The Wanton Princess

The wanton princess is Napoleon's favourite sister, Pauline, acknowledged to be the most beautiful, and said to be one of the most licentious, women in the Paris of her day.

Roger Brook, Prime Minister Pitt's secret agent, is also in Paris, where he rapidly becomes involved in a series of thrilling adventures, and here again Mr. Wheatley gives us the most exciting fiction blended with true history.

The other 'Roger Brook' stories are: The Launch­ing of Roger Brook, The Shadow of Tyburn Tree, The Rising Storm, The Man Who Killed the King, The Dark Secret of Josephine, The Rape of Venice, and The Sultan's Daughter.

Dennis Wheatley

The Wanton Princess

For the Sales Representatives of the Hutchinson Group in appreciation of their having sold 20,000,000 copies of my books, and particularly for their Chief, GEOFFREY HOWARD, a treasured friend of many years' standing

1

The Failure of a Mission

It was the first day of the new century. Seven hours earlier the bells of Ripley Church had rung out ushering in the year 1800. Not far from the village, at Stillwaters, the splendid mansion that was the home of Georgina, Countess of St. Ermins, the many servants were already bustling about, but Roger Brook had only just woken.

Normally, when staying at Stillwaters he would have awakened in Georgina's bed for, although circumstances had led to their being separated, at times for years at a stretch, they had been lovers since their teens and, although both of them had had many other loves, they still looked on one another as the dearest person in the world. But Georgina was ill. Only a few days ago her life had been despaired of; so Roger had slept in the room on the far side of her boudoir, to which in happier times he had retired for appearances' sake when her maid, Jenny, called them in the mornings.

As he woke his first thought was of her, and relief at the knowledge that she had turned the corner. His next was a bitter one for, on the previous day, he had learned of the failure of his latest mission. On December 26th he had arrived in England as the Envoye Extraordinaire of General Bonaparte who, on November 10th, as the result of the coup d'état of 18th Brumaire, had become First Consul of the French Republic. No more extraordinary envoy could have been selected for such a mission, as for a dozen years Roger had been Prime Minister 'Billy' Pitt's most resourceful and daring secret agent.

At the age of fifteen he had run away to France rather than be forced by his father. Admiral Sir Christopher Brook, to accept the hard life of a midshipman and make the sea his career. Four years in France had made him bilingual and had given him a second identity. Then chance had put him in possession of a diplomatic secret of the first importance. Realizing that knowledge of it might prevent France from going to war with England he had returned home post haste and seen the Prime Minister. Appreciating how well suited he was to such work, Mr. Pitt had sent him on a secret mission to the northern capitals. Other missions had followed. He had again lived in France during the greater part of the Revolu­tion and the Terror. At the siege of Toulon he had first met Bonaparte, then an unknown Captain of Artillery, had been with him in Paris when he had become a figure of importance through suppressing the riots that preceded the formation of the Directory, met him again after his victorious campaign in Italy, saved him from being kidnapped, been made an A.D.C. and, with the rank of Colonel, accompanied him to Egypt So the dynamic little Corsican artilleryman who had now become the most powerful man in France looked on Roger as an old and trusted friend while, owing to his audacious exploits, he had become known in the Army as Le brave Breuc.

Only two men in France knew him in fact to be an Eng­lishman: Joseph Fouche, the crafty ex-terrorist who was Bonaparte's Minister of Police, and Charles Maurice de Tal­leyrand, the subtle and brilliant ex-Bishop who held the Portfolio for Foreign Affairs. The former had long been Roger's most deadly enemy but Recently, common interests had led to their burying the hatchet; the latter had, from their first meeting, been his good friend. As in those days it was not at all unusual for a man born in one country to carve out a career for himself in another, as Roger had done in France, both of them now regarded him as a naturalized Frenchman and completely loyal to the country of his adoption.

Bonaparte and everyone, other than these two, who knew him in France, believed him to be a native of Strasbourg whose mother, an English woman, had died when he was quite young and that he had been sent to England to be brought up by her sister; then, when in his late teens, attracted by the epoch-making Revolution decided to return to the country of his birth. In consequence, on the rare, awkward occasions when he ran into anyone from one country who knew him in the other he was able to pass himself off as bearing a striking resemblance to either his French or English cousin of the same age, for whom they had mistaken him.

He even had a third identity which he used on occasion when in neutral countries and was liable to meet both Englishmen and Frenchmen who knew him either as Roger Brook or the ci-devant Chevalier de Breuc. For this he grew a short, curly brown beard, used his mother's maiden name, calling himself Robert McElfic, and posed as her.nephew who had recently succeeded her brother as Earl of Kildonan. The McElfics had raised their clan in '45 to fight for Bonnie Prince Charlie, and after his defeat, like many other pro-Stuart nobles, followed their 'King' into exile in Rome; so very few people in either France or England had ever met this cousin of Roger's and he had never been challenged when using this name.

By the skilful use of these aliases over a long period he had secured himself from detection in the real part he played and now, apart from some entirely unforeseen catastrophe, had little to worry about on that score, but he was intensely worried at what he considered to be the criminal stupidity of the British Government and the report he would have to make on his return to France.

For seven long years, ever since 1793 when the French had guillotined their King, Britain and France had been at war.

To begin with, the Monarchist armies of the First Coalition had invaded France; but with fervid patriotism the ill-trained rabble of the Republic had driven them back, overrun Belgium and Holland and secured France's old frontier on the left bank of the Rhine. They had then invaded Savoy and Piedmont. Young General Bonaparte's amazing campaign in '96 had made them masters of the whole of Italy, and Swit­zerland too had been dominated by them. But these victories had cost them many thousands of lives and, despite the vast treasure in indemnities and loot they had taken from the countries they had conquered, France was bankrupt. Exhausted both by the civil wars of the Revolution and these foreign wars to protect their newly won liberties the people longed for Peace, and Bonaparte had decided that the time had come to give it to them.

Internally, as a result of the Revolution, France was in a chaotic state. Civil war still simmered in La Vendee. Administration, other than in the Army, had entirely broken down. Taxes could no longer be collected, the paper money issued by the Government was almost worthless and the old laws protecting property were ignored. Roads and bridges had fallen into disrepair and the Post service had deteriorated to a point where it took three days to get from Dieppe to Paris instead of one. Industrialists were at the mercy of their workmen; a great part of the agricultural land confiscated from the nobility and the Church now lay fallow, with the result that food had reached famine prices; and bands of marauders, in some cases hundreds strong, roamed the countryside unchecked, robbing and murdering scores of people every week.

Eager, now that he had obtained the power, to concentrate on putting an end to this state of anarchy and restore law and order, Bonaparte had written both to King George III and to the Emperor of Austria proposing terms of peace. And, at Talleyrand's suggestion, Roger had been selected to carry the First Consul's letter to London.

Britain, too, was almost exhausted by her seven years of war and her people desperately anxious that an end should be put to hostilities. So Roger had been overjoyed at being given the mission and set out with the conviction that he would be received in London as an angel announcing a new era of happiness and prosperity. But, to his amazement and disgust, the British Government had treated Bonaparte's overture with contempt.

As Roger woke he thought for a moment that his interview the day before with the Prime Minister could have been only an evil dream, but when he looked round the familiar room, he realized that it had indeed taken place. Getting out of bed he slipped on his chamber robe, pulled aside the curtains of one of the tall windows, glanced at the snow-covered land­scape and the now frozen lake that gave the house its name, then crossed the boudoir and tiptoed into Georgina's big bedroom.

It was still in semi-darkness but he saw that Jenny, who since Georgina's teens had been her faithful maid and confidante, was sitting beside the great four-poster bed with its tapestry canopy, under which he had known so many nights of delight. There was no movement in the bed, and he whispered:

'How fares she, Jenny?'

'Doing well, sir, the dear Lord be praised,' Jenny whispered back. 'She slept the first part of the night, but roused when I came in to take the Colonel's place. So we gave her a draught of the wine that had the red-hot poker put in it as you ordered and she soon went off again.'

Roger smiled. 'Thank God for that. With plenty of sleep and the iron to renew her blood she will soon be herself again. I'll dress and go down to breakfast with Colonel Thursby, then come up here to relieve you.'

Half an hour later, shaved and immaculate in a blue cutaway coat, white stock, nankeen waistcoat and breeches, he made his way down the broad central staircase of the house. He was just over six foot tall, with powerful shoulders and slim hips. Although he was still in his early thirties the dangerous life he had led for so long made bin. look somewhat older and, as a result of having caught 'he plague while in Syria the previous year, the brown hair that swept back in a high wave from his fine forehead now had a touch of grey in it. His mouth was a little hard, his straight nose aggressive, his strong chin determined; but his deep blue eyes, a glance from which had made many a pretty woman's heart beat faster, were gay and friendly. The little fingers of his beautifully moulded hands were long in comparison with the others, which would have told a palmist that he had the gift of eloquence and a special flair for languages; his calves, when displayed in silk stockings, gave his tall figure the last touch of elegance.

He found Colonel Thursby, Georgina's father, already in the breakfast room. The Colonel had attained his rank in the Engineers; then, already a man of means, used his good brain and practical knowledge to profit from the Industrial Revolu­tion. His interests in the construction of canals, weaving machinery and the development of concrete had since brought him a considerable fortune. Georgina was his only child. Her mother had died when giving birth to her and her father had brought her up. To him she owed a far wider education than most women of that period obtained. Although he had two houses of his own, since she had become a widow he spent a good part of each year with her. They adored one another; and from his boyhood Roger had looked upon the kind, clever, quiet-mannered little Colonel as a second father.

After telling the Colonel that Georgina had passed a good night and was still asleep, Roger went over to the sideboard where, as was customary in big houses in those spacious Georgian days, there was more food than a dozen men could have demolished: a variety of egg dishes, bacon, kidneys, sausages, a mutton pie and the better part of a York ham. As Roger carried his first selection to the table the Colonel said:

'You appeared so worn out on your late return last night that I forbore to ask you what had passed in Downing Street. Everything went well, I trust.'

'Far from it, sir,' Roger declared with disgust. 'Had not my Lord Grenville been there with Mr. Pitt and displayed the same obduracy of mind, I would have thought our Prime Minister afflicted with a lesion of the brain. I can still scarce believe it but they have as good as instructed me to fling General Bonaparte's offer back in his face.'

'What say you?' The Colonel put down his fork and looked up with swift concern. 'What possible reason could they have for wishing to continue draining away the lifeblood and treasure of the nation when given this chance to enter on negotiations? I can only suppose that General Bonaparte's terms were so hard as to preclude any possibility of accepting them.'

'On the contrary, sir. His one wish now is to be done with war so that he may turn his talents to rescuing France from the appalling state of disorder into which she has fallen. In consequence his terms were generous. The greater part of Italy was lost to France during his absence in Egypt. He asks only that France should retain her ancient frontiers, including the Belgian lands up to the left bank of the Rhine, and Piedmont. It was upon this last that Mr. Pitt and the Foreign Secretary hinged their refusal even to consider making peace.'

'In that they were no doubt influenced by our being bound by treaty to restore King Charles Emanuel to his domains.'

'We bound ourselves to our Austrian allies to make no separate peace which would not secure to them the return of the Belgian Netherlands. Had we ignored that pact we could have had peace with France in '96. And what was our reward for honouring our bond? A year later the Austrians went behind our backs and made the Peace of Campo Formio by which they gave up their title to Belgium in exchange for the Venetian lands, leaving us to fight on alone. King Charles Emanuel still has his great island of Sardinia. Is it so much that he should be asked to accept the loss of Piedmont permanently in order that this bloody war should cease and peace be restored to all Europe?’

'I judge you right in that. And, surely, had he proved difficult round a conference table it could have been arranged that he should receive some compensation for the loss of Piedmont?'

'Indeed it could. But the crux of the matter lies in the blind prejudice that Mr. Pitt and his colleagues have against General Bonaparte. The Prime Minister stigmatized him to me as a proved liar, an atheist, a thief, a blackguard of the meanest order; while my Lord Grenville exclaimed of Tal­leyrand, "That revolting ex-priest. He would sell his own mother for a guinea. His corruption and immorality stink in the nostrils of the whole world".'

'One must admit that they are both most unscrupulous men,' the Colonel remarked mildly.

'That I grant you.' Roger returned swiftly. 'And who should know it better than I who have for so long been closely associated with them? But that is less than half the tale. General Bonaparte would go to any lengths to achieve his ends, but he is far more than a revolutionary who has become a bandit on the grand scale. There is no subject in which he is not interested, his knowledge is encyclopaedic, his grasp of new factors in a situation immediate, his breadth of vision enormous and his powers of decision swift. All this places him in a class apart and, as an administrator, head and shoulders above any of the scores of monarchs, poten­tates and statesmen with whom I have had dealings in the past ten years. Given the chance he will remake France anew. Of that I am convinced. But he needs peace to do it, and that is why his offer is no trick, as those fools in Downing Street believe, but an honest one.'

Standing up. Roger walked over to the sideboard to replenish his plate. While he was helping himself he went on, 'As for Talleyrand, of course he is a lecher of the first order and, following the custom of Foreign Ministers for centuries on the Continent—ah, and here too until Mr. Pitt came to power—he extracts huge bribes from Ambassadors to expe­dite their business. But he docs not allow that to influence his foreign policy, and he is as well-intentioned toward Britain as you or I. To me, knowing I am an Englishman, he has never made any secret of his basic belief. It is that no lasting prosperity can come to either France or Britain unless they make an accommodation over their differences. I have heard him say that a score of times and for years past he has been doing all he can towards that end, How I shall break to him this bitter blow of my failure with Mr. Pitt, I cannot think.'

'When do you plan to return to France?' the Colonel asked.

'Not for a week or so. I'll bide here until Georgina is well on the way to full recovery. But after I have reported my failure I hardly know what to do. This affair has sickened me of doing dangerous work for fools. I've a mind to retire gracefully from. General Bonaparte's service, then return here and settle down to a life of leisure. Think you, after all these years, I could persuade Georgina to marry me?'

The Colonel was well aware of Roger's relationship with Georgina, and he replied at once, 'My dear boy, nothing could give me greater pleasure. I have oft wished it; and the bar to your regularizing your great love for one another has been that your work has prevented you from living in England except for a month or two at long intervals. I know she feels it her duty to marry again now that her little Earl has reached an age when he needs a man to bring him up, and as your Susan shares Charles' nursery, by marrying Georgina you could become a real father to them both. Go to it, and good luck to you.'

'Thank you, sir,' Roger smiled. ' 'Twould not be fair to approach her yet on such a serious matter; but I will as soon as she is well enough.'

After breakfast Roger went out into the garden, where the children were playing in the snow with their nurse. Charles St. Ermins was now a stalwart boy rising five, and Susan, Roger's daughter by his second wife, a pretty little thing just turned four. Her mother having died she was being brought up by Georgina and, owing to Roger's long absences abroad, the children knew him only as an occasional visitor of a rather special kind; but he was good with small people and was soon building a snowman for them.

Recently a new dance had found its way to Paris and London from Vienna. It was a great innovation as, in the formal dances of the past, the man had never touched his partner, except to link hands in certain movements, whereas in this audacious measure, called the waltz, the man put his arm round the woman's waist and whirled her away across the floor. Using the pyramid-shaped skirt of a woman as a solid base and sticks with snow packed tightly round them to support the legs of the man and the arms of both, Roger spent most of the day creating a waltzing couple out of snow. His efforts delighted the children and took his own mind off his frustration.

During the week that followed, between intervals of sitting with Georgina, he made the children a toboggan track that curved down a long gentle slope; then got out from the coach house Georgina's beautiful sleigh, which was fashioned like a swan. Having had the lake swept of snow, he tied the two children firmly into the sleigh, then put on skates and propelled them round the long oval of ice at a speed that made them squeal with excitement and delight.

These long days spent playing with the children gave him a pleasure that he had never previously experienced and dis­sipated the last doubts he had had about the wisdom of abandoning his adventurous life for good. Thankfully he realized that, the children still being so young, it was not too late to enjoy with them the best years of their lives. Soon his active mind began to make a hundred plans for their welfare and amusement and indulge in happy daydreams of a new carefree existence in which he would luck them up in bed every night and wake with his beloved Georgina beside him every morning.

By January 8th Georgina's doctor declared her past all danger of a relapse. It was also Roger's birthday, so he and her father celebrated the double occasion by dining with her in her room. When in full health she was a ravishing creature with the full, voluptuous figure that was regarded in that Georgian age as the height of feminine beauty. Her face was heart-shaped, her eyes nearly black—enormous and sparkling with vitality Her eyebrows were arched and her full, bright-red lips disclosed at a glance her passionate and tempestuous nature. Now, owing to her illness, she had lost several pounds in weight, her cheeks were a little hollow and her lips still pale from the over-bleeding which had been inflicted on her before, on Roger's return, he had put a stop to it. But her eyes looked larger than ever, her white, even teeth still flashed when she smiled and, in Roger's eyes, her pallor made her more than ever desirable.

When they had finished dinner the Colonel left them. Roger then told her of his abortive mission and his decision to retire for good from Mr. Pitt's service.

At that she shook her dark curls and laid a hand on his arm:

'Dear Roger, disgust and disappointment may make you feel that way now, but I know you too well to believe that you would ever settle down for any length of time. 'Tis not in your nature, and you've been a rolling stone for too long. After a year or two the craving for excitement would drive you abroad again, if not for Mr. Pitt then on some other venture.'

'Nay,' he assured her. 'I'd like nothing better than to be done for good with courts and camps. I'm sick unto death of living a lie and risking my life to no good purpose. I mean that. I vow it, and 'tis high time you married again. Let us be wed. Georgina, and live happily ever after.'

She sighed, 'I would we could, but we've been over this time and again before; and you know full well that 'tis not alone my belief that you would not be long content to live an idle life that prevents my saying "yes". 'Tis only because we have never lived together for any length of time that we have never staled of one another, and when, at long intervals we are again united, both of us feel an immediate upsurge of desire for the other. The joy we derive from such a tenuous but enduring love far exceeds that to be hoped for from any marriage, and I count it too precious to jeopardize by becoming your wife.'

Roger knew only too well the soundness of her argument; yet during the past week he had so persuaded himself that only marriage to her could bring him lasting happiness that he endeavoured desperately to allay her fears, arguing that, now they had both turned thirty and had had many love affairs, there was no longer the same risk that they would tire of one another physically and their marriage come to grief, through one of them developing a passion for someone else.

Finding Georgina adamant to his pleas, he played his last card and said. 'It is two years now since we talked of this, and you said then that you must marry again so that young Charles could be brought up properly by a man; yet you are a widow still. And why? Obviously because you have failed to meet a man who you would care to have as a husband for yourself and as a father to the boy. Who better than myself could fill both roles: and even should your fears materialize that in time our desire for one another would wane, the children would form a lasting bond between us.’

She remained silent for a moment, then she said gravely, 'Roger, my love, it grieves me greatly to have to tell you this; but at least I find some consolation in that after your two years' absence you must have thought it probable you would find me no longer a widow. I have found such a man. He courted nic all through the Fall, and although we are not yet married, we will be in the Spring.'

