potman gave him a letter. Opening it he saw that it was headed, ¹ Ministry of Police \ It read:

The Minister presents his compliments to Colonel Breuc and desires him to call upoh him at his earliest convenience.

It was signed Joseph Fouche.

Roger went as white as the paper on which the letter was written. It seemed incredible, yet it must be true. Somehow, during his absence from France, the subtle, scheming, ex-terrorist had succeeded in climbing from obscurity back to power. Fouché was Roger's most deadly enemy, the one man who had it in his power to ruin him utterly. And he was now Minister of Police.

23

Out of the Past

Roger had absorbed the contents of the communication at a single glance. Its very brevity precluded any possibility of mistake and it was a summons that he dared not ignore. Abruptly he told the potman to bring him a pint of Anjou wine. Then he sat down to think.

He had last seen Fouche in March, '96. Unlike a number of other prominent terrorists who had saved their own necks by conspiring to bring about Robespierre's downfall in the summer of '9', Fouche's record had been so black that he had been hounded out of the Convention. All his skill at intrigue had failed to save him from the malice of his enemies, and for close on two years he had lived in obscurity and poverty. In the spring of '96 he had striven to secure for himself, by a pretty piece of blackmail, at least a minor post in one of the Ministries; but Roger had outwitted him. Still worse, for him, as his activities had menaced Barras's plans the all-powerful Director had issued an order of banishment, forbidding him to reside within sixty miles of Paris.

How, Roger wondered, with Barras still the most prominent man in the Directory, had Fouche not only secured permission to return to Paris but become Minister of Police, the most powerful official in the capital? Before opening Fouche's letter he had felt so fully assured of his own security. Now, as he slowly drank his wine, he endeavoured to assess how seriously it might be threatened by this extraordinary change in the fortunes of his old enemy.

Had Fouche emerged again as a private individual or even in

'00

some minor post, Roger would have had little to fear. Apart from occurrences during his first year in France, of which only Talleyrand and Fouché knew, his record was unassailable. With his many friends in high places, Barras and Bonaparte among them, he could have laughed to scorn an accusation by any ordinary ex-terrorist; but if the Minister of Police personally vouched for it that he knew Colonel Breuc to be an Englishman and a secret agent, that would be a ve^y different matter.

In France, for the past eight years, all protection of the liberty of the individual had ceased to exist. There was no such law as Habeas Corpus, or any Court before which an accused person might demand to be heard. The country had been ruled by a succession of tyrants who maintained themselves by giving full powers to their secret police to suppress all opposition. Many thousands of people had been arrested merely on suspicion and had been imprisoned indefinitely or shipped off to die in the fever-ridden penal settlements at Cayenne. So Roger now had to face the appalling thought that Fouché could arrest him and, unless he could very speedily get help, order his immediate transportation. Roger had no doubt that Bonaparte would intervene on his behalf. But the Corsican must be immersed as never before in his secret struggle with the Directory; and he might not even hear of Roger's arrest until the latter was a prisoner in the hold of a ship well out in the Atlantic.

Before many minutes had passed, he decided that his one hope of protecting himself lay in informing his friends of his danger so that, should he fail to return from his interview with Fouché, they would at once take steps to do what they could for him. Yet he also saw that for him to run round Paris telling all and sundry that he feared he was about to be arrested as an English spy was out of the question. The old adage, * qui s'excuse, s'accuse\ flashed into his mind. As yet he had not even been accused, so what possible grounds could he give for fearing that he would be?

It was then he recalled that, at the moment he had received the bombshell, he had been about to freshen himself up before going to call on Talleyrand. He finished his wine at a draught, then went up to his room. Talleyrand was the one man who knew as much about him as did Fouche, so he could at least consult him without throwing suspicion on himself. It was most unfortunate that the ex-Bishop was no longer Foreign Minister; but though he now lacked the power to protect a friend he could still be counted on for good advice.

Fifteen minutes later Roger left La Belle fitoile in a sedan chair for the Rue Taitbout, where he learned that Talleyrand had moved on leaving the official residence of the Foreign Minister in the Rue de Bac. Darkness had come and rain with it, converting the surface of the streets into inch-deep mud. As his chairmen sloshed through it Roger thought how terribly the state of Paris had deteriorated since he had first known it.

Then, though the streets were narrow, they had been reasonably clean and there were scores of fine mansions in which hundreds of wax candles burned every night. Now, the streets were pot-holed and half choked with refuse. Hardly a glimmer of light was to be seen. The mansions had leaking roofs and broken windows; most of them had become rat-infested tenements, while many of the formerly splendid churches had been turned into shoddy dance halls or gaming dens. The Armies of France had sent back thousands of millions of francs, extorted from conquered countries, yet the Governments had been so corrupt and inefficient that money was never forthcoming to stop the capital from falling into an ever-worse state of rack and ruin.

Talleyrand's house had a courtyard flanked by two pavilions. It was one of the few that, owing to his genius for acquiring money and a good taste that no money could buy, was kept up with the same elegance that had graced those of the old nobility. After Roger's many months spent in the cramped quarters of ships going to and fro across the Mediterranean, and in the insalubrious East, the very sight and warmth of the handsomely furnished hall cheered him a little; but to his annoyance he learned that the master was out, making a round of the salons.

When he said he would await M. de Talleyrand's return, the footman fetched the Majordomo. This portly factotum recognized Roger and said he feared his master might not return home for several hours. But Roger said it was imperative that he should see M. de Talleyrand that night; so the Majordomo showed him into an ante-room, had the footman bring him wine and biscuits, then left him.

For a while he continued to muse over the alarming turn his fortunes had so suddenly taken; but after a time it struck him that no good could come from his spending half the night brooding, so he had better find some other way to employ his mind.

The ante-room contained two bookcases and a large, mahogany rack containing news-sheets. On glancing at these he found that they were the files of the Moniteur for several months past; so he spread out some of the sheets on the table and began to look through them.

He already knew that in the previous June there had been a further change in the Directory and another bloodless revolution, termed the coup d'etat of JPrairial. Now he was able to follow its course through the official reports of speeches in the Five Hundred and, from his knowledge of the principal participants, more or less read between the lines what had taken place.

It was clear to him that, when Rewbell had retired from the Directory in May, the Abbe Sieyes—then the Ambassador of France in Berlin—had been elected in his place, not because the remaining Directors wanted him but because the Assembly had forced him upon them.

That they had done so was further evidence of the country's desperate desire for an end of corruption and inefficiency. Sieyes at least had a reputation for honesty and, although he was cunning enough to make few public pronouncements, he was credited with profound wisdom. The Directory had failed so dismally as a form of government that it was felt on all sides that a change in the Constitution was long overdue. Who could produce one with more likelihood of converting the muck-heap inherited from the Revolution into a modern Utopia than this dry-as-dust little Abb6 who, for years, had posed as another Solon? Moreover while on the one had he had never been an active terrorist, so would curb the Jacobins, on the other he was a veteran anti-Royalist and had voted for the King's death, so could be trusted to preserve the principles of the Revolution.

But by the time Sieyes had arrived from Berlin new elections had taken place, greatly strengthening the Jacobin Party in the Five Hundred. They had violently denounced the Directory and forced through a law restoring freedom to the Press. This had led to scores of articles and pamphlets appearing, attacking the Directory and especially the opposition to reform displayed by Larevelliere, Merlin and Treilhard. Sieyes had obviously seen the necessity for getting rid of them, and Barras, playing as ever for his own hand, must have aided him.

As a first step, although Treilhard had served on the Directory for a year, an illegality disqualifying him from holding office was suddenly discovered, and Gohier, a staunch Republican who had formerly been a Minister of Justice, was elected in his place. Then, on the 30th of Prairial, they had put on the time-worn act of sending a message to the two Chambers, declaring the country ^' to be in dangerUproar had followed and that evening, to prevent bloodshed. Larevelliere and Merlin had agreed to resign. To succeed them the Councils had elected Roger Ducos—who, like Sieyes, never committed himself to anything for which he might later be called to account—and General Moulins, a morose and incompetent man who had been put up because he was too stupid to prove a menace to anyone.

If the object of all these intrigues, vitriolic articles and nightlong hurling of insults in the Two Chambers had been to introduce a more moderate form of government, then it had failed dismally. The Jacobins, not so much through numbers as by threats of violence, now dominated the Five Hundred, and both the Anciens and the Directory appeared incapable of controlling them.

They had resurrected the Jacobin Club. Over one hundred and fifty Deputies joined it and its sessions were held in the Manege, where Danton had thundered, Robespierre had advocated merciless decrees and the King's death had been voted. They had formed a Committee of Eleven which was laying claim to the powers of the old Committee of Public Safety. All this had the full approval of the two fanatically Republican Directors—Gohier and Moulins—and three Generals of the first rank—Bernadotte, Jourdain and Augereau—belonged to their party.

Their attitude was typified by the Law of Hostages, which they had succeeded in pushing through in July. Hoche, by securing a degree of toleration for the Catholics in La Vendee, had at last succeeded in pacifying Brittany; but the Government had not kept its side of the bargain, so fresh disturbances had broken out there. To suppress them it had been decreed that, in the twelve rebellious Departments, the Republican authorities should choose hostages from among the relations of emigres and ci-devant nobles. These innocent people were to be imprisoned forthwith. Then, for every Republican killed by the partisans, four hostages were to have their entire property seized and to be transported to Cayenne.

The Jacobins were hated by the vast majority of the people, but they were also feared; for their ruthless minority included among its members not only Directors, Generals and many

Deputies, but a great number of officials in the administration and the police. It was reported that at the Cafe Godeau, near the Tuileries, the revolutionaries who assembled there had vowed that they would slaughter ten thousand victims to the shade of Robespierre, and that they drank nightly to a return to the days of '93 when they would again see the guillotine at work in the Place du Carrousel.

As Roger absorbed this, he no longer had cause to wonder how it was that a man with Joseph Fouches record had succeeded in getting himself made Minister of Police.

It was past midnight when Talleyrand appeared. Despising cloth for evening wear as plebeian, he was dressed in wine-coloured satin and, indifferent to the jibes of the Jacobins, still wore his hair powdered. Raising his quizzing-glass on its broad black ribbon, he eyed Roger through it from the doorway, bowed and said with a smile:

^' My poor friend, I am told you have been waiting here for

hours. If only I had known-'

^' But you did not/ Roger said quickly, ^' and it is I who should apologize for bothering you at such an hour. I trust, though, that you will give me a few minutes, as the matter is urgent.'

^' Why, certainly. But what do I see? ' The statesman's glance fell on the table. ^' Cold Claret and a few biscuits. My people have neglected you shamefully. This is no fit fare for that gallant soldier ^'' le brave Breuc ".'

Roger flushed slightly. ^' I've done little to earn such an appellation and wonder that anyone should have told you of it.'

^' One hears things, you know; one hears things.' Talleyrand turned to the footman behind him. ^' Henri, have the centres of some brioches removed and the shells stuffed with foie-gras; and fetch a bottle of champagne from the ice locker.' Turning back to Roger, he added:

^' Champagne is the only possible drink after midnight. Tell me now; in what way can I be of service to you? '

^' It seems,' Roger replied, ^' that you have heard something of the way in which I have risked my life several times during the past seventeen months. May I ask whether you are now fully convinced about what I told you when last we met—that, since joining General Bonaparte's Staff, I have regarded myself as a Frenchman? '

^' Why, yes. That is, dear friend, as fully convinced as my unhappily low assessment of human nature ever allows me to be about anything. But at least I know you to be no fool. Having laid the foundations of such a promising career for yourself in France, I cannot think you would be so stupid as to risk throwing it away by aiding France's enemies.'

¹1 am relieved to hear it; for one person remains who, like yourself, knows that I am Admiral Brook's son. And I have reason to fear that he intends to ruin me.'

^' Who is this tiresome individual? '

'Joseph Fouché.'

Talleyrand raised his eyebrows. 'Indeed! That is most unfortunate. Fouche is the most dangerous blackguard unhung, and if you have made an enemy of him in the past your case is serious.'

'Alas, I have; and this evening I received a letter from him requiring me to report to him at his Ministry. Should he arrest me, I was hoping that I might count on your protection.'

Before replying, Talleyrand took out his snuff-box, tapped the lid, took a pinch and dusted the specks from his satin coat with a flick of his lace handkerchief. Then he said gravely, ^'1 would give it you willingly, had I the means; but I am at the moment no more than a private citizen.'

Roger nodded. ^'1 knew that you were no longer Foreign Minister. A rumour reached us in Egypt that you had been deprived of your post owing to a difference of opinion with some Americans, and I was most distressed to hear it.'

^' Oh, that! ' Talleyrand gave his low, rich laugh. ^' My compliments on the delicacy of the way in which you put it. Our ^'' difference of opinion " was that those boors refused to subscribe to accepted European custom and pay me a miserable hundred thousand francs before I would enter into negotiations with them about some of their ships we were holding. But I was not deprived of my post. I resigned, and that although no pressure was brought on me to do so.'

^' You surprise me.' Roger raised his eyebrows. ^' May one ask what led you to give up such an interesting and er . . . lucrative post? '

^' You may. I had made enough out of it to live respectably for some time to come and, although I should resent anyone else terming me a rat, you will know the old proverb about rats leaving the sinking ship. The Directory is doomed and I have an aversion to being drowned. Moreover, the canaille had become so vociferous about me that I felt it politic to retire into private life for a while. When the Legislature again gave freedom to the Press I became the target for every kind of abuse. They even had the impudence to write most scurrilously about my private life and, still worse, to question my foreign policy. As you are aware, I have always maintained that the only hope for lasting peace and prosperity in Europe lies in a rapprochement between France and Britain. They dubbed me an emigre Anglophile and asserted that my aim was to wreck the Revolution. As though it could be wrecked further than it already had been by those foul-mouthed, bloodthirsty Jacobins.'