His hopes now utterly dashed, Roger stared at her in dismay. Then, recovering himself, he murmured. 'If that is so, dear heart. 1 wish you every happiness. All I pray is that he be a man worthy of you. Who is this monstrous lucky fellow?'

'A Mr. Beefy. He has...'

'Beefy!' Roger broke in aghast. 'Georgina, you cannot! For you to marry a man with the ridiculous name of Beefy is unthinkable.'

2

War or Peace?

Amazed and angry, Roger hurried on, 'You cannot mean it! For God's sake, Georgina, tell me you're joking, and I'll forgive the bad taste of your jest.'

Giving him an indulgent smile, she replied, 'Nay, Roger, I am in earnest. If there be aught comic in this it is the expression on your face.'

'But dam'me, woman, do you become Mrs. Beefy you'll be the butt of every wit—the laughing stock of London.'

She shrugged her fine shoulders under the lace negligé. ‘I care not a fig for that. 'Tis character that counts. He is a man of high integrity: kind, generous, of a most amiable disposi­tion, only some ten years older than myself and handsome enough to please.'

'Be he plain roast or boiled I care not,' Roger stormed. 'I've never even heard of the fellow, so he cannot be a man of any consequence, nor of a family that has any standing. What in the world can have induced you so to belittle yourself? You've long been a reigning toast and accounted one of the most beautiful women in England. You have brains and talent. Here and in London you entertain the most distinguished men in the realm. Statesmen and ambassadors seek your influence lo further their designs. You are very rich and will be still richer when your father dies. You have not only Stillwaters in your own right, but White Knights Park and the house in Berkeley Square as long as Charles remains a minor. By your first marriage you became Lady Etheridge, by your second the Countess of St. Ermins, and when you were a girl you vowed you would be a Duchess before your hair turned grey. Yet now..'

Georgina threw back her dark curls and her gay laugh rang out. 'And maybe I will, should fate decree an early death for poor Mr. Beefy.' Then after a moment she added with a frown, 'Alas, on that score I have certain fears; for I have read his palm and saw in it that he will not live to make old bones.'

Roger had had ample evidence of the psychic gifts Geor­gina had inherited from her gipsy mother, and he said quickly, 'What point is there then in giving young Charles a step-father who is doomed to an early death?'

'That I did not imply,' she countered. 'Time, as you know, is difficult to assess by such hand readings. I know only that his death will be sudden but with luck it may not occur for ten years and, I pray, may be postponed much longer since I already feel a considerable affection for him.'

'It seems he does not reciprocate that sentiment,' Roger remarked tersely. 'Else how is it that during your desperate illness he has not even shown the concern for you to make his appearance here?'

'Since early December he has been in the West Indies. He has plantations there that are said to be worth a considerable fortune.'

'But Georgina, you have no need of money, and for a woman like yourself even a sugar nabob is a nobody. Among your acquaintance there must be a score of distinguished men who could meet your requirements just as well as he and who would marry you tomorrow. Why? Why, in God's name, enter upon this mesalliance that will place you outside the pale of high society?'

Her arched eyebrows lifted, giving her fair face an arrogant

expression. 'Nothing, dearest Roger, could put me so far outside the pale that I could not re-enter it whenever I wished. At least I have personality enough for that. But recently I have become plaguey wearied of the fashionable world. Gaming has never attracted me and routs and balls are well enough for a young woman seeking to acquire a beau. Of them I've had my share and more; so it irks me now to be cornered on all occasions by gentlemen pressing me to go to bed with them. My good John Beefy will be the perfect antidote to that. I'll become a country girl, and still have my painting for recreation. Should I tire of cows we can always make a voyage to his estates in the Indies.'

For a further half hour Roger argued with her; but it seemed that her mind was made up so, fearing that further talking would tire her too much, he kissed her good night. As he was about to leave her room she said:

‘I fear my father will take no more kindly to my intentions than yourself, and I have not yet told him of them; so I'd prefer that you made no mention of the matter.'

With a cynical little smile Roger turned and made her a bow, 'About his attitude, Madame, you will undoubtedly prove right. And upon my discretion you may rely. I have never derived pleasure from noising abroad the follies of my friends.'

Despite the flippancy of his last remark, as he undressed he was sorely troubled. It was bad enough that Georgina should have brought tumbling to the ground the castles in Spain that he had been building for the past week, but still worse that she should be building one herself on so obvious a quicksand. She had for so long been a sought-after beauty in the gay world of London that he could not believe that she would find contentment in a humdrum life, however pleasant a fellow this John Beefy might be: yet, knowing of old how self-willed she could be. he feared it most unlikely that she could be persuaded to change her mind.

Still much disgruntled, early next morning he set out for London and by midday arrived at the Earl of Amesbury's mansion in Arlington Street. The Earl's tall, lanky son. Lord Edward Fitz-Dcvercl—known to his intimates as 'Droopy Ned' from the short sight which gave him a permanent stoop—was Roger's closest friend. On enquiry Roger learned that his Lordship was at home but not yet down, so he went straight up to the suite that Droopy occupied overlooking the Green Park.

Clad in a voluminous silk robe, Turkish slippers and a turban, Droopy was about to sit down to breakfast. Hungry after his twenty-five mile ride Roger gladly accepted his friend's invitation to join him, and a footman was sent down for a second bottle of Claret.

It was close on two years since they had met, so they had a hundred things to talk of and Roger had no secrets from Droopy. Between mouthfuls of Dover Sole, truffled Pheasant Pie and Pineapple grown in the Earl's hothouses at Normanrood, he first described the coup d'état of Brumaire then the expedition to Egypt.

Droopy showed special interest in the latter as, unlike the majority of the young nobles of the day, he took no interest in racing or gambling and abhorred blood sports. Instead, he collected antique jewellery, experimented on himself with strange drugs imported from the East and employed his good brain in studying ancient religions. This last had led to his forming an Egyptian collection, including a mummy, and he could not hear enough about the archaeological discoveries made by the scientists that Bonaparte had taken with him on the expedition.

At length Roger changed the subject to that of his current mission and. after he had been talking about it for some minutes, Droopy said 'Naturally, the knowledge of Bona­parte's offer and its rejection has not yet reached the hoi-poloi, but there will be a fine rumpus when it docs. As for Charles Fox and his cronies, they can scarce contain their impatience to make capital out of it.'

Roger raised an eyebrow. 'You know already then of this business?'

'Indeed, yes. These past few days it has been the main topic in the clubs.'

'What is the general opinion in them?'

'Some, like Billy Pitt, think it an attempt to trick us; the majority that the nation needs peace so badly that we should take a gamble on the Corsican's intentions being honourable, provided the price he asks for peace be not unreasonable. From what you tell me that is the case; so it is a tragedy that his past acts have so prejudiced our Government against him that they'll not listen to him now.'

'In "prejudice" you've said the word,' declared Roger bitterly. 'They are so stuffed with their own righteousness that they'll not concede even the possibility of a man they have condemned being capable of using for the good of all the power he has won.'

Droopy nodded his narrow head, 'Stout Tory as I am, I fear the trouble is that our Prime Minister has been too long in office. 'Tis seventeen years now since he formed his first Government, and because he has always taken so much upon himself every one of them has been a year of strain. Brilliant as he was, he has become worn out with anxieties. From the beginning he has been self-opinionated and autocratic; now he no longer brings his once fine mind to judge events impar­tially but continues his old policies with dogged inflexibility.'

‘I judge you right, Ned. Though I'd be loath to see him go, for I owe him much and have the greatest admiration for him. And who else have we? His cousin Grenville is little more than his mouthpiece on Foreign Affairs. Henry Dundas would act like a bull in a china shop. Addington is a poor weak fellow incapable of handling great issues. As for the Opposition, God forbid! From '89 Charles Fox became a partisan of "Liberty, Equality and Fraternity" with such enthusiasm that on all occasions since he has done his utmost to disrupt our war measures in favour of the French, and not long ago he publicly declared his sympathy with the extrem­ists here who would like to see Britain a Republic. Even so, 'tis a bitter pill that Mr. Pitt's blindness to present reality should compel me to return to France with the report that I have failed in my mission.'

'How soon have you in mind to make the crossing?'

'Within a few days now. In Paris they will already be becoming impatient at my delay, but will put it down to the British Government shilly-shallying. As in time of war there is no French Embassy here I came over in a Revenue cutter which now lies below Tower Bridge and temporarily serves that purpose. Tomorrow I shall apply for clearance.'

Droopy Ned remained silent for a moment, then he said, 'I would not do that, Roger, but remain here yet awhile. Mr. Pitt is obliged to inform Parliament of General Bonaparte's offer and his refusal of it. In fact I learned at White's only yesterday that February 3rd has been settled on as the date for a debate on this matter. So strong is the feeling that a negotiated peace would be in the best interests of the country that, as a result of the debate, many Members may cross the floor of the House. That might well cause the fall of the Government. Should it do so you would, after all, be able to carry back to France a favourable reply to General Bona­parte's letter.'

Roger looked up quickly. Droopy Ned was an exceedingly shrewd man and had often advised him well in the past. 'Since you think that,' he said. ‘I’ll certainly stay on. After the great services Mr. Pitt has rendered our country, I'd hate to see his Government fall. But to bring about the pacifica­tion of Europe is of far greater importance. To accompany me I was given a small staff, including a professional dip­lomat named Broussalt as my Counsellor. I'll send him back with an interim report and myself remain in England until the result of the debate is known.'

'You will have nothing to lose by so doing,' Droopy said with a smile. ‘I’ll order your old room here to be prepared for you, and the longer you care to give me your company the happier I'll be. That is,' he added after a moment, 'unless you prefer to return to Stillwaters.'

'I must do so, to collect my belongings. But now that Georgina is out of danger I had meant to make my adieux there in any case: so I'd be glad to accept your hospitality for a few nights. Not for longer, though, as my present position in London is an anomalous one. Here I am naturally known as Roger Brook, but there must be diplomats now accredited to the Court of St. James whom I have met abroad. Did I run into one of them he would assume me to be Colonel Breuc, and for my future security the fewer people to whom I have to explain that they have mistaken me for my French cousin, the better. As things are I'll take the opportunity to visit my old father at Lymington, then return here early in February.'

That afternoon Roger wrote his despatch, breaking the bad news to Talleyrand that the British Government were averse to entering into negotiations, then adding that a debate in Parliament on February 3rd might cause th-; fall of the Government, so he was remaining on with the somewhat slender hope that he would be able to return to France in mid-February with better tidings.

The following morning he waited on Lord Grenville at the Foreign Office and obtained clearance for his cutter, then went down river in a wherry to the ship. Having informed his Counsellor of the situation and handed over to him the papers he had brought, he returned to Amesbury House and dined tete-a-tete with Droopy Ned.

Next day he rode out to Richmond Park to visit Thatched House Lodge, a charming 'Grace and Favour’ residence of which Mr. Pitt had given him the life tenancy as a reward for his services in the early days of the Revolution, when he had caused the National Assembly to annul the Bourbon 'Family Compact' by which treaty France was obliged to enter on war with England as the ally of Spain.

He had spent only a few nights there since he had lost his wife, Amanda, in December '95, but had left his faithful henchman, the ex-smuggler Dan Izzard, there, with a house­keeper, to keep the place up during his absence.

As he expected, he found everything in perfect order. Old Dan was delighted to see him and still more so when Roger told him that, after a last trip to France in February, he intended to retire and in future would live there for a part of each year.

On the 12th he went down to Stillwaters and, that evening, had another long talk with Georgina. Now that he had had time to recover from the shock of what he considered to be her extreme folly, he was better able to reason with her; but all his arguments were to no avail.

At length he said, 'You admit that you do not love this man, but only find him reasonably attractive; so, judging by your past performance, I take it you have no intention of being faithful to him!'

'In that you wrong me, Roger,' she replied, 'I have sown wild oats enough and hope to make him an honest wife. That is,' suddenly she smiled, 'with one exception, a certain Mr. Brook.'

With a laugh he seized her hand and kissed it. 'My sweet, you may be sure I'll hold you to that.'

'How could I ever act otherwise, seeing what we are to one another.' With her free hand she drew his face down to hers, gave him a long kiss on the mouth, then murmured with a little giggle, 'Dost remember the night when we agreed that you should marry Amanda and I'd take my Earl, then we slept together?'

'Shall I ever forget it,' he grinned. 'Or that golden after­noon when I was but a boy and you seduced me.'

'You beast!' she cried with mock indignation. ' 'Twas the other way about. And for imputing me a slut I've a mind to punish you. I'm not yet strong but strong enough if you be gentle with me. Get your clothes off and I'll seduce you yet again.'

Next morning, with great reluctance, but knowing that a repetition of such nights would be bound to retard her recovery, Roger bade her’ a fond farewell, then had the footman who valeted him pack his valise and said good-bye to Colonel Thursby and the children. On the morning of the 15th, having travelled by night coach, he arrived at his old home, Grove Place, Lymington.

It was a pleasant square mansion looking out on the Solent and the western end of the Isle of Wight; not very large but with good, lofty rooms and some seventeen acres of garden, orchard and meadow lands. He had always loved it and on the way down had been happily contemplating now spending a lot of his time there with his widowed father, who had re­tired from the Navy the previous year.

Since he had run away from home in '83, Roger's only prolonged stay in England had been a period of two years in the early '90s; so, although he had many acquaintances in London, Droopy Ned was his only close friend; whereas in his youth he had had numerous playmates of his own age among the sons of landed gentry in South Hampshire and it would be easy to pick up with several of them again. Moreover, he knew that his father would be delighted for him to bring the children down to stay. At Thatched House Lodge there would be few amusements with which he could provide them, but at Lymington he could teach them to ride in the New Forest, to swim from Hordlc Beach and to sail on the Lym river as well as spend happy days with them in the large gardnn of Grove Place.

He had informed his father by letter of his proposed visit, so the Admiral was expecting him and gave him the most hearty welcome. After Roger had unpacked, and had had a chat with the old houseman, Jim Button, who had known him from his birth, he spent a couple of hours exchanging news with his father. As they had not met for over five years they had much to talk of; but Roger refrained from announ­cing his intention of abandoning his adventurous life, keeping that as a pleasant surprise for his father after dinner. When the time came it was he who got the surprise, and it proved the second great blow to his hopes of happily settling down.

Pushing the Port over to him, the bulky, red-faced old sailor said gruffly, 'I'm glad you've timed your visit as you have, my boy. for had you made it later than March you'd no longer have found me here.'

Looking up with a start, Roger exclaimed, 'Why so, sir? While a state of war continues, travel on the Continent pre­sents many difficulties. But perhaps you have in mind a voyage as a civilian to see again the scenes of your battles in the West Indies?’

'Nay, lad. I've had enough of a roving life, and for the past few months after I'd swallowed the anchor I thought I'd be happy enough pottering about here until our Maker sent for me. But that's not proved the case. The cursed gout puts a ball and chain on me so that I can no longer shoot, ride or handle a boat, and I was never much of a fisherman. Our neighbours are kindly enough in asking me over now and then, but there are days together when I never leave the house. It's much too big for a man living on his own and with your dear mother gone it seems plaguey dismal and empty. So for three years from next Quarter Day I've let the place as it stands to one of the Drummonds. He's paying me a good rent, and as he is a banker I can be sure of getting my money.'

'But where will you live?' Roger asked.

'Over at Walhampton with my old crony, Sir William Burrard. He's in the same boat as myself, a widower with a house much too large for him; though he has a family that comes down to stay and that, at times, will make pleasant company for me. I'll have my own rooms, of course, and be free to come and go as I please. But when we are alone on winter evenings it will be pleasant for both of us to sit either side of a good fire and sip our grog together. Mrs. Hapgood is to remain on as housekeeper to the Drummonds, and they are taking the maids, but Jim will be coming with me.'-

Roger forced a smile and said in a voice that he hoped sounded enthusiastic, 'I think it a most admirable arrange­ment.' But inwardly he was grievously disappointed at this unexpected wrecking of his plan to bring the children down for long visits. To speak of it now seemed pointless; so he took a swig of Port, turned the conversation to wine, told his father that before leaving London he had instructed Justerini's to send him down twelve dozen of the best current vintage and hoped that the gout would not punish him too severely for the drinking of it.

For the remainder of the month Roger stayed on at Grove, looking up old friends, going out on pheasant shoots with them and attending a few local dances. This pleasant round made him regret more than ever that, for the next few years at least, he would be unable to resume it by long visits to his old home. On February 2nd he returned to London.

On the evening of the 3rd he accompanied Droopy to the Strangers' Gallery in the House of Commons and they lis­tened to one of the most memorable debates in all the long years that the younger Pitt had been Prime Minister. The Opposition attacked him with the utmost ferocity for reject­ing Peace and, during a long oration in which he descanted on Bonaparte's rapacity and perfidy, and stigmatized him as 'This last adventurer in the lottery of Revolutions,' they frequently endeavoured to shout him down. Then Tierney, the Whig leader, defied him to stale in one sentence, without 'ifs' and 'buts', the object of the war.

In reply Pitt flung back the retort. 'I know not if I can do it in one sentence, but in one word it is security; security against a danger, the greatest that ever threatened the world. How or where did the Honourable gentleman discover that the Jacobinism of Robespierre and of the Triumvirate of the Five Directors, which he acknowledges to be real, has vanished and disappeared because it has all been centred and condensed into one man, who was nursed and reared in its bosom, whose celebrity was gained under its auspices, who was at once the child and champion of all its atrocities and horrors? Is our security in negotiation to be this Bonaparte, who is now the sole organ of all that was formerly dangerous and pestiferous in the Revolution? ... If peace afford no prospect of security, then I say it is prudent in us not to negotiate at the present moment. This is my plea, and by no other do I wish to be tried by God or my country.'

It was a magnificent performance and made a profound impression on the House. At that lime Bonaparte had barely started on his great regeneration of the French as a law-abiding people: so Members knew of him only as a grandiose bandit. In consequence it was not to be wondered at that the Opposition was shattered and Pitt left the House exhausted but triumphant with its sanction to continue the war.

Roger had feared that might prove the case, and there was now no point in his remaining longer in England; so the following morning he went to Downing Street and requested an interview with the Prime Minister. After a wait of three quarters of an hour he was shown upstairs.

As he entered the room Mr. Pitt waved him to a chair and said, 'Your waiting on me comes as a surprise, Mr. Brook. I thought you had returned to France with the members of your Mission early in January. Or is it that you have again just crossed the Channel?' 'Nay, sir, I stayed on here,' Roger replied glumly. 'To be frank, distressed as I would be to see you personally defeated, I had hopes that Parliament might refuse to endorse your decision regarding General Bonaparte's offer.'

The Prime Minister shrugged, 'That they did not, demon­strates the soundness of my contentions, and I hope that by now you too are convinced of their rightness.'

'Far from it, sir. I am of the same opinion still, and in this matter believe you to be committing the greatest error in your career.'