At that moment the footman arrived with the champagne and brioches. Standing up, Talleyrand limped over to the table and poured the wine himself. As he handed a glass to Roger he went on, ^' So, by resigning when I did, I both diverted the attentions of the mud-slingers from myself and gracefully bowed my way out of this Government that is now execrated by everybody. But, of course, I took steps to continue doing what little I could to prevent the Directory from further poisoning our foreign relations. I persuaded them to appoint my old friend, Reinhard, in my place. He is a most admirable man nad accepts my guidance without question. He realizes, too, that he is no more than a stopgap and will take no umbrage at my replacing him as soon as we can get rid of these dolts now occupying the Luxembourg.'

' You are convinced, then, that the Government will fall? ' Roger asked, before taking a large bite out of one of the delicious brioches.

' As certain as one can be of anything. But I have digressed too long. When do you propose to pay your call on Fouche? '

'Tomorrow; or rather, this morning. It would certainly not improve my case to wait until he has me fetched. All I can do is put a bold face on matters, endeavour to convince him, as I have you, that I have served France well in these past two years and intend to continue to do so; and trust that, powerful though he has become, he will think twice about having me arrested as a secret agent. After all, it is only his word against mine that I was not born a Frenchman, and should he arbitrarily spirit me away I am sure you will be good enough to set on foot enquiries as to what has become of me.'

' On that you may rely. Go to him early. Tell him you have an appointment with me here at midday. That may give him pause. Should you not be here by twelve o'clock I will go straight to Bonaparte. I had a long interview with him this morning and during it enquired after you. He holds you in high regard and, as you are one of his aides-de-camp, he is entitled to demand an explanation as to why you are being held. Even so, I shall be much relieved if you are able to keep our appointment. As Minister of Police, Fouche has almost unlimited powers and is answerable to no one other than the Directory. If he does detain you it may prove far from easy to get you out of his clutches.'

^' It is that I fear. And I am most grateful to you for what you propose to do. When last I saw him, he had just received an order of banishment signed by Barras. To find him back here in Paris and wielding such power came as a great shock to me. How in the world has such a villain succeeded in making his way back into public life? '

Talleyrand smiled. 'Dear friend, you have answered yourself. Because he is a villain. Birds of a feather, you know. This past year or more, the Directory has had the greatest difficulty in surviving. It has succeeded only by the use of bribery, blackmail and treachery. It is by no means easy to find officials willing to employ such methods who are, at the same time, capable administrators. And no one could question Fouche's ability. When he bobbed up again, they decided to let bygones be bygones and reap the benefit of his special talent for villainy.'

^' It still amazes me that they should have put into his hands the immense powers enjoyed by a Minister of Police.'

^' They did not do so to begin with. If you wish, I could give you particulars of his rogue's progress.'

Roger replied that he would very much like to hear them; so his host took his malacca cane and, with his graceful limp, left the room. Some minutes later he returned carrying a folder. As he sat down again and opened it he said, ^' While I was at the Foreign Ministry I naturally had my own intelligence service. When I was about to leave, it occurred to me that if I brought some of these dossiers with me they might later prove useful.'

Flicking over the contents of the folder, he went on, 'There are pages and pages about Fouches activities during the Terror, but no doubt you are already informed thereon. Ah, here we are! "Banished from Paris by order of Director Barras. Settled in Montmorency Valley. Near destitute. Started pig-farming on a capital said to be less than one hundred louis."' Talleyrand sniffed. ^' What a revolting occupation to choose. But I suppose there is money in it.'

^' He had a pig farm on the outskirts of Paris before he was banished,' Roger volunteered. 'I gathered, though, that he was making very little out of it because someone else had put up the capital. But, I pray you, continue.'

^'" Early in '97 returned to Paris, started a small company for delivering food to troops in north-west France. Got rid of partners and began to do well on his own. Helped to secure the acquittal of the financier Hinguerlot from charges preferred against him before the Tribunal of Melun. This led to establishing valuable connections with the other Parisian bankers. Undertook the organization of profitable smuggling operations on the Dutch frontier. Made overtures to the self-styled King Louis XVIII, then at Mitau. Offered information and assistance to bring about a Restoration."'

^' Can that really be true? ' Roger asked. ^'1 would not have thought even Fouche capable of such a volte-face. Besides, he is a regicide and must have been crazy to imagine that the King would take into his service one of his brother's murderers.'

Talleyrand shrugged and took a drink of wine. ^' Stranger things have happened, and only Sieyes is more adept than Fouche at turning his coat. This, of course, occurred in the summer of '97, when there came the great reaction to the Right led by the Clichiens. To uninformed people, as Fouche then was, it must have looked quite likely that Pichegru and his friends would succeed in restoring the Monarchy. No doubt our wily friend thought that by a stitch in time he might at least earn a pardon. But you are right. The Royalists would have nothing to do with him.'

Again scanning the dossier, Talleyrand went on, ^{' ''} His reaction to this rebuff was to throw himself heart and soul into the movement of the Left, which culminated in the coup of Fructidor by which General Augereau swept away the Royalist elements in the Legislature. It was Fouche's activities at this time that earned him the approbation of the Directory and led to his Order of Banishment being rescinded. In September, '98, he was sent as Ambassador to the Cisalpine Republic. While there, he saw the folly of seeking to dictate to the Italians rather than win them as willing allies and, in this, he had the support of General Joubert. The

Directory did not approve this policy and he was recalled."'

Breaking off for a moment, Talleyrand remarked, ^' It was I who urged that policy upon him. Because the Directory countermanded it France has since paid the penalty. Had we not oppressed the Italians they might have sided with us against Suvoroff's Russians. But no matter. ^'' On his return he was sent as Ambassador to the Batavian Republic. Its Government, owing to French oppression, was toying with the idea of coming to terms with the Orange Party, which was under the influence of England. By skilful diplomacy he prevented that. This resulted in the Dutch Army under General Daendles siding with France when the Anglo-Russian force landed in Holland a month later. In July he was recalled and made Minister of Police. On August 13th, he closed the Jacobin Club.'

'What!' exclaimed Roger. ^'Is it possible? Next you'll be teiling me that he has gone to Mass in Notre Dame.'

^' Os, he will, sooner or later,' Talleyrand replied. It is no longer the fashion to feed donkeys on the Host and tie Bibles to their tails, as he did when representing the Committee of Public Safety in Lyons. It is simply that, now he has become a Minister, he wants to remain one. He is, therefore, prepared to use repressive measures against either side, if it looks like making trouble. He has courage, you know, as well as brains.'

They talked for a while longer and finished the champagne. Then, as Talleyrand accompanied Roger out into the hall, he said:

^' You and I have always held the same views about what is best for Europe and events in the next few weeks may decide the future of Europe for many years to come. You are both Bonaparte's friend and mine. Since we both trust you, I had hoped that you would act as a contact between us at times when it would be wiser for neither of us to call upon the other. That apart, such an evil chance having beset you distresses me greatly. I would give much to be able to protect you from Fouche. As that is beyond my power, I can only wish you well and promise that, should your worst fears be realized, I will do my utmost to have you brought to trial and see that you get a fair hearing.'

This was cold comfort, for Roger knew that should he be brought to trial he would, for ever afterwards, remain suspect, even if he were acquitted, so he would be finished as a secret agent. But at least Talleyrand would provide a life-line which would prevent his being spirited away and dealt with summarily before his friends had had time to start wondering what had become of him.

He found his two chairmen curled up asleep beside a brazier under the porte-cocheur. As he roused them, Talleyrand came down the steps from the house and said, ^'1 see that, not realizing that your return would be at such a late hour, you brought no link-man. I will send my night-watchman to light you on your way. He can lock the courtyard gate behind him.'

'I thank you for the thought,' Roger replied, ^' but this is a public chair. I am sure the bearers must know Paris well and will have no difficulty in finding their way back to my inn.'

^' It is not a question of finding the way. You must have light, to shine upon your sword or a pistol held so that it can be seen through the window of the chair; otherwise you will be attacked.'

^' Attacked! By whom? Why should I be? '

Talleyrand gave a cynical laugh. ^' My friend, you are a stranger in Paris. Otherwise you would know that our Government is much too occupied with other matters to prevent a thousand footpads roaming the streets every night. Why, the banker who finances the gaming rooms at the Palais Royal has to hire a troop of cavalry to escort his cashier's barouche to the bank with each day's takings. Did he not, he would soon find it hard to get cashiers, for, night after night, their throats would be cut.'

Roger made no further protest about accepting the services of the watchman. He reached home without incident, a little afer two o'clock in the morning. In spite of his anxiety, he dropped off to sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow.

By half past nine next morning he was at the Ministry of Police. On his producing Fouche's letter a bearded official, wearing a seedy overcoat, wrote his name in a book then took him to a bare, chilly waiting room. His nerves taut with apprehension about the coming interview, he paced to and fro between the window and the door. Ten minutes passed, fifteen, but nobody came for him; so he sat down on a wooden bench. The only printed matter in the room was police notices on the walls. Inevitably, his mind drifted to Joseph Fouche and what he knew of that strange, devious-minded man.

Fouche had been born in Nantes, of middle-class parents. The family were merchants and shipowners and owned a plantation in the West Indies, but Joseph was put into the Church. He never actually took Orders, but for ten years wore the tonsure as a lay brother of the Oratorian Fathers and taught in their seminaries. From his teens, he had taken an interest in police work and one of his hobbies was playing the amateur detective. The other was science, with special interest in balloon ascents such as those of the Montgolfier brothers, which were then arousing great interest.

In '89, still as an Oratorian schoolteacher, he was living in Arras. There he became friendly with Robespierre and his family. So close was the friendship that he had contemplated marrying Robespierre's sister Charlotte and, when Robespierre had been elected as a Deputy to the Third Estate, it was Fouche who had lent the impecunious lawyer the money to go to Paris.

Imbued with the revolutionary ideas of the Arras circle of which Carnot, then stationed there as an Officer of Engineers, had also been a member, he had returned to Nantes, left the Oratorians and became a professional agitator. In September, '92, he had been elected as a Deputy for Loire Inferure. In the same month he had married a Mademoiselle Coignaud, the daughter of a local official. She had red hair and eyebrows, a pale, pimply face and was terribly ugly. Yet Fouche adored her. His love for her and the children he had by her was the one constant and decent emotion he displayed in his whole life.

In Paris, as a member of the Convention, he had soon made his mark. In '93, the Committee of Public Safety had sent him as Representant en Mission to Nevers. With unlimited powers, he had given free rein to a fanatical atheism, sacked all the churches, sent all their sacred vessels to Paris to be melted down and made the Archbishop wear the Red Cap of Liberty. Transferred to Moulins, he had carried out similar desecrations. But it was in Lyons that he had made his name for ever infamous.

In the autumn of '93 a Liberal reaction had taken place in Lyons, which resulted in a noted revolutionary named Chalier being executed. Robespierre had sent Collot d'Herbois and Fouche to purge the city. With merciless frenzy they had attacked the bourgeoisie, throwing hundreds of them into prison, looting their homes from garret to cellar and even stripping them of their clothes. Their final enormity had been to enjoy, from a dais they had erected in a field, a spectacle of mass murder. Scores of prisoners lashed together in couples had been lined up in front of two trenches, then mown down by grape-shot fired from cannon at close quarters. Those who survived the blasts were then hacked to pieces by the troops, on the orders of Collot and Fouche.

But in the summer of '9', Robespierre's egomania began to be dreaded even by his closest collaborators. The slightest deviation from his principles by one of his followers could lead to that rash individual's head landing in the basket of the guillotine within twenty-four hours. As the pnly hope of saving themselves, Fouche, Tallien, Freron and other terrorists had conspired with some of the Moderate leaders and it was Robespierre who had gone to the guillotine. By timely turning of his coat Fouche had saved his life, but had bought it at the price of his career. Having made use of him, the Thermidorians had thrown him aside and for four years he had been compelled to eat in poverty the bitter bread of frustrated ambition.

Such was the man upon whose pleasure Roger waited.

And wait he did. Half an hour went by, an hour, two hours, yet still no one came for him. At half past eleven he went out to the bearded official and sent a message up that M. de Talleyrand was expecting him at twelve; so he could not remain there much longer. A reply came down that the Minister regretted the delay. Would he be good enough to return at six o'clock?

Having said that he would, he left the building. His interminable wait had frayed his nerves almost to breaking-point and now he had another six hours to get through somehow before he would know Fouche's intentions towards him. Hailing a hackney-coach, he had himself driven to the Rue Taitbout. Talleyrand received him with his usual affability, listened sympathetically to his angry account of the way in which he had been treated, then said:

'To keep you on tenterhooks like this is typical of Fouche's methods. He hopes to undermine your confidence in yourself. You must not let him. It is obvious that this wretched business has already had a serious effect on you. If you brood on it all the afternoon that may prove disastrous. I shall prescribe for you. First, a good gallop. I will order a horse to be saddled. Ride him out to Vincennes and ride hard. If you kill the animal, no matter. On your return, go to a fencing school. Spend two hours there and fight at least six bouts. Then dinner. Eat fish, not meat, for that is heavy and would dull your brain. With dinner a pint of champagne, but no other alcohol either before or after. Tonight I am holding a reception. I shall hope that you will be free to attend it. But, should you not, Bonaparte will be here and I will tell him of my fears for you.'

With a thin smile, Roger thanked him for his counsel and promised to follow it. The fresh air and violent exercise did him a world of good. Soon after five o'clock he sat down at La Belle litoile to a large Sole Colbert, and took with it his ^' medicine as directed'. At six o'clock he was back at the Ministry of Police, still extremely anxious but now able to make himself look as though he had nothing to worry about.

This time he was taken straight upstairs to the Minister's room, a large apartment the walls of which were entirely hidden by row upon row of filing cabinets. Fouché was sitting at a big desk with his back to a tall window, but it was now dark and lamps had been lit which shed their light only on his desk and on any visitor seated opposite him.