'Indeed! In that case, Mr. Brook, I find it surprising that a man of your intelligence should fail to grasp the essentials of the situation. Our obligations to King Charles Emanuel apart, during Bonaparte's absence in Italy the French were driven from all but that country's northern part. The Austrians at this moment are mustering for an offensive aimed at regain­ing Genoa and Nice. Bonaparte has offered us terms only in the hope of detaching us from our allies; so that our Fleet should not support them in these operations and his own squadrons, now blockaded in Brest and Cherbourg, be freed to sail round into the Mediterranean. Do you not sec how unthinkable it is for us to abandon our allies at such a juncture?'

'They abandoned us in '98,' Roger returned stubbornly. 'And both they and we could now agree a peace with France simultaneously, since General Bonaparte has sent the same offer to the Emperor as he has to His Majesty.'

'If his intentions are honest there is one way, and one way only, in which, he could show it. That is by using the power he has usurped to re-establish his rightful King on the throne of France.'

'Believe me, sir; even had he the wish to do so the French people would not permit it.'

Then there is no point in our prolonging this interview. My Lord Grenville will provide you with passports enabling you to return freely to France.' For the first time the Prime Minister's face lit up with a smile as he added, 'Despite our difference of opinion on this present matter, on others in the past I have found your judgment excellent, and I have a great respect for your capabilities. In due course, therefore, when I receive from you further reports on affairs in France I shall continue to set a high value on them.'

'It was, sir, with the intention of disabusing any expecta­tions that you might entertain on that head that I came here this morning,' Roger said gravely. 'You will receive no more reports from me, for I am not agreeable to serve you any longer.'

Mr. Pitt sat back and remained silent for a moment, then he said, 'I find that most regrettable; but from the outrageous manner in which you behaved towards my Lord Grenville and myself when last you were here, and I informed you of our rejection of Bonaparte's offer, I feared that it might portend a cessation of the good understanding between us that has endured for so long. Since you are determined to take no further part in secret diplomacy I assume you do not intend to return to France, but will at once retire into private life.'

'No, sir. I am under an obligation to report personally to Monsieur de Talleyrand on the failure of my mission.'

'In that I appreciate the delicacy of your feelings. So be it then. But that done I take it you will shortly be back here. Being not unmindful of the great services you have rendered myself and your country I should like to confer upon you some sinecure or provide you with an opening for some new career that you may think attractive. You possess both eloquence and a wide knowledge of foreign affairs, so would be a valuable man in Parliament. Without difficulty I could secure your nomination as Member for a Borough.’

For the past fortnight Roger had spent much time taking stock of his situation. Georgina's refusal to marry him and his father's having let Grove Place for three years had robbed him of his best prospects of living a happy life in which he could see a lot of the children. Apart from Georgina, he had no desire at all to marry again and the thought of living alone at Thatched House Lodge did not appeal to him. Lastly, he had come to realize that he had many more friends in France than he had in England, and that life there could hold much more for him. So he replied:

'I thank you, sir, for your good intentions; but here I am a nobody, whereas in France I have already made a career for myself that holds great promise. As an A.D.C. to General Bonaparte and the intimate friend of his Foreign Minister I am close (o a seat of power that I am personally convinced will dominate France for a long time to come. To watch its growth and to grow with it offers me a far more interesting life than could being Member for a Rotten Borough. So I intend to return to the service of General Bonaparte and remain in it.'

The Prime Minister stared at him with slowly widening eyes. 'Mr. Brook!' he exclaimed. 'Surely 1 cannot have taken your meaning aright? I find it impossible to believe that you intend to become a traitor.'

Roger shrugged, 'Not that, sir. But many men born British subjects have made great careers for themselves in the service of other nations. For example, General Acton, who is Prime Minister in Naples, Admiral Sir Samuel Greig, who com­manded Catherine of Russia's Navy, the Scotsman General Macdonald whom General Bonaparte counts one of his most able lieutenants. There are too the hundreds of exiles who still cling to the Stuart cause, such as my own cousin, the Earl of Kildonan, who live abroad. Many of them now earn their livings by the sword in the service of France, Holland, Prussia, Austria and other countries.'

'But your case is very different from theirs,' retorted Mr. Pitt swiftly. 'They are no more than beaux sabreurs who could have no influence on policy or events; whereas you, in the position you occupy in France and with your intimate knowledge of diplomatic relations, should you go over to our enemies could be of immense value to them.'

Again Roger shrugged, 'You need have no fears on that score. At worst I might be called on in a battle to kill an Austrian dragoon, or have him kill me. You may rest assured that I should never give General Bonaparte, or others, any information or counsel that could be damaging to England. And, to be frank, sir, I am not prepared to make any further contribution to your war against France, the sole object of which has now become the restoration of a set of decadent Princes.'

For a further ten minutes the Prime Minister remonstrated with Roger, but in vain. At length he said coldly, 'Very well then. Since you are determined to take this course I will send a message to my Lord Grenville informing him of it. At what hour do you intend to make your official adieux to him?'

‘I had intended to wait on him at the Foreign Office and ask for my passports at about four o'clock this afternoon, sir,' Roger replied.

Mr. Pitt nodded coldly; Roger bowed and withdrew. Out in Whitehall he bought a news sheet in order to consult the column advertising the sailings of ships bound for neutral ports in the next few days; then he walked back to Amesbury House. There, over a bottle of sack, he told Droopy about his decision to remain in France and of his interview with the Prime Minister. When he had done, his friend said:

‘I can well understand his fears that you might prove an asset to the French; but I know you to be clever enough to give them the impression that you are an ardent Anglophobe without disclosing anything that might advantage them in their war against England. When he thinks upon it he'll doubtless realize that to be a game at which long practice has made you proficient. As for your decision. I judge you right. Life as an aide to General Bonaparte can offer you far more than life could here.'

At a little before four o'clock Roger was approaching the

Foreign Office. Drawn up outside it he noticed a coach with its blinds down and standing near it, two officers who, from their uniforms, obviously belonged to the Brigade of Guards. As he was about to enter the building the shorter of the two, a Captain, called to him, 'One moment, sir.'

Halting, he turned towards the officer who saluted him politely and said, 'Mr. Brook, the Prime Minister ordered me to wait for you here and request you to accompany us.' Then he opened the carriage door.

Considerably surprised at being summoned in this fashion, and wondering what new proposition Mr. Pitt intended to make to him, Roger got into the vehicle. Removing his tall bear-skin the Captain followed him, while his companion, an Ensign, marched round to the other side and got in there. As they shut the doors the coachman whipped his horse into a brisk trot and the Captain said with a bow:

'Mr. Brook, it is my unhappy duty to inform you that you are under arrest, and that I have been ordered to escort you to the Tower.'

3

The Prisoner in the Tower

'The Tower! Arrest! What the devil do you mean?' Roger exclaimed angrily.

'Precisely what I said, sir,' replied the Captain calmly.

'Dam'me! There must be some mistake. You've'confused me with some other person of similar name.'

'No, sir. The Prime Minister gave me a very clear descrip­tion of you.'

'God's blood! You can't do this! Show me your warrant.' 'I have no warrant.'

'Then you are illegally interfering with the liberty of a subject. And the law is still maintained in England. Either you'll let me out or I'll see to it that you answer for this act to a Court Martial.'

'The Prime Minister's personal order, sir, is warrant enough for me.'

'You may think so, but even Prime Ministers are not entitled to order an arbitrary arrest I demand that you take me to him.'

To that the Captain made no reply so, after a moment, Roger said:

'Inform me, at least, of the charge made against me.'

'I have no idea. Moreover my orders are to hold no discourse with you.'

While Roger seethed with silent rage the coach bowled along. For a few minutes he contemplated an attempt to open the door and throw himself out: but he was silting on the back seat and the two officers were sitting facing him so it was certain that at his first movement they would lean for­ward and grab his arms. As the blinds of the coach were down he could not sec the route it was taking but by that time, he judged that it was probably in the Strand and approaching Temple Bar. Being aware of the ancient City privilege that no troops might enter it without the permission of the Lord Mayor he thought it just possible that, when they reached the Bar, there might occur a hold-up of which he could take advantage; but another ten minutes passed without the carriage being halted, so the chance of a Beadle opening the door and seeing the uniforms of his companions had by then gone.

When it did halt, the door was opened by a Guards sergeant at the entrance to the Tower. The Captain gave the password of the day then, as the coach clattered over the drawbridge, he put up the blinds. Roger caught a glimpse of the arches of the Middle and Byward Towers as he passed beneath them, and of Water Lane until, opposite Traitor's Gate, the carriage turned left up a steep slope and drew up in the square beyond it outside the King's House, in which the Mayor of the Tower had his residence.

After a short wait the Mayor, Colonel Matthew Smith, received them in his office and the Captain handed him a letter. Roger at once began a heated protest about his arbitrary arrest, but Colonel Smith sat down at his desk and, ignoring him, read through the despatch, then he said:

'Mr. Brook, this is an order from the Prime Minister to me to detain you here during His Majesty's pleasure. No reason for so doing is given and it is not for me to ask for one or to take notice of the protest you have just made. I am instructed to provide you with comfortable quarters and to feed you from my table; but you are not to be allowed to write to anyone and are to be held incommunicado; so your warders will receive orders not to enter into conversation with you.'

After a moment he went on. 'Enclosed is a letter which you are required to copy in your own hand. It concerns the collecting and bringing here of your personal belongings.' He then handed Roger the letter. It was addressed to Lord Edward Fitz-Deverel, and read:

'Dear Ned,

Unforeseen circumstances have caused me to change my plans. Be good enough to have my belongings packed and handed to the hearer of this note. I will explain matters when next we meet. In the meantime my thanks for your hospitality.'

While the Colonel pulled up a chair for him and produced pen and paper Roger's mind was racing. His arrest had been so managed that no-one had witnessed it. And no-one, other than Droopy Ned, would be aware of his disappearance so set enquiries on foot about him. If he copied the letter, that would put Droopy's mind at rest, so it appeared evident that it had been designed for that purpose. Quickly he shook his head:

'No, sir. I'll not copy that letter and become a party to concealing Mr. Pitt's illegal and most extraordinary treatment of me. If I fail to appear at Amesbury House at latest by tomorrow Lord Edward will have the town scoured for me. There is a chance that he may learn the truth, and should he do so he'll raise all hell to get me out of here.'

The Colonel shrugged, 'I cannot" force you to put pen to paper, Mr. Brook; but there is another passage in the Prime Minister's letter of which I have not yet informed you. Should you refuse his request his instructions are that I should put you in an unfurnished cell and your fare is to be bread and water.'

Roger's face went pale with rage, and he cried indignantly, 'By God. this is intolerable! He cannot keep me here indefi­nitely, and when I get free I'll see to it that he never hears the last of this. The stink made in Parliament when Captain Jenkins produced his car that the Spaniards had lopped off will be nothing to the stench I'll raise.'

'With what you may do in the future, Mr. Brook. I am not concerned. We are speaking of the present. And I must warn you, do you prove adamant you will find life here as His Majesty's guest most uncomfortable.'

Fighting down his fury, Roger let his judgment get the better of his urge to resist further. As he had been spirited away without trace, even if Droopy did raise a hue and cry for him the odds were all against his whereabouts being discovered. Realizing that he snapped 'Very well,' and plumping himself down at the desk scrawled a copy of the letter. Then, pushing it towards the Colonel, he said;

'And now, sir, I demand that you send for an attorney, in order that he may issue a writ of Habeas Corpus on my behalf."

Colonel Smith shook his head. ‘I have already informed you that you are to be held incommunicado, in any case, owing to the riots in the industrial centres brought about by agitators infected by the pestilence of the French Revolution, the right to issue writs of Habeas Corpus was among those suspended by the Government some considerable time ago.'

Picking up a hand bell on his desk he rang it loudly. A Sergeant of the Yeomen of the Guard entered. Clicking the butt of his pike sharply on the floor he stood stiffly at attention while the Mayor said to him, 'You are to take this prisoner to cell five in the Lamthorn Tower, and he will be known by that number. If he mentions his name it is not to be repeated. He is to send or receive no letters or messages and no-one is to enter into conversation with him.'

Realizing that the Mayor and officers had only been doing their duty, Roger bowed to them and said. ‘Gentlemen, I pray you pardon me for my rudeness towards you. It was caused by my having become somewhat overwrought from the shock of learning that my arrest had been ordered, for I know not what reason, by one whom I have always accounted a friend.'

All three returned his bow and Colonel Smith replied,

'You have my sympathy, sir, and may rest assured that I will do my best to make your stay here as little disagreeable as possible. 'The two officers then saluted and took their leave; after which Roger followed the Sergeant out and, escorted by two other Yeomen who were waiting in the hall, was taken to the Lamthorn Tower.

The chamber into which he was locked was lofty, spacious and reasonably well-equipped with oak furniture of a con­siderable age, most of the pieces having the names or initials of past prisoners carved on them. The early winter dusk had already fallen and three candles and a tinder box had been left for him. He lit two of them but the light they gave made only a pool in the centre of the gloomy room and, as he moved about, threw grotesque shadows of himself on the bare walls. On examining the bed he found it far from soft but he had slept on worse ones when in camps or passing a night at poor inns. Lying down on it, he stared up at the vaulting of the stone ceiling and considered his position.

When he had declared that he did not know the reason for his arrest he had been telling the truth; but, while silting silent in the semi-darkness of the carriage on the way to the Tower, he had already made a fair guess at it for, preposterous as it seemed, he could think of no other. It was that Mr. Pitt looked on his decision to follow a career in France as one of Bonaparte's staff officers as so fraught with danger to the interests of England that he had resolved to detain him forcibly. In one sense it was a compliment, but in another a gross slander on his loyalty to the country of his birth; and he resented it intensely.

The more he thought about the circumstances of his arrest the more shocked he became at the Prime Minister's action. He had broken no law, yet here he was as good as in a dungeon. Since he had not been charged with any crime he was denied the right to a trial at which he might defend himself. Still worse he was being held incommunicado, so he could not write to friends asking their help to secure his release, or even to Mr. Pitt asking for an explanation. He had been picked up without warning, incarcerated in a fortress from which he knew it was impossible to escape and orders had been given to keep him there during His Majesty's—or what amounted to Mr. Pitt's—pleasure.

And this was England. The boasted Land of the Free. Not France in the days of the absolute monarchy when, at the whim of a King's mistress, her Royal lover signed a lettre de cachet consigning indefinitely to the Bastille some wretched scribbler who had lampooned her. But that was precisely what had happened to him.

It was said that at times such unfortunates had been for­gotten and left for years in prison until they died there. But Roger endeavoured to console himself with the thought that such a fate was most unlikely to be his. It seemed reasonable to assume that Mr. Pitt had simply taken prompt action to prevent any possibility of his leaving London in a ship that was sailing on the night tide. Having insured against that the Prime Minister must think again, and produce either a bribe or a threat which might deter him from carrying out his inten­tion of returning to France.

For a while Roger speculated on what form Mr. Pitt's approach would take, but his treatment of him and the aspersion on his loyalty made him more than ever determined to return lo Bonaparte's service.

At seven o'clock a supper of cold meat and apple tart, with a bottle of passable wine, was brought to him and, not long after he had finished his meal, his valise arrived. Having unpacked it he was glad to find that it contained a book he had been reading: so he went to bed and read until close on ten, then he snuffed out the candles. For a while he mused on the extraordinary situation he was in, but he was no longer particularly troubled by it as he felt confident that Mr. Pitt would send for him next day; so he soon fell into a sound sleep.

But Mr. Pitt did not send for him next day, nor the next, nor the next, and gradually his anxiety about what the future held for him increased. His routine each day never varied. Every morning he was taken out for an hour's exercise and for the rest of the day he remained locked in his room. The meals brought up to him were plentiful but plain, so he thought it probable that the Governor fared much better at his own table. Moreover the food lost much of its attraction from the fact that, having to be carried a long way from the kitchen, it was nearly always no more than luke-warm when it reached him; but the Governor sent him half a dozen books, for which he was duly grateful.

Several times he attempted to start a conversation with his gaolers, but they obeyed their orders in refusing to reply to him. In vain he racked his brains for a way in which he could communicate with the outside world. From the narrow, barred window of his room he could look down on the Pool of London. In it there lay scores of tall-masted ships, any one of which might have carried him to freedom, but he was as remote from them as though he were standing on the Moon; and, even if he had had writing materials, an appeal for help dropped out of the window would only have fluttered down inside the outer wall of the fortress.

Another three days dragged by. In vain now he en­deavoured to concentrate on reading. For hours he restlessly paced his chamber cursing Pitt and vowing that he would get even with him. There were other long periods when he tossed restlessly on the bed endeavouring to gain freedom in sleep from his tormenting anxiety. Sometimes he dropped off for an hour or two, but that made it more difficult for him to get to sleep at night. And he found the long dark evenings almost insupportable. The shadows of the big gloomy chamber seemed to close round him making a prison within a prison and emphasizing his utter isolation. Mr. Pitt, he knew, had a thousand matters to engage his attention; so it now seemed to Roger quite on the cards that by this time the Prime Minister had forgotten him. If so it might even be many months before the thought would recur to him that on an impulse he had had his once most trusted secret agent arrested. Meanwhile Roger must continue to fret away the seemingly endless hours pacing up and down between the stone walls; for there was no way in which he could bring an end to his captivity.

He had been confined in the Tower for exactly a week when, now to his surprise and sudden resurgence of hope, the Mayor sent for him. Fighting down his excitement he fol­lowed the Beefeater Sergeant, with his swinging lantern and bunch of big keys, down to the Mayor's office. In it were the Captain and his Ensign who had arrested Roger. Colonel Smith greeted him pleasantly and said with a smile:

'Mr. Brook, these two gentlemen have brought me an order for your release. ‘I hope that it may prove a permanent one. But you must consider yourself as still under arrest while they escort you to the Prime Minister, who has asked that you should be brought to him.'

Roger smiled, ‘I thank you, sir, for your good wishes, and for your fair treatment of me while I have been your prisoner. I hope that when next we meet it will be in happier circumstances.'

Five minutes later he was in the same coach that had brought him to the Tower, sitting facing the two officers. The blinds were again down so he saw nothing of the darkening streets through which they passed until the coach pulled up outside 10 Downing Street. They were admitted to the house and, after standing silent in the waiting room for some ten minutes, the Groom of the Chambers came to them. Bowing, he asked Roger to follow him, and requested his escort to remain there in attendance. With a firm step and a smile that had no trace of humour in it, Roger accompanied the servant upstairs. He was shown in to Mr. Pitt and the door closed behind him.

Giving him a nod of greeting that lacked any suggestion of cordiality, the Prime Minister indicated that he should take a chair. Instead Roger remained standing in front of the desk and said coldly, 'While I continue to be your prisoner, sir, it is more fitting that I should listen to what you have to say as would a convicted criminal in the dock before a judge.'

Mr. Pitt made an impatient gesture, 'So you are as stiff-necked as ever, and have failed to learn the lesson that I hoped a week in the Tower would teach you.'