He was now forty and, in appearance, quite exceptionally unattractive. Although strong, his tall body was so lean and angular that it gave the impression that he was suffering from some wasting disease. His face was thin and bony, with the complexion of a corpse. From the point of his large, sharp nose there frequently hung a drop, as all his life he suffered from a perpetual cold. His red hair was sparse and brushed over his scalp in rats' tails. His lips were thin and his heavily lidded eyes greenish. They had a fish-like appearance, but few people had ever looked right into them because, when talking to anyone, he always kept his glance averted. Nobody who did not know him would have thought it possible that he was capable of working twenty hours a day, as he often did for long periods; for he seemed to be so drained of all vitality that within the week he would be measured for his coffin.

Without looking at Roger he stood up, made a slight bow, waved his bony hand towards the chair opposite his desk and said, ^' So we old acquaintances meet again.'

^' A classic phrase,' smiled Roger, sitting down. ^' And I am happy to think that we are both better situated than when last we met.'

^'I must congratulate you on having become a Colonel in the French Army.'

^' And I you in having become Minister of Police.'

Fouche studied the fingernails of his right hand. ^' You may also do so on another count. You will recall that when last we parted I was penniless and about to go into banishment. I have since succeeded in making for myself a . . . well, let us call it a modest fortune.'

^' I am glad to hear it.'

'You will also recall that, on the occasion to which I refer, you gave me a hundred louis.'

^' That is so,' Roger murmured, greatly surprised at the turn the conversation had taken. He thought it hardly possible that Fouche could have raised the matter with the intention of showing gratitude, but added:

^' Instead of exile in penury, you had been counting on Barras giving you some minor appointment which would have supported you. You were, I remember, greatly distressed by the thought of the hardship your wife would have to endure. That was my reason for giving you a sum to go on with.'

^'1 know it. At the time I believed that you had thrown it to me as a sop because you had cheated me. But later I learned that, although you had got the better of me by your wits, it was through no fault of yours that Barras treated me so abominably. I am now able to repay your generous gesture.'

As he spoke, Fouche produced from a drawer in his desk a little sack. It clinked as he pushed it across to Roger, and he added, 'There are a hundred louis. The hundred you lent me proved the basis of my fortune.'

Scarcely able to believe his eyes and ears, Roger leaned forward, took up the sack, and said with a smile, ^' Many thanks, Monsieur le Ministre. You enable me to hope that, in future, relations between us may be more cordial.'

Fouche gave a loud sniff then, with a swift, covert glance from beneath his heavy eyelids, replied, ^'1 have only one regret. It is that I could not put guineas into the bag instead of louis. The coin of your own country might have proved more useful to you, Mr. Brook; er . . . that is, if my police had allowed you to get out of Paris with it.'

The Great Conspiracy

Roger's smile froze on his lips. In spite of his amazement at finding Fouche's attitude to him so different from the hostility he had expected, he had for a few moments allowed himself to be deceived into thinking that his old enemy had sent for him only to repay a debt. But nothing of the kind. He had simply been playing the sort of cat-and-mouse game in which he delighted. Again there arose in Roger's mind those awful visions of years spent forgotten in a dark dungeon in some remote fortress, or dying of yellow fever at Cayenne. With a supreme effort he succeeded in preventing his face from showing any marked reaction, and asked quietly:

^' Why should you suppose that I wish to leave Paris? ' ^' Does not every man wish at times to return to his own country? '

^' France is my country.'

^' Oh, come! ' Fouche's thin-lipped mouth twitched in a faint smile. ^' Others appear to believe that, but you cannot expect me to accept such a barefaced lie. Need I remind you that, when first I came upon you as a boy in Rennes, you admitted to me that you were the son of Admiral Brook and had run away from home? '

^' In for a penny, in for a pound,' thought Roger, so he snapped back,^'1 need no reminding of how you murdered poor old Doctor Fdnelon and stole our money.'

Fouche gave a slight shrug. ^' It was not murder. My pistol went off by accident. And I needed the money. But, your admission apart, four years later I followed you to England in the hope of earning the reward offered for the documents you stole from the

'16

Marquis de Rochambeau. I came upon you at your home, Grove Place, at Lymington. You cannot deny that.'

^'1 do not seek to do so; nor deny that I am Admiral Brook's son.'

'Then you admit that you are an English spy? '

^'1 certainly do not. The Marquis's papers came into my hands by chance. Young as I was I realized that, if I could get them to London, it might prevent a war between England and France. I proved right in that. It was your misfortune that, after you regained the papers, I got them back. But at that time we were private individuals. Neither you nor I were then agents employed by our Governments.'

^' That is true; also that you got the better of me. It was the first time, but not the last. I will admit that you are a most redoubtable opponent. The way in which you made off with the Dauphin was masterly. Yet had I left Paris but half an hour earlier I would have caught you and had you guillotined for it.'

In spite of the peril he was now in, Roger felt on the top of his mettle and replied with a laugh, ^' For that again, you cannot accuse me of espionage. I acted as I did on account of a personal promise that I had made to Queen Marie Antoinette, not as the agent of a foreign Power.'

That was only a half-truth, but Fouche could not contest it. He was doodling on a piece of paper and, without looking up, said, ^' Later, you deceived me into believing that you still had the boy, then told me he was dead. What was the truth of the matter? '

For a moment Roger hesitated, then he replied,^' You will recall that, as I pushed off with him in the boat, you and your men fired upon us. He was hit by a ball and died that night.' That was not the truth, but was near enough, for the boy was dead before Roger landed on the far shore of Lake Geneva. After a moment he went on:

^' Neither can you accuse me of espionage in the matter of Madame Bonaparte's diary. I retrieved it from you only because Barras wished her to marry his proteg£, the young General. She would have refused to do so had we not suppressed the evidence that her first marriage to de Beauharnais was bigamous, owing to her having already married William de Kay while still in her teens.'

^' Yes, yes; but all this does not make you a Frenchman.'

^' Not legally, I agree. Yet for many years past I have lived in

France and thought of myself as a Frenchman. You are well aware of the part I played during the Revolution. Admittedly, it is known to you that at heart I was a Royalist. But what of it? Thousands of Royalists have since become good Republicans, and thousands of Republicans would tomorrow, if they thought a Restoration likely, become Royalists.'

^' That is true. But the fact remains that you, an Englishman, now pose as a Frenchman born in Strasbourg, and that you have succeeded in getting yourself appointed as one of General Bonaparte's aides-de-camp. In such a position you must become privy to many State secrets.'

^' Certainly, and why should I not? ' Roger asked boldly. ^' My relatives in England long since cast me off, owing to my Liberal opinions. I am making a career for myself in France, and a fine one. To betray the country of my adoption for the sake of the country of my birth would be to cut off my nose to spite my face. Surely you see that? '

For a full minute Fouché continued to doodle, then he said, ^' You once did me a kindness but, on balance, I have no cause to love you; and in the past you have given me ample proof that you are a very dangerous man. I can see no reason why I should allow you to continue to perpetrate upon General Bonaparte and others the fraud that you were born a Frenchman. Since I have personal knowledge of your origin, any form of trial would be redundant and, as Minister of Police, I am in a position to have you swiftly eliminated. To do so seems to me only a sensible precaution against the possibility that you are lying to me.'

Realizing that the crisis of the interview was at hand, Roger said firmly, ^'1 agree that you have the power to give orders that I should be carted off to some hideous fate, before my friends could even demand that I be formally accused and tried. But what of afterwards? Let us consider two possibilities.