'Oh, I've learnt it, and full well,' Roger flared, his dark blue eyes now nearly black with rage. 'It is that Charles Fox, whom I have long regarded as near a traitor, from his advocacy of revolutionary ideas, is in truth far from that and a true champion of Liberty. Whereas you, under the guise of patriotism, have taken on yourself the mantle of a tyrant. Your treatment of me has not differed in the least from that of King Louis XV when he had pcrsons who were obnoxious to him flung into the Bastille without trial, justice or thought of mercy. How dare you behave towards a freeborn Eng­lishman in such a manner! Your conduct is an outrage and. Prime Minister though you be, I'll have the law upon you for it.'

The Prime Minister's grey tired face remained unmoved and he gave a slight shrug of his narrow shoulders, as he said, 'About any such intention, Mr. Brook, I must disabuse your hopes. Having been so long abroad you may not have heard how His Majesty's coach was stoned while on its way to Parliament, of the riots in Bristol, Norwich and other cities during which the mobs were incited to seize private property, or that twenty thousand Londoners congregated not long since at Islington to demand the abolition of the Monarchy and the establishment of a Republic here. To suppress such grievous disorders I was compelled to lake strong measures. They included arrest without warrant, the suspension of Habeas Corpus and confinement in prison during His Majesty's pleasure. So I was entirely within my rights when ordering your detention.'

'But why?' Roger burst out. 'What possible cause have you for inflicting this ignominy and discomfort on me?'

'The answer to that is simple. When last we met you told me that you had been present at the debate in the House on February 3rd. You must then surely recall that the basis of my reply to Tierney's attack upon me was the necessity for protecting the security of the realm. You, Mr. Brook, threat­ened to become a menace to that; therefore I had no option but to have you locked up. I must add that my view about you remains unchanged. As an adherent of Bonaparte you could not be other than a danger to this country. In conse­quence I am determined not to permit you to rejoin him.'

'How do you propose to prevent that?' Roger inquired. 'By returning me to the Tower and holding me a prisoner there indefinitely?'

'I could, but I should be loath to do so. Under the emergency law, should more than four persons congregate in the street to discuss politics they could be transported to the plantations in the Indies. I could arrange such a voyage for you and it might serve to chasten you. At all events it would keep you out of mischief for many months to come. But again, in consideration of your past services, I am reluctant to be harsh with you. Therefore I give you a choice. It is either that, or you will proceed to New Holland—Australia as we now prefer to call it—and furnish me with a report on the facilities for our establishing a Colony there.'

'Should I accept, what guarantee would you have that I would ever go to this outlandish place?'

'Your word as a gentleman, which I am prepared to accept.'

'I thank you, sir, but I'll not give it. I will neither go to New Holland nor allow you to send mc to the Indies.'

Suddenly Roger gave a harsh laugh, ‘I warned you that you had made a grave error in rejecting General Bonaparte's overture. You have made a still greater one in sending for me today. In the field of politics I would never dream of chal­lenging you; but you have had the temerity to challenge me on my own ground. We are face to face here in this room and, to my great regret, as enemies. You are set on thwarting my will. I am determined to regain the freedom of which you have arbitrarily deprived me and to pursue in future any mode of life that I please. In the past had some person sought to prevent me from bringing back to England secret information of great importance, do you think that I should have hesitated to kill him? Why then, since you are proving an obstacle to my plans, should I refrain now from killing you?'

Stepping forward, Roger swiftly snatched up the thick, two-foot-long ebony ruler from the desk that lay between them and waved it threateningly.

The Prime Minister sat back with a jerk, stared at him round-eyed and exclaimed, 'You would not dare!'

'Why should you think that?' Roger smiled. 'While in your service I've killed a score of people. And to kill you would establish me for life in General Bonaparte's good graces.'

'You are gone mad!' Mr. Pitt murmured. 'It must be so. ‘Tis the only possible explanation of this threat to kill me.'

'I pray it may not come to that. But I must hit you on the head to render you unconscious for a while; and should your skull prove thin such a blow could make an end of you.'

Mr. Pitt did not lack courage. Coming to his feet, he held out his hand and said sharply, 'Mr. Brook, give me back that ruler.'

'Nay. I'll not do that unless you agree my terms unreser­vedly. And, for your skull's sake, heed this warning. Do you raise your voice above normal, or make the least motion towards your bell, I'll strike you down without further parley."

'What are your terms?'

'That you should sit down again and write three brief documents. One, a paper for the officers downstairs stating that you have freed me from arrest. Two, an order to the Admiralty to have me transported back to France. Three, an acknowledgment that without just cause and for your own private ends you had me imprisoned in the Tower of London for a week.'

'Never! Your demands are outrageous.'

'It is through your own folly that I am compelled to make them. Had you allowed me to proceed to France without interference instead of acting against me as though I intended to become a traitor....'

'You gave every indication that you might become one,' the Prime Minister broke in angrily. ' 'Twas clear to me that this ruffian Bonaparte had bewitched you. Once you had broken your ties with England, as you said you meant to do, the fascination he holds for you would have led you into becoming an enemy of your country, and a most dangerous one.'

'There you wrong me grievously. Having played a double game for so long, why should you consider me incapable of continuing to do so? I said only that I was no longer willing to act as a secret agent for you. It docs not in the least follow that I would not aid the cause of England should an oppor­tunity arise. And it well may. Britain and France are both nearly exhausted, and I am convinced that the time is not far distant when they must agree a peace. When that time comes, having the ear of Talleyrand and Bonaparte there is at least a possibility that I may influence them a little into giving us more generous terms than they at first had a mind to do.'

Mr. Pitt frowned, 'I will admit that view of the matter had not occurred to me. Very well, then. I withdraw my objec­tion. You may return to France. But in no circumstances will I sign a paper admitting that I had you imprisoned without just cause. I did so in the belief that it was for the protection of the safety of the realm.'

'In that I believe you. Nevertheless, you must do as I require,' Roger replied firmly. 'You have made it clear that up till a few minutes ago you had lost faith in my integrity. How can I be sure that your trust in me is fully restored, that you will not after all prevent me from going back to France by having me again arrested before I can leave the country? Only your admission that you had me falsely imprisoned will protect me against that.'

'I'll not give it you!' snapped the Prime Minister. 'I'll see you damned first.'

'Then you leave me no alternative but to strike you down and. leaving you either dead or unconscious, make my escape by way of the garden.'

' 'Twould be the act of a madman. What hope could you then have of getting back to France? Within a few hours, on learning of such a brutal assault, every man in southern England would be on the look out to apprehend you.'

Roger gave a grim smile, 'You sadly under-estimate my resourcefulness. I'd not attempt to cross the Channel. I'd go only as far as Brooks' Club and seek sanctuary there. In that hotbed of your political enemies I'd tell my tale, then write it and give it to the newshawks for publication. Later I might hang for having attacked you. But, by God, the story of your having abused your powers to imprison a law-abiding subject would bring about your ruin. You would be hounded from the House.'

For a long moment the Prime Minister stared at this ter­rible antagonist whom he had made into an enemy. Then he sat down at his desk.

Two days later a British sloop under a flag of truce landed Roger in France.

4

The Rebirth of a Nation

Late in the evening of February 17th Roger arrived at La Belle Etoile. a commodious hostelry no great distance from the Louvre. He had long made it his headquarters while in Paris, and its proprietors, the Blanchards, were old and trusted friends. They had first known him as a young assis­tant secretary to the Marquis de Rochambeau, seen him blossom into an elegant Chevalier who made one of Queen Marie Antoinette's circle at Versailles, given him shelter while he had lived in Paris disguised as a ragged, filthy sans culotte and. more recently, felt honoured that now, as a Colonel A.D.C. to the First Consul, he should continue to live at their inn rather than seek the more luxurious quarters that he could well afford.

Maitre Blanchard greeted him with enthusiasm and took him at once into the private parlour, in which he had enjoyed many a good meal cooked by Madame. As the stalwart Norman landlord relieved him of his steeple-crowned hat and heavy, many-caped grey travelling coat, that portly lady said, 'You must be tired and hungry. Monsieur le Colonel. Sit you by the fire while I order your old room to be got ready and our biggest warming pan put in the bed. Then I'll make you

your favourite omelette with mushrooms and half a dozen eggs.'

Blanchard nodded his round head, on which the fair hair was now thinning. 'Go to it, wife, while I get up two bottles of good full-bodied Burgundy wine with which to celebrate the return of our distinguished guest.'

A quarter of an hour later Roger was attacking the huge omelette with zest, while Blanchard was giving him the news of the day. 'You cannot imagine,' he said, 'how greatly the state of things has been bettered here during the seven weeks you have been away. The First Consul has proved himself a miracle worker and is bringing order out of the chaos we have suffered for so long. Whereas for many winters half Paris has nearly starved, food is now plentiful and reasonable in price. There are no longer queues outside the bakers' shops, property is again respected and the streets have become safe, even at dead of night.’

'That is good news indeed,' Roger replied. 'And what of the new Constitution? Has it yet been passed?'

'Not yet, but it should be soon. There can be little doubt of that, for General Bonaparte's popularity is now immense.'

The coup d'etat of Brumaire had taken place on November 9th. On the 11th Bonaparte, the Abbe Sieyes and his crony Roger Ducos had been appointed provisional Consuls and the sittings of the Legislative Assembly had been suspended pending the passing of a new Constitution. By December 13th its form .had been agreed and the sanction of the people to its acceptance asked in a national plebiscite. On that day too Bonaparte had succeeded in getting rid of his troublesome colleagues and having them replaced by Cambaceres and Lebrun.

This new instrument of government, known as 'The Con­stitution of the Year VIII.' was to consist of two Chambers: the Tribunate which could propose new laws but could not pass them, and a Legislative Assembly which had no power to initiate new legislation, but was to debate the measures put forward by the Tribunate and either pass or reject them. Superior to both, there was to be a Senate of conservative cider statesmen, whose function it was to appoint the members of both Chambers. Finally, on December 26th, the day Roger had left for England, the Consuls had announced the formation of yet another Body, that had not been men­tioned in the Constitution. This was a Council of State, to consist of not more than forty members: Generals. Admirals, lawyers and others who had distinguished themselves either before or during the Revolution. Its powers had not been stated but Roger, knowing Bonaparte so well, at once foresaw that before long he would rule through it, and the Chambers be reduced to no more than debating societies in which the members could air their opinions.

Tired after his long and uncomfortable journey from the coast, as soon as he had finished his meal Roger thanked the honest couple, asked them to excuse him and went to bed.

Next morning he unpacked one of the trunks that were always kepi for him at La Belle Etoile and donned his fine uniform with its gold epaulettes and the special sash of an A.D.C.. when he went out to call on Monsieur de Talleyrand. On his way to the Foreign Minister's he saw that, whereas when he had left Paris the streets had been filthy with litter, they were now clean and that the people in them, instead of having a sullen and often furtive look, were going about their business briskly with cheerful faces. These signs were the best possible evidence of the success of the measures that Bonaparte was taking.

On his return from exile in America, Talleyrand had at once resumed his old life as a grand seigneur, and now lived in a big mansion in the Rue du Bac. His major-domo received Roger as an old friend of his master's, said he would send in his name at once and showed him into a handsomely furnished room where a dozen people were waiting on the pleasure of the Minister. But Roger was there only for a few minutes, then the major-domo returned and conducted him across the hull to another room where Talleyrand was sitting, still at breakfast. With his usual charming manners he rose and invited Roger to join him. Roger had already break­fasted but he cheerfully accepted a good portion of truffled vol-au-vent and a glass of Chateau Lafitte.

Charles Maurice de Talleyrand-Perigord was now forty-six. His grandfather had been a Prince de Chalais, so he was descended from one of the greatest families of ancient France. As the eldest son of a Marquis he should have inherited the title and estates but a careless servant had dropped him while still an infant, causing an injury to his right leg that, through lack of proper attention, had made him lame for life. This rendered a military career impossible; so his father had disin­herited him in favour of a younger brother and forced him, much against his will, to go into the Church. Embittered by this, in '89 he had enthusiastically embraced the movement to curtail the authority of the Monarchy and nobility, and had become one of the most prominent leaders of the Liberal Revolution. When the National Assembly had repudiated the rule of Rome and sought to establish instead an independent Church in France, he had been the first Bishop to transfer his allegiance to it; but since his return from exile he had given up even the pretence of being a priest, and certainly no man could have been less fitted for such a role.

Handsome, elegant, witty, brilliantly intelligent, and he dressed always as a layman in the richest silks and satins, he had from the age of sixteen devoted himself to a life of debauchery. Many of the most beautiful women at the Court of Versailles, and most of those in Paris who had graced the salons during the dissolute period of the Directory, had been his mistresses. He was a cynic of the first order and venal to the last degree, having, since he had become Foreign Min­ister, amassed a great fortune in bribes. But he was already proving himself to be the greatest statesman of his age.

Unfailingly courteous, preserving always an unruffled calm, graceful in movement despite his limp, he was an aristocrat to his finger tips. His slightly retrousse nose gave his face an autocratic look, but humour lurked in his grey-blue eyes under their heavy lids, and his deep voice was beautifully modulated.

As Roger took his seat at table, Talleyrand asked, 'Well,

Monsieur L’Ambassadeur, what news out of England? Do you bring Peace in your pocket?'

Roger now had reason to thank his stars both that he had sent Broussalt ahead of him with an interim report and later been imprisoned in the Tower for a week. The first had conveyed the information that the British Cabinet was averse to peace, the second had given time enough for particulars to have reached France that the attack by the Opposition on Pitt had failed to bring about the fall of his Government. With a smile he replied:

'Your spies, Monsieur le Ministre, must be a sadly ineffi­cient lot if they have allowed you to suppose that I might have. It must be some days now since you learned how Mr. Pitt scattered the friends of peace like chaff before him in the debate on February 3rd.'

'Yes. He surpassed himself. One cannot but admire the man, ostrich-like though he has now become about realities.'

'True. 1 doubt though whether the First Consul will accept that as an excuse for my failure; and I am preparing myself with such fortitude as I can for him to order me to be bastinadoed.'

'Knowing how ill he takes any thwarting of his plans I think that in normal circumstances you might well fear to lose your epaulettes. But you are notoriously lucky, and your luck is certainly in that it should be today you must face him. The result of the plebiscite has at last come to hand. The voting was three million, eleven thousand and seven in favour of adopting the Constitution and only one thousand, five hundred and twenty six against.'

Roger looked up quickly, 'What staggering figures. No man can ever have had a more overwhelming testimony to the nation's confidence in him.'

'Yes, it is a veritable triumph; the more so as, against my advice, no attempt was made to rig the polls. Naturally, he is overjoyed; so I do not think you will suffer even a temporary eclipse from the radiance of our new Soleil.'

'You comfort me greatly. I had feared at least a period of some months before he would again wish to see me about him. And your comparison of him with the sun is apt. He has already brought light and cheerfulness into the streets of Paris. It has become a different city since I left it.'

That is no wonder; for he keeps us as busy as a whole hive of bees, working up to sixteen hours a day and every day issuing a dozen or more new ordinances. Moreover he loves his work, even singing at it in that awful voice of his. Nothing escapes him and he has a finger in every pie. One moment he is arranging for the formation of a National Bank of France to support trade; at another striking the anniver­sary of the death of Louis XVI and other holidays from the list of public festivals, so that more work will get done, the next planning a vast system of free education for all. Did you know that last year there were no more than twenty four Elementary Schools in Paris and they could take only one thousand pupils? There is no limit to the schemes that jostle one another in his fertile brain.'

'I can well believe you. But, well informed though he is on many subjects, I would have thought that he knew little about such matters as finance and education.'

While pouring Roger and himself another glass of wine, Talleyrand replied. 'That is so; but he is an amazingly quick learner. He attends nearly every meeting of the Council of State, listens avidly to everyone there whose experience of a subject entitles him to express an opinion, and only after­wards takes a decision. Neither is he too proud to accept advice from his Ministers. In that Fouche and I are specially favoured: for he decided that, unlike the others, who are required to carry their problems to all three Consuls, Police matters and Foreign Affairs should be discussed by us with him alone. Each time I see him he welcomes me warmly, and he has given m; the opportunity to coach him for many hours on international relationships.'

'Then your position with him must be an exceptionally strong one.' Roger smiled, 'and I congratulate you on it.'

'Thanks, my dear fellow. It is certainly most satisfactory. Of course, his impetuous nature gets the better of him at times. But I have a remedy for that. My congenital idleness is known to you, and on occasion I make use of it. When he orders me to take some measure on which I think his judg­ment to be at fault I leave the matter unattended for a few days. By the time I broach it again he has almost always realized that to pursue it would be folly, and he saves his face by telling me to hold it over. Then no more is said of it.'

Roger laughed, 'I count him fortunate, Monsieur le Ministre, to have you in his service. With your guidance he should do great things for France.'

Talleyrand shrugged, 'If he lasts a year he will go far.'

'Surely you cannot doubt his lasting that long?' Roger said, much surprised. 'This overwhelming vote of confidence from the French people shows them to have taken him to their hearts.'

'The memory of the public is extraordinarily short. They will lionize a man one month and his opponent the next. In any case, should they still be loyal to him, their feelings will be of no account, because real power is never vested in the masses. Bonaparte has many enemies, and they may combine to pull him down.'

'I can well believe that several of his fellow Generals are mightily jealous of him.'

'That is so: Moreau. Bernadotte and Massena particularly. But that is not his greatest danger. It lies in the fact that he has secretly abandoned the principles of the Revolution, yet at the same time is averse to a restoration of the Monarchy. Both factions will in due course seek to destroy him: the one because the Jacobins will find out that he has nothing but detestation and contempt for their doctrine of equality, the other because they will wish to replace him by a coup d'etat with some other prominent man more likely to invite Louis XVIII to ascend the throne.'

'He is, then, walking a tightrope.'

'Exactly. And with commendable skill. He displayed it in his selection of his two fellow Consuls. Cambaceres was a member of the Convention which sent Louis XVI to the guillotine, Lebrun, on the other hand, played no part in the

Terror and is believed to be, in secret, a Royalist. Again, observe his choice of his two most prominent Ministers. It was reported to me that he remarked to his brother Joseph "What revolutionary would not have confidence in an order of things where Fouche is a Minister? And what gentleman would not expect to find existence possible under a former Bishop such as Talleyrand?"

'Since he has made such a promising start, more's the pity that the war should continue, at least with England, and so divert his attention from the reforms he is undertaking.'

'With Austria too. Owing, no doubt, to the recent successes of his armies in Italy, the Emperor Francis has refused our offer to treat on the basis reached at Campo Formio. But matters might be worse. That timid, spineless creature, young Frederick William of Prussia, is more than ever enamoured of neutrality, so will continue to sit upon the fence; and the Czar Paul has recently withdrawn from the Coalition. It is our good fortune that he became disgruntled by the Emperor's treatment of the Army sent under Suvarov to aid the Austrians in Italy, and still more so at the mishandling by that stupid Duke of York of the Russian expeditionary force sent last autumn to Holland, which led to the surrender of the Allied forces there. We are now intent on wooing the Czar, and should we succeed in winning him over to us we'll cook the Austrian goose between two fires.’

'Is Moreau still commanding on the Rhine?'

'Yes. As a soldier he is rated second only to our little man; and since he must be regarded as a potential enemy it was a wise move to confirm him in his command. As long as he remains out of Paris 'tis unlikely that he will be persuaded to enter into any intrigue against the new Government. Massena, too, might have proved a danger. Only four months ago, just before Bonaparte's return from Egypt, he had been acclaimed a national hero owing to his great victory in Switzerland which saved France from invasion by the Russians. But at present he has more than enough to keep him busy defending the Ligurian Republic'

'From what I heard in London I gathered that things are going far from well with our army in Italy.'

Talleyrand nodded, 'That is so. Massena is several times outnumbered by the Austrians, so is hard-pressed to hold his own. 'Tis my opinion that, should Bonaparte decide to take the held in person again, it is to Massena's assistance that he will march in the Spring. But for the moment my instinct tells me that he is rather pleased than otherwise that his brother General should be taking some hard knocks.'

After wiping his lips with a lace-edged napkin, Talleyrand went on:

'And now, cher ami, you must excuse me. I'd willingly sit here gossiping with you all morning but, alas, to keep my position I must at times do a little work, and numerous people wait to sec me. No doubt we'll meet again at the Tuileries this evening.'

'Is there a reception there then?'

'Yes, for the First Consul to receive congratulations on the result of the plebiscite. I would advise you therefore, not to attempt to beard him in his den this morning, but to refrain from showing yourself until he is surrounded by smiling faces.'

Roger bowed, 'Your Excellency's advice has always proved invaluable to mc, and I'll certainly take it now.'

The Minister smiled and laid a beautifully-kept hand on his arm. ‘It will always be at your disposal. I'll never forget that you saved mc from being sent to the guillotine during tho Revolution.'

At seven o'clock that evening Roger joined the throng of men, most of whom were in brilliant uniforms, and silk-clad bejewelled women, that was making its way slowly up the grand staircase in the Palais des Tuileries. The last time ho had done so was at Bonaparte's reception on Christmas Day, a date deliberately chosen by him to indicate that the Chris­tian festival was to be revived and the persecution of the Church to cease. Since Brumaire he had occupied the Luxembourg, but now that the plebiscite had confirmed him in power it was being said that he intended to take up his residence in the Tuileries permanently as from the following day.

At length Roger came opposite him and made his bow. Bonaparte was then aged thirty, a little under medium height and still slim. His large head was finely shaped, his forehead superb, his eyes big and luminous, his nose and mouth well modelled, his jaw exceptionally powerful and his face pale. His reactions to what people said to him were as swift as lightning and conveyed instantly pleasure, doubt, sorrow or anger. He had beautiful hands of which he was very proud and while conversing would often glance at them with com­placency. When Roger had first met him at the siege of Toulon he had been an out-at-elbow Artillery officer with lank, ill-kept dark hair falling to his shoulders. He had since become fastidious in his dress, never wearing a shirt twice, and scrupulously clean in his person, frequently spending up to two hours a day in his bath while dictating to his secretary.

'Ha, Breuc!' he exclaimed in his rasping voice with its heavy Italian accent. 'So those pig-headed fools have kicked you out of England. Talleyrand told me this evening of your return. You must be glad to be back in Paris after surviving two months of London fog. What a country! But one day that fog shall prove the undoing of those stubborn people. Under cover of it I'll land there with a hundred thousand men.'

'My dearest hope is to be with you then. Consul,' Roger smiled.

'You shall,' came the instant reply. 'You've proved yourself little good as a diplomat, but you are still le brave Breuc and speak their uncouth language.’

‘I thank you. General. Meantime I trust you will find me some suitable employment.'

'Since you wield a pen as ably as a sword, I can. Bourrienne is up to his eyes in work. Report to him tomorrow.’

Greatly relieved, Roger passed on and made his bow to Josephine. She was a few years older than her husband, an alluring brunette with a strikingly voluptuous figure. Her looks were marred only by her bad teeth and, from habit, she kept her lips closed as she smiled at Roger. In more than one crisis in their lives they had rendered one another invaluable services; so she spoke to him most kindly.

Ranged in a semi-circle behind the First Consul and his wife stood the Bonaparte family. The mother, a tall, lean, handsome, commanding presence, whose expression showed a suggestion of disapproval at the adulation being showered on her amazing son. On her right her other sons: Joseph, a year older than Napoleon—an amiable man now becoming a little portly—with his wife Julie, already regarded as an angel of charity; Lucien, a short-sighted man with thin, gangling limbs—the firebrand of the family whose fervour for the Revolution had caused him in his teens to rename himself Brutus, but who had now, as the recently-appointed Minister of the Interior, become respectable—with his simple, sweet-natured, ex-barmaid wife Catherine; Louis, a handsome young man whom Bonaparte, while still a poor cadet at the Military Academy in Paris, had personally brought up; and Jerome, as yet only a youngster of sixteen.

On Madame Letizia Bonaparte's left were her daughters. Eliza most closely resembled Napoleon but, having heavy masculine features redeemed only by flashing black eyes, was the plainest of the girls. Beside her was her Corsican hus­band, a dolt named Pascal Bacciocchi. Caroline came next; a shrewd, ambitious, clever girl, good-looking and with a beautiful complexion but a bust and hips too large for her dumpy body. With her was Joachim Murat, Bonaparte's crack cavalry General, to marry whom she had only lately left Madame Campan's Academy for Young Ladies. Pauline stood alone, as her husband General Leclerc had been given command of a Division on the Rhine. She was such a ravishing young creature that she had been nicknamed 'La Belle des Belles'.

Roger knew them all, and that they were a grasping, scheming crew who thought of little but feathering their nests out of the pocket of their now rich and powerful brother. They were also bitterly jealous of one another and united only in one thing—their hatred of his wife. It was on Pauline that Roger's glance lingered, for he had long admired her; and, to his delight, she gave him a charming smile.

To the left of Bonaparte's sisters stood Josephine's two children by her earlier marriage to the Vicomte de Bcauharnais: Eugene, a pleasant, round-faced young man whom, while still in his teens. Bonaparte had taken with him as an A.D.C. in both his Italian and Egyptian campaigns; and Hortense, a pretty girl with a mop of fair curls. Their step­father was extremely fond of them and treated them as his own children.

The assembly was an extraordinarily mixed one. Men who had been responsible for massacres during the Terror, but who had been clever enough to save themselves from the reaction after the fall of Robespierre, rubbed shoulders with ci-devant nobles who had succeeded in getting permission to return from exile There were financiers like Ouverard who had made vast fortunes out of supplying the Armies, eminent lawyers with Liberal principles who had lived in hiding throughout the worst years of the Revolution, learned men who were members of the Institute, the diplomatic represen­tatives of a score of nations and many soldiers whose exploits had caused their names to become household words.

The looks of the women were much above the average for such a gathering because in recent years blue blood had become a liability rather than an asset and rich families had been deprived of their possessions; so, instead of seeking a wife who could bring them a coat-of-arms or a big dowry, most of the men who were carving careers for themselves had chosen brides solely for their beauty.

This was particularly the case with the soldiers. Several of the most distinguished were absent: Moreau and St. Cyr were on the Rhine, Massena, Soult, Suchet and Oudinot were in Italy, Kleber, Dcsaix and Junot had been left by Bonaparte marooned in Egypt; but among those present were:

Berthier, Bonaparte's ugly, ill-formed little Chief of Staff in whose overbig head everything to do with the Army was filed like a vast card index; Marmont, the brilliant young Artilleryman who, at the siege of Toulon, had been Bonaparte's first A.D.C; Brune, who despite his very limited abilities, being opposed only to the hopelessly incompetent Duke of York, had, the previous autumn, destroyed the Allied armies in Holland; Davoust, clever, taciturn, the harshest disciplinarian of them all, whom Bonaparte had discovered in Egypt; Bessieres. another discovery in the same campaign and, although still only a dashing young Colonel, now charged with making the Consular Guard into what was to become the finest dike Corps in the world; Ney, the red-headed son of a cooper, whose sole ambition was to win glory, with beside him the loveliest wife of them all; Augereau, the tall, terrible swashbuckler, who had saved the day for Bonaparte at Castiglione; Moncey, the hero of the Battle of the Pyramids; Lannes, the foul-mouthed little Gascon who, as a Brigadier in Italy in '96 and later at the siege of Acre, had won fame by his indomitable courage, and who also had an exquisitely beautiful wife; Bernadotte, another Gascon, still wearing his black hair long, who hated Bonaparte. He had, when Minister of War, proposed to arrest him for having deserted his Army in Egypt and, alone among the Generals, had refused to support him in the coup d'etat of Brumaire.

Besides these there were the veterans of the Revolutionary wars; Carnot, once a member of the dread Committee of Public Safety, never a General but, from having created seven armies out of a rabble and kept them supplied, christened 'The Organiser of Victories'; Kellerman of Valmy fame; Jourdan, the victor of Fleuras; Sérurier, Perignon and old Lefebvre—still looking like a tough Sergeant-Major—whose wife had once taken in and washed on credit young Lieu­tenant Bonaparte's patched underclothes.

Chatting with them and their ladies were scores of Briga­diers, Colonels, Adjutants and A.D.Cs. All were wearing their smartest uniforms; the plumed hats they carried under their arms, their tunics and their sabretaches glittered with gold lace, and jewels sparkled in the sword hilts of the senior officers as they strutted, their spurs jingling, across the polished floors.

Roger was acquainted with at least half the civilians and soldiers there and. having served with most of the latter in Italy and Egypt, looked on many of them as well-tried friends. As he moved from group to group it was borne in on him that whereas he knew well comparatively few people in England, here lie was hailed on all sides as a gallant comrade of the wars; so he felt more than ever that his decision to return permanently to France had been sound, and that few lives could be better than one lived among these gay, brave men and lovely women.

At one of the long buffet supper tables he ran into Joseph Fouche. The Minister of Police was the very antithesis of Talleyrand. He was tall and lean, his face looked like that of a corpse warmed up, his shifty eyes, with which he never gazed at anyone direct, reminded one of those of a dead fish. He was untidily dressed, his waistcoat was stained with snuff and, as usual, he was snivelling from the cold in the head that never left him.

He had been a Terrorist on the grand scale. As the conven­tion's Commissioner in Nevers he had sacked all the churches and cowed the citizens by his murderous ferocity. In Lyons he had had hundreds of Liberals lined up—men, women and children—turned a battery of cannon on them and mowed them down with grape shot. When the reaction came he had been lucky to escape with only banishment from Paris, and nobody had ever expected to hear of him again. But, after for a while scraping a living breeding pigs, he had somehow managed to make money as an Army contractor then, by intrigue and blackmail, miraculously emerged as a high official of the corrupt Directory. Owing to his unscrupulousncss. cold, calculating mind and immense capacity for work, he had now become, after Bonaparte, the most power­ful man in France. With him was his dowdy, pathetically ugly wife to whom he had always been completely faithful.

While respecting Fouche for his great ability. Roger regarded him with distrust and dislike but. as the principal enforcer of law and order, he was now on the side of the angels; so for a while they talked amicably together.He was rescued from this unprepossessing couple by Duroc and Hortense de Beauharnais, who had been dancing together. The former, a puritanical but charming man, had ' been Bonaparte's A.D.C.-in-Chief, and was one of Roger's closest friends. Now, after greeting him with delight, Duroc told him that he had just been given a new appointment as Controller of the Palace. From Hortense's starry-eyed expres­sion as she gazed at the handsome Duroc, Roger guessed her to be madly in love with him; but he did not appear to be particularly interested in her and, pleading duty as an excuse, soon left her with Roger.

After dancing with her and returning her to her mother Roger caught sight of Talleyrand. Immaculate as ever, his hair powdered just as it would have been had his hostess been Queen Marie Antoinette instead of Josephine Bona­parte, he was limping gracefully away from the ballroom. Catching him up, Roger thanked him for having broken the news of his return to Bonaparte.

The ci'devant Bishop smiled, 'Think nothing of it, cher ami. You are too useful a man for him to have vented his displeasure on for long. I did no more than prevent him from cutting off his nose to spite his face by depriving himself of your services for a few months.'

An hour or so later Roger left the Palace having enjoyed a thoroughly happy evening, and entirely content with the future that he had chosen for himself.

Next morning he found Fauvelet de Bourrienne installed in his new office in the Tuileries—now rechristened 'The Palace of the Government'—and duly reported to him. De Bourri­enne was the same age as Bonaparte and had been one of his few friends when they had been students together at the Military College at Brienne. Later he had entered the diplo­matic service and during the early days of the revolution had been en poste in Germany. On the mounting of the Terror he had been recalled but, realizing that as an aristocrat a return to Paris meant for him the guillotine, he had wisely remained in voluntary exile. Then, after Bonaparte's victorious cam­paign in Italy, the General had written to him and invited him to become his Chef-de-Cabinet, De Bourrienne had accepted and neither had since had cause to regret this arrangement. Bonaparte found Bourrienne's swift grasp of affairs invaluable, Bourrienne delighted in enjoying the great man's complete confidence, and their intimacy was now such that he could go in and talk to the General even when he had just retired to bed with his wife.

It was towards the end of the Italian campaign that, owing to his having recently returned from Egypt and India. Roger had first attracted Bonaparte's special notice, for he was already dreaming of becoming another Alexander and making himself the Emperor of the East. These countries held such a fascination for him that, while an armistice with Austria was being negotiated, he had spent many evenings conversing with Roger about them. As a result, he had dis­covered that, unlike his other A.D.Cs, Roger was not only a beau sabreur, but also a well-educated young man with an extensive knowledge of international affairs. In consequence, as for the time being there was no fighting to be done, he had made him Bourrienne's assistant.

Roger resumed this work with interest and enthusiasm. It now consisted of drafting reports on the suitability of individuals for new civil appointments and making precis from a mass of information on the matters in which the First Consul was interesting himself, and they were innumerable.

There was the question of religion. In '97, when Bonaparte had overrun middle Italy, the Directory had ordered him to depose the Pope. Realizing that, regardless of the official enforcement of atheism since '93, the great majority of the French people were still believers in Christianity, he had been shrewd enough to avoid the act which would have per­manently damaged his popularity, ignored the order and, instead, only extracted from His Holiness a huge indemnity. Now, appreciating that religion was a discipline of value in maintaining a stable government, he initiated measures to protect from further persecution such Roman Catholic priests as still remained in France, decreed that those willing to subscribe to the National Church should no longer be required to take an oath to the Constitution, but only give a promise of fidelity to it; and, having reclaimed a number of churches in Paris that were being used as dance halls and gaming hells, permitted again in them the public celebration of the Mass.

Another matter in which he showed concern was the situa­tion of the emigres. Since the fall of Robespierre some three hundred thousand ci-devant nobles and others had secretly returned to France, but under the laws of the Convention they were still liable to arrest. Now they were to be given security of tenure and. although he did not yet feel himself strong enough to defy the Jacobins and permit the return of the exiles still abroad, he passed a law that there should be no further proscriptions.

In order to reunite further the two factions that had torn France apart he was anxious to put an end to the insurrec­tions in La Vendee. In '94 he had himself been nominated for this task; but again, foreseeing that the shedding of French blood would harm his future popularity, he had skilfully evaded being sent to Brittany. In January, favouring the methods of Generals Hoch and D'Hedouville, both of whom had in the past used conciliation to bring about temporary cessations of hostilities, he had sent General Brune to open negotiations with the rebels. The Count d'Artois had promised to support them by landing from England with a " Royalist Army but, on his failing to do so. a village priest named Bernier had offered himself as a negotiator and, spite of the violent protests of the fiery insurgent leaders, had persuaded the others to agree a pacification.

But it was not only Brittany and Normandy that had long been in a state of anarchy. Every Province in France was infested with bands of marauders. Measures were being taken to put them down, others to make travel swifter by forcing Communes to have the roads put into sound repair, and others again to recreate a reliable service for posting along them by horse and diligence.

Closely associated with this policing of the Provinces was the restoration in them of regularly held Courts of Law, the dispensation of proper justice, and the collection of taws. At the date of Brumaire there had been the huge sum of eleven hundred million francs owing and less than one hundred thousand in the Treasury. To deal with this fantastic situation Bonaparte had appointed Gaudin Minister of Finance. He had worked in the Finance Department for thirty-seven years, was skilful, honest and industrious, and the sound measures he was taking had already led to a rise in the price of Government annuities from seven francs to forty-four, but a vast amount was still outstanding and, as a result of the Revolution, the collection of taxes had become nearly impos­sible.

In consequence Bonaparte resolved to revolutionize the entire administrative system of the country. His intention was to deprive the Communes of the right to elect their own officials, great numbers of whom were corrupt or inefficient, and replace the Mayors with men of his own choosing to be called Prefects. They would be accountable only to the Central Government, and in turn be given the power to appoint their own subordinates. This, in fact, would amount to a restoration of the old Monarchical system of Royal Intendants and would, at one stroke, abolish the freedom from rule by autocracy that the people had won in the Revolution.

The leading Jacobins saw at once that this concentration of power in Bonaparte's hands foreshadowed his intention to becomc a Dictator. His brother Lucien led the Opposition, upbraiding him fiercely for seeking to pass a law contrary to the oath he had taken to adhere to the Constitution and preserve the liberties of the people: then, as Minister of the Interior, he had refused to lend himself to such a measure.

Bonaparte, determined to have his way promptly dis­missed Lucien. His other critics he could afford to ignore as, owing to his tremendous popularity, the vast majority of the people did not care how he ran the country as long as he continued to clean it up and give them the security they had lacked for so long.

There remained one danger—that his enemies might bring the attention of the masses to his real intentions and cause them to rise against him. For long periods during the Revolu­tion, the Press had been suppressed: but recently it had regained its freedom, and editors of the Left were already making full use of it to criticize the Government. In order to prevent discussion of his projects he instructed Fouche to bring the Press to heel. Henceforth only journals favourable to him were allowed to continue publication and even they were subjected to a severe censorship, with the result that without fully realizing it the French people let him deprive them of their rights as citizens.

This replacement of democracy by a hierarchy entailing as it did the selection and instruction of a vast number of new officials meant an immense amount of work for Bonaparte and his personal staff; and on top of it there were the projects concerning education, the Church, finance, the posts, Emigres and many others; so throughout the Spring Roger was kept hard at it. But he felt that he was doing a tremen­dously worthwhile job and tackled with enthusiasm the scores of problems that came his way.

The only relaxation he got was when on Decedais—the 'tenth-day,' substituted during the Revolution for Sun­day—he accompanied Bourrienne to Malmaison. the charm­ing property outside Paris that Josephine had purchased and furnished at great cost while Bonaparte was in Egypt. There she was under no necessity to receive her enemies - the members of his family. Such parties usually consisted no more than a dozen people; her two children, a few close friends, Duroc and Bonaparte's personal assistants With the latter he would spend hours walking under the trees of the avenue, his hands clasped behind his back, discussing new projects. But in the evenings he cast all cares aside. Gathered in the big drawing room they amused themselvcs with amateur theatricals and charades into which he threw himself with zest, crawling about the floor making comical grimaces and laughing with the abandon of a school boy. Sometimes he would make up and tell stories and. as he had a taste for the horrific, have all but one candle put out, delighting to make the women give little exclamations of fright in the gloom as he described ghosts and vampires. It was on such evenings that he displayed all his best qualities as an affec­tionate husband and father, with a love of gaiety for which he had so little time, a charming host and generous friend.