^' First, we will assume that I am at heart loyal to France. You would then have deprived your country of a useful servant. There would be only your word for it that I was a traitor. No one would believe you. It would be thought that you had abused your position to exact a private vengeance. Bonaparte, Talleyrand and a dozen other of my friends would never forgive you. And the Army, which now terms me ^'' le brave Breuc ", would execrate your name.

^' Secondly, we will assume that I am a spy. You might employ false witnesses, but you could produce no convincing proof that I am Admiral Brook's son. Again you would be disbelieved, and attract to yourself the same enmity and opprobrium. But more. Were I an agent of Mr. Pitt, can you really believe that I should come here like a lamb to the slaughter? Certainly not. I should be hand in glove with the Royalist agents. I should have learned from them that, in the summer of '97, a certain Citizen Joseph Fouche offered his aid in an attempt to place Louis XVIII on the throne of France. I should-'

'There is not one word of truth in that,' Fouche broke in quickly.

^' Of course not,' Roger agreed smoothly, ^' nor is there in your fanciful idea that I am an English agent. Yet if I were, you may be certain that, before placing myself in your hands, I would have arranged with my friends that, if you dealt with me as a spy, they should at once put it about all over Paris that, when the Government of France ceased to give you employment, you had offered to betray the Revolution. To that one should add that, just as you might employ false witnesses against me, so the Royalist agents would produce letters, er . . . faked of course, that people might accept as proof, that you had been in communication with the Court at Mitau.'

It was Roger's only card, a bluff based on the information Talleyrand had given him. There might be no incriminating letters in existence, for Fouche was so cautious in all his dealings that he had probably communicated with Mitau only through a third party and had never put pen to paper. But such letters could be forged and it was a certainly that the Royalists in Mitau would willingly have co-operated in attempting to ruin an ex-terrorist of Fouche's standing.

As the cadaverous Minister continued to stare silently at his desk, Roger went on in a conciliatory tone, ^' But all this is beside the point. No one could ever seriously accuse you of scheming to betray the Republic that you played so large a part in establishing, any more than anyone other than yourself could seriously accuse me of being one of Mr. Pitt's agents. And that is the crux of the matter. That I was born an Englishman, to you I readily admit; but that I am a spy, I deny. Therefore, should you use your power arbitrarily to terminate my career, you will be doing a deliberate disservice to your country for the purpose of satisfying your private malice.'

^' No, no! * Fouche shook his head. ^' I am not a malicious man. I have never willingly made an enemy in my life. My only enemies are those who are jealous of me.'

'Then why make one of General Bonaparte, as you certainly will if you make away with a man whose services he regards as valuable? '

Fouche sniffed, then repeated,^' General Bonaparte. I gather that you are on intimate terms with him? '

^' That I can certainly claim to be, and something more than an ordinary military aide-de-camp. In the winter of '98, I went to England on a secret mission for him and brought him back accurate information about the defences on the south coast there. How can you reconcile that with your idea that I am here as a spy for England? '

^'1 would like to have your opinion of Bonaparte.' ^' It is that he is the most remarkable man alive. As a soldier, he is head and shoulders above any other General. But not only that. He is a great administrator. His head is stuffed with more general knowledge than those of any other ten men you could name, yet his mind is so lucid that he never confuses issues. He has immense courage and the ability to make decisions on the instant.'

^' You confirm all that I have heard from other sources. Do you think that he intends to stage a coup d'etatl '

^' If I knew, I certainly should not tell you. But I will offer you a piece of advice. Everyone knows that the Directory is on its last legs. Whatever may emerge from its downfall, you can be certain that Bonaparte is too strong a man to allow himself to be trampled underfoot and, if he does seek power, he will have many friends to aid him. Yet, at this time, when the future is still in doubt, he cannot have too many friends. You would be wise to become one of them.'

Fouche's fish-like eyes suddenly flickered over Roger's face. Looking away again, he said, ^' Advice from a man like yourself is worthy of very serious consideration. In my view, though, it will be all or nothing. The Jacobins are again very powerful, and he is not a politician. If, before he is ready to strike, they accuse him in the Five Hundred of conspiring to become a Dictator, nothing can save him. He will be declared an Outlaw, then no one will dare raise a voice in his defence. On the other hand, if he does intend to bring about a coup d'etat and is successful, he'll brook 110 rivals in the new Government. He will seize supreme power for himself.'

^' And, as a result,' Roger added, ' every plum on the tree will go to those who have aided him. In my position, devoted to him as I am, I stand to make my fortune. Can you any longer suppose that I should throw such a chance away because I happen to have been born in England? '

A bleak smile again twitched Fouche's thin lips as he replied, ^'1 have never taken you for a sentimentalist. But, er . . . with regard to your advice. When Bonaparte was last in Paris, I was busying myself with a commercial venture in northern France; so I have never met him. I should find it interesting to do so, in order that I can form my own opinion of the man.'

Roger's heart suddenly began to hammer in his chest. Each beat was as if it cried aloud, ^'I've won! I've won! I've won! ' With a little bow, he said, ^'1 should be very happy to arrange a meeting.'

^' That would be to add to my indebtedness to you,' Fouche's shifty glance again met Roger's for an instant. 'However, when suggesting it to him, please do not give the impression that I intend to commit myself to anything.'

'Assuredly not. But, in the event of your impression proving favourable and certain movements being set on foot, you would, no doubt, wish to keep in touch with him. It might be ill-advised to do so openly with any frequency. If you felt that, and were also averse to putting anything on paper . .

^' Mon cher Colonel, I take your thought. And I am sure that I can count on your discretion as a verbal courier between us. After all, although you and I differed in our political opinions we worked together for the overthrow of Robespierre, did we not? In this case it seems unlikely that even our political opinions would differ.'

^' Monsieur le Ministre, I am delighted that you should think that, but not at all surprised. France is in a wretched state and has been so for far too long. All sensible men now seem to agree that what the country needs is a strong man, capable of bringing order out of chaos. General Bonaparte is such a man, and one can think of no other.'

Having given a nod of agreement, Fouche swiftly hedged. 'You will, of course, appreciate that in my position I could not take a personal part in any movement. Such action as is taken

would be entirely his affair. I should remain merely an observer.'

'Naturally,' Roger agreed gravely. 'And, after all, we are talking of something that may never take place. Let us leave it that you are to meet the General. Should you then feel about him as do others who know him well, and should he contemplate anything, you might, perhaps, be willing to view the project with benevolent neutrality? '

' Benevolent neutrality. That is an apt phrase; most apt 1 see that we understand one another very well.' Coming slowly to his feet, Fouche added, 'And now, mon cher Colonel, it remains only for me to thank you for having called upon me.'

Roger rose and took the moist, bony hand offered him. ' Monsieur le Ministre, it has been a great pleasure to me to renew our acquaintance in such circumstances. In future you may rely upon me to have your interests at heart.'

' You are most kind. Life could be so much simpler if one had only to deal with friends. For my part, should you have any little personal troubles at any time please remember that the Ministry of Police can usually find ways to smooth them out, and that it is at your service.'