But as the Spring advanced his thoughts turned to war. In Germany, Moreau had crossed the Rhine, inflicted a series of defeats on the Austrian General, Kray, and was pushing him back upon the stronghold of Ulm; but things were far from well with the Army of Italy. Greatly outnumbered by the Austrians, the French Army had been cut in two. The left wing under Suchet had been driven through Nice and now, only with difficulty, was holding the line of the Var; while the main force had been compelled to retire on Genoa. Massena and his other two divisional commanders, Soult and Oudinot, were putting up a stubborn resistance but they were now besieged in the city with only fifteen thousand troops, and a hundred and ten thousand civilians to feed. As a British Fleet under Admiral Lord Keith was blockading the port no reinforcements or supplies could be sent to them; so their situation must soon become desperate.

On April 20th an officer who had succeeded in passing through the enemy lines reached Paris and reported Massena's plight to Bonaparte. He had replied that he would cross the Alps himself and relieve Genoa. In the meantime Massena must somehow manage to hold out.

Had the public been informed of the situation they would have believed Bonaparte to have been caught napping as, to all appearances, he had no troops available to form another Army of any size. But that was far from being the case. On the rejection of his peace offers he had at once decided to take the field again in the early summer and had charged Berthier with creating an Army of Reserve. This had attracted no attention, as the units for its composition had been mustered and trained far from one another, scattered all over France. Now, they were already concentrating and on the way to Lausanne and Geneva, where large quantities of stores had been collected. To conceal his intentions for as long as possible from the enemy's spies Bonaparte selected Dijon as the Headquarters of the Army of Reserve, but in March Berthier left that city for Zurich. As First Consul, Bonaparte was debarred from taking command of an Army so, nominally, Berthier remained its Commander-in-Chief. But on May 6th Bonaparte set out for Geneva.

Roger accompanied him. As he mounted his horse he little thought that he would come very close to death before he saw Paris again.

5

Marengo

While centred on Dijon the Army of Reserve constituted a threat to both the Austrian fronts, for it could have moved with equal ease towards Swabia to reinforce Moreau or down into Italy to rescue Massena, and so swift was the transi­tion to Geneva that the Austrians had no idea that its Head­quarters had moved. Bonaparte's immediate staff was aware that he intended to descend into Italy but he did not make up his own mind until the last moment about what route he would take. To cross the Alps by the Simplon Pass was the obvious route, but the St. Bernard would bring him im­mediately upon the rear of the Austrian Army, cut its com­munications and force General Melas to fight him with his back to Massena's forces in Genoa. The difficulties of con­veying a large Army and all its gear over the Great St. Ber­nard were immense, but after Bonaparte's engineers had re­ported that only fifteen miles of the route were impassable for carriages, he decided to take it.

Working tirelessly by day and through the greater part of the night he dealt with the thousand and one matters neces­sary to ensure the success of the crossing. On May 15th, satisfied that no more could be done, he ordered the crossing to begin. Five days later he set out himself: not as was afterwards depicted by the famous painter, David, on a prancing steed, but on a sure-footed mule led by a Swiss mountaineer of long experience.

Up in the mountains the cold was bitter, and in some places the many thousands of men had to progress along narrow ledges where a false step would have meant a fall into the abyss and death on the rocks far below. The horses could be led and the gun carriages carried in sections, so the great problem had been how to transport the weighty cannon. Marmont had solved it by having tree trunks hollowed out and the great iron barrels wedged inside them, then hiring hundreds of peasants to draw these home-made sledges. On the steepest slopes, the peasants gave up exhausted: so the troops, filled with enthusiasm for this great adventure on which they were being led, volunteered to replace them. To the strains of martial music from the bands and singing patriotic songs, they managed to drag the cannons to the summit of the pass.

There stood the ancient monasterv of St Bernard.

Bonaparte had sent on to it in advance a great sore of provisions and the hospitable monks added to them from their own reserves. As the seemingly endless column of half-frozen soldiers passed the Monastery, from behind long tables set out in from of it, the monks supplanted their hard biscuits and cheese with bowls of hot soup and spiced wine. The troops then began to slither down the even more dangerous descent.

Lannes was in command of the vanguard and when Bonaparte reached the monastery, to his great annoyance, he learned from him that unexpectedly the descent into Italy was blocked. The Army had to pass through the narrow valley of Dora Baltea and at its entrance lay the village and fort of Bard, which was being held by an Austrian garrison.

Hurrying forward. Bonaparte personally surveyed the posi­tion. Marmont had got some of his cannon remounted but, owing to the position of the fort on a pinnacle of rock, it could not be bombarded; and the fusillades of musketry directed at it by the French were having little effect on its stubborn defence by the Austrians.

Led by the intrepid Lannes, a body of infantry worked their way round the fort by a goat track and, on the 22nd took the town of Ivrea: but it would have been impossible to follow with the guns, and without artillery Bonaparte could not hope to defeat the main Austrian Army down in the plains of Italy.

With his usual resourcefulness, Bonaparte devised a way to overcome the obstacle that threatened to ruin his plans. All the Austrian troops in the village had retired into the fort, so he ordered that when darkness fell straw should be spread thickly in the village street; then, taking advantage of a night of storm which further muffled the rumble of their wheels, the guns were sent forward. It was not until the greater part of the artillery train was through the village that the Austrians realized what was happening and when they opened fire their cannon did little damage.

Bonaparte passed the Alps with forty-one thousand troops, only a handful of whom had become casualties, and his men acclaimed him as having achieved the impossible. But Roger, having read his classics, was secretly of the opinion that Hannibal's crossing had been a much greater achievement; for Bonaparte had met with only the slight opposition at Bard, whereas the Carthaginian General had been harassed the whole way by swarms of fierce Gauls and Helvetians.

Nevertheless, the Austrians, too. had thought it impossible, and their General, Melas, was taken entirely by surprise. Concentrating his Army as swiftly as he could in the neigh­bourhood of Turin, he planned to fall upon Bonaparte's flank as he advanced to the relief of Genoa.

Anticipating this, the First Consul decided on a new and bolder stroke. Further east Moncey was crossing the St. Gotthard with another eighteen thousand men and Turreau's division was coming over the Mont Cenis pass. By leaving Massena temporarily to his fate and joining them instead, Bonaparte would have under him a force of seventy thousand. With it he could throw the Austrians out of Lom­bardy, thus cutting Melas' lines of communications and iso­lating him between two French Armies. Lannes had already surprised and occupied Aosta. On June 2nd Bonaparte, almost unopposed, arrived in Milan, the capital of Lombardy.

He was greeted with wild acclaim by the pro-French popu­lation, and at once re-established the Cisalpine Republic which he had founded there in '96. For seven days he remained in the city reinstating the officials who had been proscribed when the Austrians had recaptured it during his absence in Egypt. Meanwhile his troops had seized Cremona, with its great store of enemy provisions and war material, and he had despatched Mural and Lannes across the Po to take Piacenza.

There they met strong opposition from an Austrian corps under General Ott, but with the aid of Victor's division and Murat's cavalry, on June 9th at Montebello, Lannes inflicted a crushing defeat on the enemy.

By the time Bonaparte reached Milan, Massena was in desperate straits. In Genoa, horses, dogs, cats and rats were being used as food and whenever a sortie was made from the city thousands of the starving inhabitants followed the troops out to gather grass and nettles to boil for soup. Driven to the last extremity by Massena's refusal even lo consider sur­render, they broke into open revolt. He put it down with the utmost ruthlessness and gave orders that whenever more than four citizens were seen gathered together they should be fired upon.

But by June 4th his position became hopeless. Still refusing to surrender, he informed the Austrians that he meant to evacuate Genoa and if they refused to let him pass he would cut his way through them with the bayonet. His courageous defiance led to the enemy's allowing him and the eight thousand troops that had survived the siege to march out with colours flying and the honours of war.

Melas meanwhile was concentrating his forces round the great stronghold of Alessandria and ordered his troops on the Var to join him there. Suchet immediately recrossed the river, recaptured Nice and furiously harassed their retreat. Now that the Austrians were almost encircled, Bonaparte was preparing to give battle. On June 9th he left Milan and advanced through Stradella. With Genoa open to him Melas' wisest course would have been to retire on the city and evacuate his Army in the British ships, but pride decided him to stand at Alessandria and fight with the hope of breaking right through the French. And, although he was unaware of it, his decision had much to recommend it; as Bonaparte's forces were now spread over a great area and when he arrived opposite Marengo, a village some three miles south­east of Alessandria, on June 14th, he had only eighteen thousand men under his hand to oppose the breakout of thirty-one thousand Austrians.

A few days earlier, Desaix had arrived unexpectedly upon the scene. This paladin was Bonaparte's favourite General; but as his decision to leave Egypt had been taken so abruptly and Desaix was then commanding a corps far up the Nile, he had had to be left behind. Having succeeded in getting back to Europe, Desaix had at once decided to rejoin his former Chief, and Bonaparte was overjoyed to see him. Detaching six thousand men from the twenty-four thousand he by then had available, he sent Desaix off with them in the direction of Genoa to prevent the Austrians from retiring on the port and escaping from it. Now, as battle was joined, he realized too late that he had made a big mistake and was heavily out­numbered.

At dawn Melas opened the attack by pouring his troops across the Bormida river. They drove the French outposts back on Marengo but met with stout resistance from Victor, who was holding the village. This gave time for Lannes to bring up his division; but by ten o'clock the full force of the Austrian assault had developed. Marengo was captured and Lannes, although contesting every inch of the ground, was being driven back. An hour later Bonaparte came up from the rear to find his troops giving way in the centre and outflanked on both wings. He at once threw his only reserve, the Consular Guard, into the battle. For an hour its one thousand men. formed up in square, fought valiantly, and by their stand enabled Victor and Lannes to get their battered divisions back into better shape. But by two o'clock only St. Cyr, on the right flank, was holding his ground. All but five of Marmont's guns had been put out of action, and the flood of white-coated Austrians was again forcing back the centre and the left. Despite threats, pleas and exhortations from their officers and Bonaparte himself, many of the men were throwing down their weapons and several units were in full retreat. There could be no doubt about it, the French were being beaten.

Early that morning Desaix had heard the distant sound of gunfire and, turning his columns about, set off in that direc­tion. Then, in mid-morning, one of Bonaparte's A.D.Cs came galloping up to him with an urgent order to hasten to his Chiefs assistance; but to reach Marengo meant many hours of forced marching. Despite his doing his utmost it was not until five o'clock that he arrived on the field of battle. By then, although many French units were still fighting gallantly, the line was broken in several places and the Austrian cavalry through, cutting down fleeing men from shattered battalions.

As Desaix rode up Bonaparte said to him glumly, 'What do you think of it?'

Glancing at the terrible scene of carnage. Desaix replied, 'This battle is lost, but there is still time to gain another.'

Bonaparte swiftly made fresh dispositions. Marmont had just brought up a reserve battery of thirteen guns from the rear. They were deployed to fire through the gaps torn in the French line. Desaix was despatched to take up a position behind Marengo village and a nearby hill. Kellermann, the son of the veteran General, was in command of the heavy cavalry. It had already done good service throughout the day and had suffered heavy casualties, but was still capable of making a charge, and was sent round behind Desaix to the extreme French left. When these troops had taken up their positions Bonaparte launched his counter-attack.

The sudden appearance of Desaix's six thousand tired, but still unused, troops advancing in parade ground formation over the hill put new life into the other divisions; their impact on the enemy stayed the retreat, but was not sufficient to force them back. For another hour the terrible struggle raged, swayed first one way then the other, and it remained uncer­tain which Army would emerge victorious.

Throughout most of the day. with his staff sitting their horses behind him, Bonaparte had been stationed on a rise in the ground watching the battle; now and then, after a glance through his spy glass, sending one of his A.D.C.s off with an order to the commander of a unit.

Now, with perfect timing, he turned, looked at Roger and snapped, 'Tell Kellermann to charge.'

Instantly Roger repeated the order, set spurs to his horse, and galloped off across the plain.

During the battle he had, like the other A.D.C.s, carried several orders, either verbally or scribbled by Bonaparte on a pad, to various senior officers, and two of his companions had failed to return. That did not necessarily mean that they had been killed or seriously wounded. When delivering their messages gallopers were, at times, caught up in the fighting and, although it was their duty to rejoin their General as soon as possible, two or three hours might elapse before they were able to do so. Nevertheless Roger greatly disliked such mis­sions.

It was not that he was a coward. Far from it. He had fought several duels and would have met any man with sword or pistol. He had, too, never openly displayed fear in the numerous battles in which he had been forced to take part. But he had gained his sobriquet of "Lc Brave Breuc' largely under false pretences.

Bonaparte had originally formed the impression that he was a courageous man because, within a week or so of their first meeting, Roger had. with the Corsican looking on, led on foot a charge against a battery of Spanish guns; but only because, in the particular circumstances, he had had no option. Admittedly he had personally and alone defended the General from an attack by a dozen conspirators while in Venice, and received a Sword of Honour as a reward for his gallantry; but that had been more in the nature of a duel against odds. The truth about his having brought a Turkish standard to Bonaparte at the siege of Acre was not that he had fought desperately to capture it, but that while unob­served he had simply picked it up from a dead soldier in a trench and walked off with it; while the exploit that had clinched his reputation throughout the Army for bravery was his having, presumably, been taken prisoner by the British at the Battle of the Nile and afterwards making his escape in full daylight with them shooting at him—but shooting to miss because he was escaping with their connivance.

So as he now rode at full tilt across the bullet-scarred ground, littered with dead and wounded, smashed gun car­riages and abandoned weapons he felt none of the exhilara­tion that a Murat or a Lannes would have experienced. Instead he was praying that he would once again manage to carry out his orders without getting involved in the indiscri­minate killing which he so heartily disliked.

As for twelve hours without cessation some sixty thousand men had been blazing off with cannon and muskets, a great pall of smoke hung over the battle-field creating a premature dusk on this summer evening. Smoke, too, obscured the greater part of the conflict that was still raging, so Roger could catch only glimpses here and there of groups of soldiers either firing volleys or going forward at an uneven run. The din was terrible, the boom of cannon and the continuous rattle of musketry being pierced every few moments by a shouted order or the scream of a badly wounded man.

When he crossed the ground over which Desaix's troops had made their first charge the fallen became thicker, and several times he had to jump his horse over twisted corpses or groaning men who were endeavouring to staunch the blood seeping from their wounds. Here and there groups of stretcher bearers were at work seeking in the murk to carry off casualties whose wounds they judged unlikely to be fatal, but their numbers were hopelessly inadequate to cope for many hours yet with the carnage that had taken place.

Behind the village the smoke grew denser. Many of the buildings were already burnt out, but others were still blazing and the flames from them showed as patches of lurid glare in the semi-darkness.

The air stank of gunpowder, burning wood, sweat and excrement to a degree that made Roger want to vomit, and he was half choked by the smoke that he could not escape drawing down into his lungs with every breath he look. As he pressed on he caught the sound of cheering and the thunder of massed hoofbeats. A minute later there came surging towards him out of the murk a long line of cavalry approaching at a furious gallop. Instantly he realized what had happened. Young Kellermann had also judged it time for him to bring his heavy Brigade into action and, anticipating Bonaparte's order, had already launched his charge.

The onrushing line of horsemen was over a hundred yards long and three men deep. Roger was almost in the centre of it. There was no time for him to turn his horse and gallop clear of either end of the line. Kellermann flashed past him waving his sword on high. All Roger could do was to cause his horse to rear and swing it round on its hind legs. Even as he did so he found himself almost wedged between two dragoons yelling like maniacs. After being carried with them a hundred yards, he tried desperately to rein in his mount, so that the two rear lines of horsemen should pass him and leave him free to make his way back to Bonaparte. But by then, maddened by the shouting and thunder of several hundred hooves, his horse was out of control. After frantically sawing at its jaw for a minute he realized that, even if he could bring the beast up and pull out of the crush, it would afterwards be said that he had acted as a coward. There was nothing for it but, as had happened to other A.D.C.s in similar circum­stances, to take part in the charge.

Within a few minutes they were crossing the ground from which Desaix had launched his first attack, trampling down dead, dying and wounded alike, it being impossible to avoid them. Through the smoke Roger caught a glimpse of the white-uniformed enemy. The charge, delivered on their flank, had taken them by surprise, but they were swiftly forming square in order to resist it. Irregular flashes of flame stabbed .he semi-darkness as they fired a ragged volley. Roger felt a hammcr blow well up on the left side of his chest. It knocked him right back on to the crupper of his saddle. His hands lost their grip on the reins, and his feet were jerked free of the stirrups. His mount jumped some unseen obstacle. He bumped in his saddle and was then flung off. In an attempt o protect his head from the flying hooves of the other horses he flung his arms round it. As he crashed to the ground the breath was driven out of his body. Gulping for air he felt the salt taste of blood in his mouth. The sound of the battle grew dim in his cars and then he lost consciousness.

Leading a charge only a little earlier the gallant Desaix had been shot through the body and killed instantly. But he, and Kellermann's charge, had saved the day for the French. At Bonaparte's Headquarters on the night of the battle the loss of Desaix was lamented as a great blow. Roger, too, was mourned as dead.

6

Idyll by the Sea

It was several hours later when Roger came to. At first he could not think what had happened to him and knew only that his chest hurt excruciatingly. Then he became conscious that he was very cold. Slowly it dawned upon him that he had been shot during the charge, left for dead on the battlefield and was now naked.

The last fact did not surprise him. because he knew that swarms of camp followers always hovered in the rear of every army, and that among them were many human vultures who made a living by robbing the dead after every battle and stripping them of their clothes.

After some moments, making a great effort, he managed to half sit up; but the pain of his wound stabbed him violently, blood welling up into his mouth choked him and, his eyes starting out of his head, he fell back into a dead faint.

When he came round he lay still for a long time then, very cautiously, raised himself on one elbow. In that position he could make out by the moonlight his immediate sur­roundings. Here and there, some way off, he could sec small groups of shadowy figures carrying lanterns. They might be stretcher bearers looking for wounded whose lives could be saved, or ghouls seeking fresh bodies to plunder; but he now had nothing to lose and he desperately craved water. Even body robbers might give him that, so he assayed to attract the attention of the nearest group by a shout. No sound issued from his cracked lips; a flush of blood strangled it in his throat.

Temporarily suffocated and half stupefied by pain he fell back once more, now convinced that he was doomed to die there. When he got back his breath he moaned at the thought. He had performed no gallant action, rendered no great service to his own country and had not even delivered the message from Bonaparte. That he should lose his life through having unwillingly got himself mixed up in a cavalry charge seemed to him monstrously unfair. Again he raised himself a little and endeavoured to attract the attention of the group by waving his arm.

It was then that he heard Georgina's voice. It came to him clearly out of the night. He recognized it immediately and it did not even occur to him that he might be the victim of an hallucination. Owing to her sensitivity as a psychic and the strong affinity that bound them, she had often fell unac­countably uneasy when he was in danger; and more than once when he was faced with a major threat to his life, during sleep she had come to him and saved him by her counsel. Now, she said urgently:

'Lie still, Roger! Lie still! Conserve your strength. 'Tis your only hope of remaining alive until someone finds you.'

In spite of the awful pains in his chest and back and his terrible thirst, he forced himself to do as she bade him, shut his eyes and lay there endeavouring to check his spasmodic movements.

Not long afterwards he was rewarded. Through his closed eyelids he became conscious of a rosy glow. Opening his eyes he saw a man with a lantern bending over him and a voice said. 'This is not he.'

Then came another with a heavy German accent, 'No. But! . . . But, teufel nochmal, 'tis le brave Breuc!...'

Roger knew that voice. It seemed to have some connection with the Great Pyramid of Cheops. Then he remembered. It was that of German-born Colonel Rapp, and the other voice must be that of Colonel Savary. One sweltering day in Egypt he had climbed the Pyramid with them. They were Desaix's two A.D.C.s. From their next few sentences Roger dimly gathered that the General was dead and they were searching for his body.

While Rapp went to look for a stretcher party, Savary knelt down beside Roger and from his flask gave him enough water to rinse out his mouth. Ten minutes later, covered with a blanket, he was lying on a stretcher. After wishing him a good recovery, the two A.D.Cs resumed their search for their dead General, and he was carried away to a field hospital.

For some days he knew very little about what was hap­pening to him as, to keep him quiet, whenever he roused from unconsciousness, he was given a draught of opium. Gradually, as the doses were reduced he learned from General Soult, who was in the bed next to his, where he was, and what had been taking place.

Soult had been wounded and captured some while before the battle, and the Austrians had put him in a special ward in their Military Hospital in Alessandria, Roger had been transferred to it two days after he had been wounded.

The General told him that on learning that Roger was still alive Bonaparte had sent his own doctor, Corvisart, to attend him and had given orders that he should be given the very best attention. A musket ball had passed through the upper part of his left lung and had gone out through his back. For some days his life had been feared for, but he was now expected to recover provided he made no violent movement that would bring about a haemorrhage. He must, however, resign himself to a long convalescence as it would be many months before he would be able again to exert himself without danger.

Kellermann's charge had proved the turning point of the battle. It had taken the Austrians completely by surprise and cut deep into their flank. The troops there who, a few minutes before, had still been fighting in good heart had suddenly ceased to resist and begun to run. The panic spread right through their army and it gave way along the whole front. The French everywhere attacked with new vigour and the withdrawal swiftly developed into a rout. A scene of wild confusion followed and, as night fell, thousands of Austrians were either being sabred by the pursuing French or plunging into the Bormida River. Bonaparte's victory was complete.

On the morning after the battle Melas, feeling his position to be hopeless, had asked for an armistice. Bonaparte had agreed to give it to him on condition that the Austrian Army, and all its garrisons in Tuscany and Ancona, should retire behind the Mincio. It was a month to the day since Bonaparte had crossed the Alps and in that short time he had again made himself master of all north-western Italy.

Roger remained in the hospital at Alessandria for a month. Provided he refrained from putting any strain on his body, and from taking a deep breath, his wound was not especially painful and. owing to his good health, the flesh of his chest and back healed well.

When, in mid-July, he was told that he could be moved, he decided to go to a small chateau near St. Maxime in the South of France, that he had purchased some years before. That he should have been shot through the lung seemed a curious coincidence, as he had long established the belief that he suffered from a weak chest, and had used that as an excuse to obtain sick leave to spend periods in the sunshine of the South while, in fact, he had secretly returned to England to report to Mr. Pitt. But he had occupied the little chateau from time to time, keeping there an elderly couple named Defour as caretakers and to look after him on his rare visits.

Having always been subject to sea-sickness, and fearing that a bout of it might bring on a haemorrhage, he decided that instead of crossing by ship from Genoa to Toulon he would go by road: so he bought a comfortable carriage and took into his service a coachman and a valet. They made the journey round the Gulf in easy stages, so that the jolting of the carriage should not tire him unduly and, on August 1st, arrived at his property.

For the best part of a fortnight he did little but lie in the sunshine, acquiring a rich tan; then he felt that he might venture on a gentle swim each morning and. taking his Italian valet, Angelo, with him, in case he overdid it, he spent many pleasant hours on the nearby beach. By the end of August he could walk two or three miles without fatigue and was beginning really to feel his old self again.

By September the time of the vintage was approaching so one day he took a walk to see the condition of the grapes in his vineyard. It was on a slope and above it lay another that belonged to the owner of a pleasant little house on the top of the hill. On his previous stays at the chateau he had deliber­ately refrained from cultivating his neighbours on the grounds that the less they knew about him and his comings and goings, the better. But he was aware that the house belonged to a retired lawyer named Pasquier who had had a practice in Toulon.

While he was examining his vines. Roger noticed that a woman in a sunbonnet was doing the same thing in the adjoining vineyard. As they came closer he saw that she was rather short, about thirty, attractive-looking and well dressed; so, assuming her to be a member of Pasquier's family, he made her a polite bow and wished her good morning.

She returned his greeting with a pleasant smile, showing two rows of line even white teeth between full lips set in a bright-complexioned face. Then she said, 'Monsieur must be the famous Colonel Breuc'.

He laughed. 'Colonel Breuc, at your service, Madame. But why you should think me famous. I cannot imagine.'

'Oh, but it is so,' she replied quickly, 'anyway hereabouts. Everyone knows that you are one of the First Consul's Aides-de-Camp. People still talk of your having brought him and many distinguished officers here for refreshments shortly after you had all landed at Frejus on his return from Egypt.'

'That I did so is true enough,' Roger agreed. 'But I can claim no more than to bask in his reflected glory. I trust, Madame, that Monsieur Pasquier is well?'

She shook her head, 'Alas, Monsieur, my father died over a year ago. He left me this property and as shortly afterwards I lost my husband, who was an officer in our Navy, I decided to sell our little house in Toulon and live here instead.'

Roger had been studying her large dark eyes with apprecia­tion and, with a bow, he said. 'Madame, your misfortune is my good fortune. I expect to be here for some time, and it will be pleasant to have such a charming neighbour.'

Having heard in the village that he was convalescing from a wound, she inquired about it, and he gave her an account of the battle of Marengo. Then, after a few remarks about the prospects of the vintage, they parted.

For several weeks he had been too ill to wish for company; but recently he had begun to feel distinctly bored from lack of it, so it was hardly surprising that the following morning he again walked up to his vineyard, hoping that he might see Jeanne Meuralt, as he had learned his neighbour was named.

She was there, some distance away at the far end of her vineyard, but she did not appear to notice him until, after waiting for a few minutes, he called out and asked, on the excuse that he would like to compare her grapes with his, if he might join her.

For a short while they both made a pretence of sharing a great interest in grapes, then the conversation took another turn and. with frequent smiles at one another, they remained chatting for over an hour.

At the end of that time she said to him, 'Monsieur le Colonel, you are a man with much knowledge of the world, whereas I am hopelessly ignorant where money matters are concerned. My affairs, alas, are in a shocking tangle. Would you think it trespassing too much on your time if I asked you to look into them?'

'Why, no!' he laughed. 'These days I have nothing whatever to do, and if I can be of assistance to you it would be a pleasure.'

Ten minutes later he was seated on the vine-covered terrace of her little house, sipping a glass of her previous year's vintage that she had just poured for him and about to look through a portfolio of papers she had brought out. In spite of what she had said she gave him so lucid an account of her financial affairs that, having glanced through a few of the documents. Roger had no doubt about the reason for her anxiety. She was being swindled by a lawyer named Lacourbe, her late father's junior partner, and he had deliberately complicated the accounts he rendered her in order to cover up what he was doing.

Roger had a shrewd suspicion that Jeanne knew perfectly well what was happening and had asked his advice only to provide a reason for them to have further meetings. In con­sequence, instead of giving his opinion right away, he said that the matter needed going into carefully, and if he might take the papers away he would study them that night. He added that it was her turn to try a bottle of his previous year's vintage, then suggested that she should do so at the chateau next morning when he would be ready to discuss her affairs with her.

She willingly agreed to do so. and arrived at midday, dressed in a pretty gown of sprigged muslin and carrying a parasol: a small but well-made little person, pink-cheeked and smiling Having given her his views about her papers Roger said they must later consult on what was to be done, then shelved the subject and took her on a leisurely tour of the chateau.

When she said that she ought to be getting back for her midday meal, he expressed surprise and told her that he had taken it for granted that she would have it with him. Seeing her hesitate, he went on with a smile, 'Surely you cannot be such a stickler for the old conventions as to count it culpable that two neighbours should enjoy a meal together just because they happen to be of opposite sexes?'

Despite the Revolution. Jeanne had been brought up with bourgeois traditions; but fearing that this splendid gallant from Paris might think her a country bumpkin, she gave way to her own inclination and replied a little hurriedly, 'Cer­tainly not! Such ... such stupidities went out of fashion long ago.'

Their luncheon together was a great success, and she stayed on well into the afternoon. It was followed by others and two days later, when Roger asked her to brighten one of his lonely evenings by dining with him, she cheerfully waved good-bye to her reputation as of far less importance than pleasing this wonderful man who had come into her life. An hour or so after they had dined, Roger found little difficulty in seducing her.

That having been satisfactorily accomplished, there was no further point in continuing to pretend that they met mainly to discuss her inheritance, and Roger took her affairs in hand in earnest. Having sent for Maitre Lacourbe to come over from Toulon for an explanation, he gave the lawyer one of the worst half hours he had ever experienced.

Displaying the cold, hard anger that he could simulate so well when it suited his purpose, he accused his visitor of having callously defrauded a woman whose interests, as his late partner's daughter, it was his sacred duty to protect, on the assumption that because she had no husband or brother to advise her he would not be found out.

For a few minutes Lacourbe protested violently and threatened to bring an action against Roger for slander. But Roger called his bluff.

'Go to it, then,' he snapped. 'And, by God, I'll see you rue it. As we are far from Paris and you have influence in these parts, no doubt you are counting upon some corrupt magistrate to give a verdict in your favour. But those days are gone. And you will find the arm of my master, the First Consul, long. Moreover he is swift to act. I have but to write him an account of this matter and before the month is out you will find yourself disbarred. Ah, and facing a charge of malefaction that, knowing the origin of the Prosecutor, no judge will dare set aside lightly.'

The outcome of this interview was that Lacourbc not only agreed to make restitution, but was blackmailed by Roger into paying such a heavy sum as compensation, for loss of interest, that he positively wailed with grief. Roger then arranged for all of Jeanne's money to be invested in the

Funds, feeling confident that, under the new government, they would continue to rise and so greatly increase her small fortune.

Little Jeanne gave expression to her gratitude in a highly practical manner and it was obvious to Roger that she derived great pleasure from doing so. As a 'sop to Cerberus' they continued to live in their respective houses but, as in so small a place it would have been impossible to conceal for long that they were having an affaire, they made no attempt to do so and spent the better part of-each twenty-four hours together. Naturally the servants talked, and this caused con­siderable tittle-tattle among the ladies of the district. A few of the plainer ones said some spiteful things about Jeanne; but the majority envied her her luck and maintained that to expect any young woman who had been a widow for over a year to resist such a dashing figure as the Colonel would have been asking too much. Some even thought that by acting as she was she stood a better chance of hooking him than if she had played the prude.

For a brief while Jeanne had herself toyed with the breath-taking thought that he might marry her. But in order that she should know where she stood Roger had disabused her of any such idea before persuading her to go to bed with him. With the beautiful Zanthe in mind, he had told Jeanne that while in Egypt he had engaged himself to a noble Tur­kish lady who might at any time arrive in Paris, refraining from adding that Zanthe had since married the young banker Achilles Sarodopulous and some three months before had given birth to a child of whom he was the father.

Quickly reconciling herself to the knowledge that her relationship with Roger could only be a temporary one, Jeanne had determined to make the most of it while it lasted and Roger found her a delightful companion. Her education left much to be desired, but she had abundant vitality, a happy nature and a ready laugh. For his part he found it a pleasant change to have a mistress who knew little about the great world and international affairs. It was a long time since he had enjoyed a spell of carefree idleness; so through the warm autumn months they were as happy together as two young people on a honeymoon.

Yet, after four months of this halcyon existence Roger's congenital restlessness again bescl him. He had been given indefinite sick leave but it was getting on for six months since he had been wounded and, having taken good care of him­self, his old capacity for physical exertion was almost res­tored. More and more frequently he found himself wondering how things had been going in Paris and what new schemes Bonaparte was hatching in his fertile brain.

At the end of the first week in December, not wishing to hurt little leanne by giving her to think that he had tired of her, he told her that he had received a despatch recalling him to duty. And after loving farewells, he set off next morning for Paris.

7

Away to Pastures New

It was in Lyons that Roger heard about the Battle of Hohenlinden. It was common knowledge that after Marengo the First Consul had again offered peace to the Emperor of Austria on the basis reached at Campo Formio, but the Emperor had rejected it; so the war on the far side of the Rhine had continued throughout the autumn.

According to the bulletin in the Moniteur, the Archduke John, seeking to emulate the new methods of war introduced by Bonaparte, had formed the ambitious project of out­flanking the French and cutting off their retreat. But such operations depended for their success on swiftness of movement and to that the Austrian had never been trained. In consequence, after rashly leaving his strong position, the Archduke's deployment was too slow to take the French unawares. On December 2nd Moreau concentrated his troops round the village of Hohenlinden on an open plain in the middle of the forest that clothes the great plateau of Ebersberg. To penetrate the woods the Austrians had to break up their formations and were unable to make use of their cavalry. Leaving General Grenier with a strong force to oppose the enemy as they approached the village, Moreau had executed a flank movement with the rest of his Army, led it through the forest and round to the Austrian rear. Caught between two fires, the Archduke's troops had surged back on themselves, broken and completely routed. They lost twenty thousand men in killed, wounded and prisoners, so it was a victory of the first magnitude.

Roger already knew that early in September Malta had surrendered to the English, and that on the same day that Desaix was killed. General Klebcr, whom Bonaparte had left to command in Egypt, had been assassinated in Cairo. Then on reaching Paris he soon caught up with the other news.

The Blanchards told him of Bonaparte's triumphant return from Marengo and of how, as he was more popular than ever, great indignation had been caused in October by a plot to assassinate him. He was a great votary of the Opera, and said then to be having an affaire with a beautiful singer named Madame Grassini, whom he had brought back from Italy with him. On the 10th he had gone to a performance, and an attempt had been made to murder him as he left his box. The leaders of the conspiracy had been two Corsicans named Ceracchi and Ardna, and the painter Demerville. Most fortunately, they had been seized and overpowered before they could harm him.

From Talleyrand Roger heard the inside story. Demerville, being a braugart, had boasted of the plot to a penniless officer named Harel, who had been dismissed from the Army, and he had reported the matter to Bourrienne. On being informed of what was afoot, the First Consul had ordered that the attempt should be allowed to proceed while Fouche took precautions to protect him against it. In conse­quence, he had never been in any danger but made great capital out of the affair.

With lazy satisfaction Talleyrand then spoke of the success that had crowned his negotiations with Russia. Having detached Paul I from the Coalition the previous winter France had since been wooing him. The vain, feeble-minded Czar had taken a childish delight in having been elected Grand Prior of the Knights of Malta and had had a gorgeous uniform suitable to that dignitary made to strut about in. The British having captured Malta, he had expected them to hand it over to him and had taken great umbrage at their refusal. Bonaparte had then made him a present of the Knights' famous sword of Valetta, which had pleased him greatly. Declaring himself to be the friend of France, he had revived the League of Armed Neutrality, by which ships of the Northern Nations resisted attempts by the British Navy to search them for and confiscate, any contraband-of-war they might be carrying: and this interference with their profitable commerce had resulted in Denmark and Sweden declaring war on Britain.

As a result of the armistice after Marengo. French and Austrian plenipotentiaries had met at Luneville to discuss the possibilities of a permanent peace; but the Austrians had shilly-shalleyed for so long that Bonaparte had lost patience with them and, in November, declared his intention of resuming the war.

Brunc had succeeded Massena as Commander-in-Chief Italy. He had been joined by Macdonald, who had brought his army over the Splügen Pass—a feat much more remarkable than Bonaparte's crossing of the St. Bernard because the former had been accomplished so late in the year and in spite of vile weather. Brune had then crossed the Mincio in force, and the two Generals were now driving the Austrians before them up into the old Venetian lands. Meanwhile Moreau had shattered the other Austrian army by his great victory at Hohenlinden: so Talleyrand was in hopes that, soon now, the Austrians would at least see reason and throw in their hand. Murat, meanwhile, had been despatched south, had driven all before him. entered Naples and compelled King Ferdinand to accept a French garrison and sign a Convention closing his ports to British ships.

Roger's reception by Bonaparte proved not only disap­pointing but alarming. Later he put it down to the First Consul's being in an ill humour from having learned that for the past few days everyone in Paris had been saying that Moreau's victory at Hohenlinden was a much greater triumph than his at Marengo; as indeed it was, since Moreau had not first nearly lost the battle and he had inflicted more than double the number of casualties on the enemy.

It was in any case well known that Bonaparte, while a generous man in other ways, was always jealous of the suc­cess of other generals and mean in his praise of them. After Marengo he had claimed the credit for Desaix's splendid counter-attack and, instead of promoting young Kellermann for his well-judged action which had proved decisive, had merely remarked to him, 'You made a very good charge'.

Whatever the cause of his irritability on the morning that Roger reported to him, after briefly congratulating him on his recovery he said abruptly:

'Bourrienne no longer has a use for you. He has acquired a very able young man named Meneval as his assistant.'

'What then would you have me do, Consul?' asked Roger.

'I know not,' came the testy reply. 'If you can think of some way to serve me, come to me again.'

Roger bowed, turned and made for the door. He had nearly reached it when the harsh voice cried behind him, 'Stay! I am losing my wits. I'll forget my own name next. You travelled across India in the summer of '97, did you not?'

Actually, that after three and a half years he should have recalled such a fact about one of the hundreds of officers with whom he was in contact was a demonstration of his remarkable memory. Replying that he had, Roger turned about to find him perched on the edge of his desk swinging his legs and now all smiles.

'Then, Breuc, you are the very man I'm looking for,' he said quickly. 'It is probable that you can inform me on many matters about which I am anxious to know.'

Slipping off his desk he crossed the room to a cabinet of maps, pulled one out, opened it, spread it on the floor, lay down at full length facing it and signed to Roger to join him. Having made Roger trace his journey right across the sub­continent from Calcutta to Bombay, during the next half hour he shot a hundred questions at him about the cities through which he had passed, the personalities of their rulers, the religions of the people, their like or dislike of the British, the climate, the navigability of the rivers and a score of other matters.