Five minutes later Roger was out in the street. His relief at emerging from the Ministry was submerged in elation. He could hardly believe that he was not dreaming. Fouche might still have suspicions about him, but, if so, they could be only lingering ones which he was prepared to ignore unless given fresh cause to believe that Colonel Breuc was betraying France. In his tussle with Talleyrand Roger had been worsted and, to convince him of his bona fides, had been compelled to spend seventeen arduous months in the Near East and Mediterranean. But in this far more dangerous battle of wits with Fouche it was he who had come off best, for not only had he retained his freedom but, to his amazement, had also placed himself in a situation that could prove enormously to his advantage.

When he arrived at Talleyrand's reception he found, receiving with him, a woman of quite exceptional beauty. She was past her first youth but had a lovely figure, a marvellous complexion, big blue eyes, masses of golden hair and a slightly retrousse nose, not unlike that of Talleyrand. Roger bowed over her hand, gave Talleyrand a smiling nod to indicate that he had successfully survived his interview with Fouche, then moved away into the crowd.

At the buffet, he found himself next to an old acquaintance: a handsome gentleman known as le beau Montrond \ He was a wit, a dandy, a gambler, a formidable duellist and a great personal friend of Talleyrand's. He had attached himself to the statesman and rendered him many useful services. It was said of him that on one occasion Talleyrand had remarked to a third party in de Montrond's presence, ^' You know, I like de Montrond because he is not overburdened with scruples.' Upon which de Montrond put in, ^' And I like de Talleyrand because he has no scruples at all.'

To de Montrond Roger said, ^' Tell me, who is that beautiful woman who is acting as hostess for our host? '

De Montrond looked at him in surprise. ^' Do you not know? But, of course, you have been long abroad. She is a Madame Grand and is known as ^''The Indian" because, although the daughter of a Frenchman, she was born in Pondicherry. From her teens she has been a most notorious whore; but no one can deny her beauty and our dear Charles-Maurice has made her, for ail practical purposes, his wife.'

Roger needed to ask no more for, although he had never met Catherine Grand when he was in Calcutta, her name had still been a legend in Society there. At the age of fifteen she had married an official of the India Company named Grand. Her dazzling beauty had soon attracted the interest of Sir Philip Francis, a member of the Supreme Council of Bengal: the man who, with vitriolic venom, had, as a friend of Charles James Fox and in the Whig interests, consistently thwarted the work of India's greatest Governor, Warren Hastings. One night, Grand's Indian servants had found a ladder made of sections of bamboo swinging from Mrs. Grand's window. Believing that burglars had used it to gain entry the servants had roused the house. Sir Philip had then been found in the bed of its luscious sixteen-year-old mistress.

Mr. Grand had promptly returned the young lady to her parents and sued Sir Philip for heavy damages. Although the case had gone against him, Sir Philip had performed the extraordinary feat of persuading his wife that his interest in his enchanting little mistress was no more than paternal; so she had lived for a year in their house. Then, having tired of her elderly lover, she had run away with a younger one to Paris.

From that point, de Montrond gave Roger her biography up-to-date. In the years preceding the Revolution she had passed through the hands of a long succession of aristocrats. During the Terror she had taken refuge in England. On her return to Paris the police had believed that she had been sent over by the English as a spy. In the hope of clearing herself she had requested an interview with the Foreign Minister. Talleyrand had consented to see her. They had talked through the afternoon and evening and, presumably, for some part of the night. In fact, she had never again left the Foreign Ministry until she moved with Talleyrand to the Rue Taitbout. Unblushingly he had installed her overnight in the Ministry of Foreign Affairs as his mistress, and from then on she had acted as his official hostess.

^' But,' Roger protested, ^' in Calcutta people said of her that she was the most stupid woman alive; that her brain is no bigger than a pea and that her whole conversation is sprinkled with absurdities. If that is so, how can a man of Talleyrand's brilliant intellect possibly have put up with her for so long? '

De Montrond laughed. 'You are right. She is the veriest fool, but when questioned about it he replies lightly that " she has the wit of a rose ". Quite seriously, though, he once said to me, " My dear fellow, you need to have been the lover of so intelligent a woman as Madame de Stael to appreciate the joy of having in your bed anyone so silly as Catherine ".'

The sally made Roger laugh, but the thought of Talleyrand's having been bewitched by a beautiful face and body reminded him of how he had himself been bewitched in Cairo by Zanthe. It was now just a year since the October rebellion there, and he had then known nothing of her mental qualities; yet he had risked his whole future with Bonaparte to break into the Viceroy's palace and abduct her.

He still thought of her now and then, sometimes with longing, sometimes with guilt. He considered it probable that, in spite of the blockade, Ouvrard, or some other Parisian banker who had dealings with Sarodopulous, would be able to get a letter from him through to Egypt for her. Yet, anxious as he was to let her know that he had not wilfully deserted her, he could hardly, in the same letter, tell her that he regarded himself as no longer engaged to her.

On the contrary, his conscience told him that he ought to ask her to endeavour to join him in France. Such journeys always had their hazards; but Sarodopulous could arrange a passage for her in a neutral ship, provide her with a suitable escort and furnish her with introductions to bankers of his acquaintance in all the principal ports at which she might have to change ship or be carried to by misadventure, so the chances of her arriving safely in France in two or three months' time were decidedly favourable.

Yet Bonaparte's having arbitrarily freed him from his entanglement seemed to Roger, in his more sober moments, an act of Providence. Much as he delighted in Zanthe, he knew in his heart of hearts that the main basis for their attraction for one another had been an overwhelming physical desire; and the thought that in a few years' time he would have for his wife a large Eastern lady who had run to seed continued to plague him.

There was also the point that, once the current crisis had resolved itself, it was his duty to return to England at the earliest possible moment in order to inform Mr. Pitt about changes of policy that the new Government in France was likely to make. And once home, the very last thing he wanted to do was to leave England again. But he could not ask Zanthe to join him there, because he dared not put on paper his reasons for wishing her to do so. So if he sent for her at all he would have to return to France to meet her.

Lastly, there was the tricky problem of his dual nationality. She still believed him to be a Frenchman. As nothing would have induced him to spend the rest of his life in France, he would have to tell her the truth about himself. Since she was half French, he had no means of judging how she would take that and, if she did agree to go to England with him, how was he going to get her there? It was one thing for a man like himself to make a clandestine crossing of the Channel in wartime, but quite another to take a woman with him.

All these considerations were inducements to continue to let matters slide; and the long voyage from Egypt, coupled with the excitement of once again being up to the neck in his old work, were inclining him, more and more, to think of her only as one of his loves of the past.

Before he left the reception Talleyrand drew him aside, but only for a few words. Roger confirmed that he now had nothing to fear from Fouche and Talleyrand asked him to breakfast with him two days hence.

Next morning Roger went to the Rue de la Victoire, where he found Bonaparte in a most evil temper. With him were several of the officers who had accompanied him back from Egypt, and all of them had long faces. The reason soon transpired. They had made all speed to Paris, leaving their baggage to follow in wagons. The news had just come through that the whole of it had been captured by brigands. As Roger had left Egypt with only the clothes he stood up in, he could afford to laugh, although he was much too tactful to do so. But the others had all brought rich cashmeres, silks and Eastern perfumes for their women, and jewelled scimitars, armour, saddlery, etc. of considerable value as souvenirs for themselves. With good reason they were cursing the Government that had allowed the country to fail into such a state of open lawlessness.

As Bonaparte's glance fell on Roger he snapped at him, ^' Where the devil were you yesterday? You know full well that it was your duty to attend upon me.'

Actually Roger had been far too anxious about what Fouche might do to him to think of anything else, but now he was able to reply with a smile, ^' Mon General, I was, as ever, being active in your service.'

^' What the hell d'you mean by that? '

'Grant me but a moment in your cabinet, and I will inform you.'

Bonaparte's insatiable craving for information of all kinds could always be counted on. With a jerk of his head, he led the way out of the drawing room and across the passage to the room where he and Bourrienne worked. Closing the door, he asked sharply, ^'Well? What is all this mystery?'

Roger lowered his voice. ^'1 think I can say that I have put the Minister of Police in your pocket.'

^' What! Fouche? ' the Corsican exclaimed. ^' A most dangerous man.'

'Dangerous to his enemies, but a most powerful friend. No one is in a stronger position to assist you when you launch your coup d'etat.'

^' Who said that I intend to launch a coup d'etat? I am a loyal servant of the Government.'

^' Of course,' Roger shrugged, ^' for as long as it suits you. But in Egypt and during our voyage home you said time and again that, when you got here, you would throw all these fops and puppies into the Seine.'

'Perhaps, but I was not speaking literally. I meant only that the Government needed reconstructing. They have offered me the

Command of any Army I choose; so I might go back to Italy.'

^' It is an idea,' Roger agreed. ^' And, like Fouche, I might take up pig-farming. I don't think either of us will; but if you feel that I am no longer capable of acting in your best interests, I shall have to consider some other-'

^' No, no! ' Bonaparte interrupted swiftly. ^'1 have every confidence in you. So has Talleyrand. We agreed that if . . . but that is another matter. Tell me about this conversation you had with Fouche.'

^' We were discussing the appalling state into which France has fallen and agreed that a change of Government is the only remedy. Your name is on every tongue, so naturally it came up. I said that if you had any plans I knew nothing of them, but was convinced that you were the only man in France strong enough to prevent the country from falling into a state of open anarchy. He was inclined to agree and would like to meet you. If you mean to return to Italy it would be a waste of time, but if you . . . well, you have only to promise him that he shall keep his Ministry and he will observe a benevolent neutrality. I need hardly remark that many a crown has been won or lost owing to the attitude of a Minister of Police.'

^' Crowns! No, no! I am a loyal Republican. But you have done well, Breuc, you have done well. Even so, I do not feel that it would be wise for me to meet Fouche yet. So many things are still uncertain, and the stronger the hand I can show him when we do meet the better. Keep him in play for a few days. Tell him I look forward to making his acquaintance but have been asked by the Directors to advise on the reorganization of the Armies, and that for the time being I must give that matter my whole attention.'

Next day, the 21st, Roger breakfasted with Talleyrand. When he had told him how he had spiked Fouche's guns by referring to his overtures to Mitau and what had followed from it, the statesman was both amused and delighted. He said:

^' As a soldier, mon vieux, you are entirely wasted. No diplomat could have achieved a finer coup than bringing Fouche over to us. He is the exceptional leopard who is really capable of changing his spots. The thought of his past crimes makes one shudder but I am convinced that, like the convert to Rome, now that he has achieved respectability he is likely to become more of an anti-Jacobin than any of us. His closing of their club was the first evidence of it. I was hoping to win his support for Bonaparte and you have paved the way for that most admirably. As far as the little General is concerned, I regret to say I have found him far from certain of himself; but one cannot blame him for being cautious, and perhaps it is as well that he should have declined a meeting with Fouche for the moment/

Dabbing rich Brittany butter on a croissant, Talleyrand went on, ^'1 asked you here this morning because, if you are to be of maximum value to us, you must be informed of what has so far gone on behind the scenes. As you know, greatly against the will of the Directors, Sieyes was elected to fill Rewbell's place last May. Although it is not generally known, that was my doing. I secretly buttonholed every Deputy who I believed wished for an end to the devilish uncertainties that beset us, and urged upon them that Sieyes was the only man capable of directing a stable Government.'

^' Why Sieyes? ' Roger asked. ^' He is timid, and clever only at saving his own skin. He would run a mile rather than take any decisive action. It surprises me that you should choose such a weak tool for your business.'

Talleyrand smiled. ^' Dear friend, you have yet quite a lot to learn. The majority of successful revolutions are made not from without, but from within. However impracticable Sieyds's ideas may be, he has persuaded nearly everybody that he has long had a Utopian Constitution in his pocket. Being eaten up with vanity as he is, it was a certainty that, as soon as he was given power, he would not be able to resist the itch to foist his unwieldy child upon the nation. What is more, believing him to be a wizard, the public would support him in any steps he took to do so.

^' The first step was to hack away the dead wood in the Directory. By the bloodless coup d'etat of Prairial we got rid of three of them; but unfortunately things did not go quite as well as we had hoped. The Deputies landed us with Gohier, Moulins and Roger Ducos. The first two may give us some trouble; but the situation was at least improved by the inclusion of Ducos, because he is another trimmer and will follow Sieyes's lead in everything.

^' By then, Sieyes was burning to give birth to his ponderous brain-child, but he at least has sufficient sense to realize that for that business he needs a capable midwife. To quote his own words, "What the nation needs is a brain and a sword." He, of course, was to be the brain; but who the sword?

^' His first thought was of young Joubert. A good soldier and a sensible man; but he had never directed a victorious campaign, so it was doubtful if the Army could be counted on to support him. It was in the hope that he would win for himself suitable laurels that we sent him to supersede Moreau in Italy. But, as you know, he met only with defeat.and was killed at Novi.

^' Sieyes's next choice was Moreau. His brow was already heavy with laurels won on the Rhine and elsewhere. His popularity as a General is beyond question; but he is no politician. He proved as timid about taking any action that might lead to his being outlawed as Sieyes is himself. When the news arrived of Bonaparte's having landed at Frejus, Moreau was with Sieyes and he exclaimed with relief, ^'' Here is your man! "'

Roger nodded and asked, ^' How are they getting on together? '

Talleyrand threw up his hands and raised his eyes to heaven. ^' Getting on! They have not yet even met. Between them they are driving me to distraction. The two of them are behaving like two old dowagers whose arms have the same number of quarterings. Each considers it to be beneath his dignity to be the first to call upon the other.'

^'1 no longer wonder, then, that I found our little man in such a state of uncertainty when I spoke to him about Fouche. He even talked about going off to take command of the Army in Italy; although I feel sure he does not mean to.'

^' No, he will not do that. At the moment he is angling to have himself made a Director.'

^' Since he is only thirty, and the lowest age at which one can qualify is forty, he would first have to get passed an amendment to the Constitution.'