At length he got to his feet, playfully pulled Roger's car and said:

'Breuc, your arrival is most opportune. I am preparing an expedition to wrest India from the English. You shall go with it as A.D.C.-in-Chicf to the Commander. You will be invaluable to him. Report to Berthier, tell him I have nominated you for that post and that I wish you to work with him on the preparations for this project.'

The appointment meant promotion, so Roger hurriedly stammered his thanks, then left the room filled with dismay. With the possible exception of Egypt, India was the last place in the world that he wanted to go to again; but it would have been useless, even dangerous, to say so.

At Berthier's headquarters, he found the ill-made little Chief-of-Staff clad in one of the spectacular uniforms that he and Murat were so fond of designing for themselves; but where the tall cavalryman had the figure and panache to carry them off, they made this human filing cabinet only look ridiculous.

Having said that Roger's assistance would be welcome, Berthier informed him that General Menou had succeeded Klebcr as C.-in-C. Egypt, and that before going on to India the new expedition would reinforce and secure his position there. He then spoke of Kleber's assassination. It had occurred on a spot that they had both known well—the terrace of a Palace that Bonaparte had occupied while in Cairo. Adjacent to the terrace there was an old empty cistern which could be entered from the garden. The assassin, a young fanatic named Soleiman Haleby, had concealed him­self in the cistern and. when Kleber had come out to stroll on the terrace, scrambled out of the cistern and stabbed him with a dagger. Bonaparte, when occupying the Palace, had often taken his exercise on the terrace in the evenings, and had been warned of the danger of leaving the cistern unguarded, but had ignored it. They now agreed that it was fortunate for France that it was not he who had fallen a victim to the Mohammedan's dagger.

The following morning Roger started work with a group of officers who were planning the expedition to India. In his free time, he looked up a number of friends and paid his duly calls.

The First Consul had offered his mother a suite of apartments in the Tuilleries, but she had refused it and was living with her eldest son Joseph and his sweet wife Julie, at their splendid mansion in the Rue du Rochcr.

Although Madame Letizia was as yet only fifty years old, the hardships through which she had passed, her great strength of character and the uprightness of her disposition combined to give her the prestige of a far more venerable woman. Having questioned Roger closely about his wound, knowing him to be intimate with her most brilliant son, she spoke to him openly of her distress that Napoleon should have quarrelled with Lucien.

She had not the least interest in politics and thought only of the well-being of her children, maintaining always that she loved best, at any time, the one who was suffering most. Put it could not be doubted that Lucien was her favourite son and she intensely resented Napoleon's having deprived him of his office.

The only sympathy that Roger felt for Lucien was that he had lost his simple, sweetnatured wife Catherine in the pre­ceding Spring. Otherwise he regarded him as a dangerous fanatic who might, if given the chance, endanger the First Consul's regeneration of France. Further, Roger despised him as the worst possible type of pseudo 'Friend of the People' for he had used his position as Minister of the Interior to amass a great fortune at their expense and to persuade or blackmail into sleeping with him many pretty women.

Napoleon's oldest sister, Eliza, was also a great partisan of Lucien's. After Brumaire her ineffective husband, Bacciocchi, had been packed off to attend to certain administrative matters in Corsica and Marseilles, upon which she had hap­pily settled down, Lucien's wife being ill, to take charge of his menage in the Grande Rue Verte. They regarded themselves as spiritual affinities and both looked on the other as an astute literary critic. On the money that they owed to the First Consul's liberality they had a happy time gathering distinguished writers round them and encouraging them to write articles criticizing Napoleon.

When Roger called upon Eliza he found her dressed in an unbelievably ugly garb of her own design which she told him was to serve as the uniform of a new Literary Society she was forming and, knowing him to be an educated man, she invited him to become a member. Having pleaded that his military commitments were, at the moment, too onerous to permit him that pleasure, he bowed himself out of the pre­sence of Napoleon's blue-stocking sister.

Young Caroline Murat he found equally discontented with the way things were going. She alone of Madame Letizia's children possessed the individuality and determination which, had she been a man, could have made her another Napoleon. As things were she could achieve her boundless ambitions only through her husband. As a girl of seventeen, when at Bonaparte's headquarters in Italy after his victorious cam­paign of '96, she had fallcn in love with Murat. and he with her. To her fury she had then been sent to Madame Campan's Academy to acquire a finishing education. She had sullenly refused to take advantage of this opportunity: but those years of boredom had not deflected her from her pur­pose of acquiring Murat for a husband, and he had con­tinued to regard her, as his General's sister, as a good catch. So much so that, on the night of 18th Brumaire, he had sent a couple of his Hussars to pound on the door of the Academy and shout the news to her that he and Bonaparte had saved the Revolution.

Immediately she had been freed from Madame Campan's tutelage she had badgered her brother to let her marry Murat. Bonaparte had demurred because by then he had good cause to dislike and distrust his brilliant cavalry leader.

Murat preferred to hobnob with junior officers because to them he could boast of his exploits without fear of contradic­tion and not long since he had given a party for a number of them. At this party he had introduced a special Punch which, he said, could only be made with Rum from Martinique. He added that he had been shown how to mix it by a charming lady in whose company he had spent the whole day. Then he produced a new type of silver lemon squeezer which, he said, she had given him. On examining the squeezer one of his guests announced to the raucous laughter of the by then drunken company that on its base were engraved the initials J.B. This, and the connections with Martinique, plainly implied that it was the First Consul's wife with whom Murat had spent a whole day, and that he had enjoyed Josephine's favours.

Such was Caroline's doggedness of purpose that she had bullied Napoleon into letting her marry Murat; but when the story of the drinking party came to his ears, he had, after Marengo, sent Murat off to subdue southern Italy, and Caroline did not disguise from Roger her intense bitterness that Napoleon should have deprived her of her husband for so long.

Roger also called upon Pauline Leclerc. He knew that as a young girl, when Bonaparte was no more than a promising junior General who had never conducted a campaign, she had fallen desperately in love with the ex-Terrorist Freron, and that Napoleon had firmly vetoed her marrying this un­savoury character, then old enough to be her father. His selection a little later of Leclerc for her as a husband had been due to the fact that Leclerc was outstanding among his officers as a gentleman, well educated and would prove an asset to the Bonaparte family. Pauline, who was extremely highly sexed. and by then eager to be allowed to get into bed with any good-looking man, had been attracted by Leclerc and readily agreed to accept him as her husband.

The marriage had been a great success, but not to the extent that Pauline was content to remain sighing for Leclerc when he had been sent off to the Army of the Rhine. Since then, rumour had it she had indulged in a triple affaire with the Generals Moreau, Macdonald and Beurnonville simul­taneously when they had been in Paris at the same time. She had early become conscious of her great beauty and her power to attract men. So now her greatest pleasure was to adorn herself in magnificent toilettes—the bills for which were nearly ruining the unfortunate Leclerc—and, reclining elegantly on a sofa, excite the admiration and desire of her male visitors.

The only other thing with which she concerned herself was her intense hatred of Josephine. The First Consul's wife had the advantage of her that, although she had never been presented at Court, she had been brought up as a demoiselle of the ancien regime. Her taste in clothes and decor was impeccable, she received her husband's guests with charm and dignity and she was now his greatest asset in helping him to bridge the gap between the societies of the old France and that which had arisen as a result of the Revolution. Pauline, on the other hand, was a vulgar little parvenue; but that did not detract from her beauty.

And there was another thing which attracted Roger to her. Greedy though she might be to get all she could out of Napoleon, she was the only one of his family who respected and loved him. He had always been her favourite brother and she placed his interests above all else.

With her Roger considerably outstayed the accepted formal call of twenty minutes. Reclining on a couch, clad in rich but revealing draperies, she was a sight to stir any man's desire, and she made no secret of the fact that she was enjoying Roger's undisguised admiration. When he at length rose to make his devoirs, she fluttered her long eyelashes at him provocatively and said, 'I find you most sympathetic, Colonel Breuc; I pray you come to see me soon again.'

But Roger was not destined to see her again for a long time to come. During the past few days he had been giving much thought to his future. On one matter he was fully deter­mined—he was not going with the expedition to India. To avoid doing so he intended to pretend a relapse. It would be accepted without question that, with his normally weak chest and a lung wound scarcely healed, he had acted most rashly in leaving the South of France in mid-winter for the cold and windy streets of Paris.

What then, though? He had not the least desire to return to St. Maxime. His affaire with little Jeanne had been a pleasant interlude but her kisses had already begun to cloy before he left. If resumed it would soon become most wearisome to him; yet, if he went back there and broke it off, she would be terribly hurt. Besides, he had vegetated for more than long enough. Returning to Paris had brought home to him how greatly, if subconsciously, he had missed being au courant with events, privy to secret matters of importance, and the companionship of men and women of his world.

It then occurred to him that had he still been in the service of Mr. Pitt he would be about to feign a relapse, not to escape going with the expedition to India but in order to get away to England and inform him of it. Thinking matters over, he quickly came to the conclusion that no longer being a secret agent did not relieve him of his obligations to his own country. He might live and make his career in France, but that did not mean that he could stand by and watch a serious blow struck at England if he had the power to prevent it. And this threat to her rich possessions in India could develop into a very serious blow.

Having sent his excuses to Berthier, he retired to bed at La Belle Etoile and remained there for two days. He then wrote to the First Consul reporting that he had sadly overestimated the extent to which he had recovered from his wound and, greatly as he regretted it, there could be no question of his going to India. Instead, the state of his lung required that he leave the cold, damp capital and spend a further period in the sunshine of the south.

His good friend Duroc brought him in person Bonaparte's permission to go again on indefinite leave, condoled with him, sat beside his bed for a while and, much distressed, left him under the impression that his cough was so bad that it might lead to a consumption.

Duroc had not been gone long when it struck Roger that if he took the diligence next day. he might, provided that he was not held up by bad weather in the Channel, be in England for Christmas. Accordingly he sent out to book a seat, with a message that he would be joining the diligence outside Paris. Then, after darkness had fallen that afternoon he drove in a hired carriage to the first posting stage on the road to Calais and put up at the inn there for the night.

He was sorry to leave Paris, as he had greatly enjoyed the week he had spent there before taking to his bed, and he thought the change the city had undergone in the past fourteen months more than ever marvellous. Cleanliness, cheerfulness and observance of the law were now the order of the day. Many streets were being widened and fine new buildings put up. Factories that had lain idle for years were now working again at full capacity. Trade was booming. The new styles in furniture created to make the sacked Tuileries again habitable, and Bonaparte's official receptions there, had created a great demand for luxury goods. The silk spinners at Lyons, the porcelain factory at Sevres, cabinet makers, goldsmiths and jewellers, such as Jacobs. Biennais and Bohemer, who for long had been hard put to it to keep going were doing an enormous business: while the salons of the best model's and dress-designers, above all that of Leroy, the veritable King of haute-couture, were making great for­tunes for their owners. For France it had been a stupendous year and everyone knew it to be entirely due to the genius of the little Corsican.

When Roger reached Calais he went to a small inn on the outskirts of the town and there made contact with a smuggler who had put him over on two previous occasions. He was lucky, as a cargo was being run that night, and the following day, having been landed below St. Margarets-at-Cliff, he was in Dover. From there, instead of taking the coach to London, he hired a post chaise which took him and his baggage direct to Stillwaters. arriving there on the afternoon of Christmas Eve. In the past Georgina had always had big house parties there over Christmas and, knowing how fond she was of the place, Roger thought it probable that, whether she had car­ried out her intention of becoming Mrs. Beefy or not, she would be in residence.

On enquiring at the porter's lodge he learned that the gamble he had taken had come off; also that Georgina had married in the Spring and now had nearly a score of guests staying in the house. Greatly curious to find out what sort of a man Beefy was, Roger proceeded on up the drive. He wondered, too. about Georgina's guests, as he could not imagine her cheerfully entertaining a number of merchants and their dull wives, yet doubted if her old friends would have accepted a sugar snipper into their circle.

On the latter question his curiosity was satisfied sooner than he expected. Half way up the drive he came upon a fine-looking man dressed in rich furs who was taking a brisk walk. Although it was a long time since they had met they recognized one another at first glance. The sable-clad gentleman was Count Simon Vorontzoff. the Russian Ambassador. At a time when Roger had been living with Georgina she had been temporarily attracted by the Russian and this had led to the two men each playing a scurvy trick on the other; but later they had buried the hatchet, so bore one another no ill will.

Having ordered his driver to pull up. Rnircr exchanged courteous greetings with Georgina's old admirer, then asked, 'How is our beautiful Mrs. Beefy?'

'As gay and delightful as ever, I am happy to say.' replied the Russian. 'Bin, my dear Mr. Brook, you will find no place in her good graces should you call her that. Married again though she is, she made it plain to all that she intended to continue to be known as the Countess of St. Ermins.'

Roger laughed. 'How like her. Has she then succeeded in maintaining her position in society and establishing her sugar merchant husband in it?'

'She has handled a difficult situation with great skill,' the Ambassador said with a smile. 'Had she been a man, her strong personality and tact, coupled with her great wealth, would have made her a most successful diplomat. She is, of course, no longer received at Court but she has retained the friendship of the haut monde by refraining from attempting to foist Mr. Beefy upon it. For brief periods she still occupies her house in Berkeley Square and entertains there lavishly, but she never takes her husband to London with her. While here, at Stillwaters, she has to stay only her older friends who, out of affection for her, had no objection to making his acquaintance.'

'And what sort of a man is he?' Roger enquired.

'A very pleasant fellow. Naturally he lacks the advantages bestowed by birth, but he has a simple goodness of heart that I find attractive and he carries out his duties as host very adequately. I feel sure you will like him.'

For Georgina's sake Roger had every intention of making himself pleasant to her husband: and. an hour later, after being received by her and her' father with surprise and delight, when Mr. Beefy returned to the house from selecting the Yule Log, he gave Roger a hearty welcome.

John Beefy was in his early forties: a tall, broad, fresh complexioned man with pleasant brown eyes in an open countenance. He escorted Roger to a bedroom at the top of the house, apologized that he could not give him a better one as the more spacious were already occupied, said that he had heard a great deal about him from Georgina, and expressed the hope that his stay with them would be a long one.

Roger's only disappointment was with regard to the children. At their age a year was such a great stretch of time that they hardly recognized him and looked quite startled when he swept them up, one in each arm, and kissed them both heartily. As he set them down they both ran to John Beefy for protection, scrambled on to his knees and buried their small faces in his broad chest.

Glad as Roger was to see that Georgina's husband loved and was loved by them, he could not help feeling a slight twinge of jealousy; although he felt none when Georgina entered the room at that moment, joined the group and gave all three of them a fond kiss. The life-long bond between her and Roger had long since rendered him impervious to any affection she might display for other men.

Most of the other guests were people Roger had met and liked in the past. As he had no reason to conceal the fact that he had just come from France, he was able to entertain the company with accounts of the strange new society that now frequented the Tuileries. and the Christmas Eve dinner was a gay one.

Later that evening he managed to get Georgina to himself for a few minutes. Having congratulated her on the success of her marriage and her skilful handling of the social side of it, and knowing she would not resent such a question from him, he asked:

'And how does the good John please you as a lover?’

She returned his smile, 'I have known several more accom­plished, but I have no reason to complain about his virility and he is always most considerate.' Then in a whisper behind her fan she added. "While here, with the house so full, we must be circumspect, but in January I'll come to London for some weeks. While there I’ll let you nibble my ears again as oft as you may wish'

On Christmas morning Roger produced for Georgina a petit point reticule by Duvalroy and for the children a number of toys that he had had Maitre Blanchard buy for him on his last day in Paris. The novelty of the playthings brought from France entranced the children and soon led to his regaining their affection. Later he enjoyed entering into all the old games and having again a real English Christmas dinner; turkey with all the trimmings, big dishes of mince pies and a huge plum pudding into which had been inserted a handful of guineas and a variety of lucky charms.

Boxing Day was traditionally the servants' feast. They all received their presents and. after a bumper dinner at which the guests served the food, assembled with them in the ball-room to dance. Georgina led off with her steward and John Beefy partnered the portly housekeeper. Roger danced with several of the prettier maids and took them out to be kissed under the mistletoe. Then, a little fatigued, he made his way to the small library to rest for a while.

There he found Count Vorontzoff studying a map of Europe that he had spread out on a table. When Roger joined him he said, 'I fear this recent victory of General Moreau's may have a serious effect on the attitude of Austria. According to the latest reports I have received he is now no more than sixty miles from Vienna.'

Roger nodded. 'Things have certainly gone badly for our allies. It would not surprise me if, as they did before, they agreed to make a separate peace.'

'It is that I fear; and the more so as I have reason to believe my master, the Czar, intends to enter the war against them.'

Raising his eyebrows, Roger exclaimed, 'Should Your Excellency prove right that would be little short of calami­tous. I was, of course, aware that there had been a rapproche­ment between His Imperial Majesty and the First Consul, but had no idea that it was likely to develop into an active alliance.'

'I can hardly doubt now that it will,' Vorontzoff said with a worried frown. 'As the Emperor Paul's representative at the Court of St. James, I should be the last to speak ill of him, but there are certain facts that cannot be ignored. He is of a most unstable mind and dangerously susceptible to flattery. The First Consul, ably abetted by Monsieur de Tal­leyrand, has played upon that weakness with great skill. The state of things in France has changed during this past year to such a marked degree that my master is now persuaded that he and his fellow Monarchs no longer have cause to fear the spread of the dangerous doctrines of the Revolution. He has become convinced that, under the First Consul, the French people have been restored to sanity, and that the war of Britain and Austria against them is no longer justified.'

'May I ask Your Excellency's own opinion?'

'It is that Bonaparte is not to be trusted, and that having upset the balance of power in Europe by making himself the master of Belgium, Holland. Switzerland, a considerable part of Germany and all Italy, he will remain a great danger to us all until that balance is restored.'

'If Austria collapses and Russia comes in against us, it certainly will not be for many a long year to come.'

'I agree: and with England left alone in arms against such a combination, how long can she survive?'

Greatly as Roger had been in favour of a general peace when Bonaparte had made his offer, since then the Corsican's resources had increased enormously and he had often said that nothing would give him greater joy than to crush the stiff-necked English. With Russia as his ally, secured from Austria attacking him in the rear, he might well be tempted to carry out his dream of invading Britain. Regarding the Ambassador gravely, Roger said:

'Your Excellency is right, that with nothing to fear on the Continent. Bonaparte might yet prove a terrible menace to this country. I have always been given to understand that you are a good friend to us: so may I assume you are doing all you can to restrain His Imperial Majesty?'

'Can you doubt it, Mr. Brook? Many of your countrymen

' The Russian paused, then added with a slight smile, 'and women, are dear to me. Having been en poste here for so many years 1 look on England as something more than a second home. To have to ask for my passports would distress me greatly. So on this question my personal interests coincide with what I believe to be best for my country. But at a distance of eighteen hundred miles it is far from easy to reason with anyone—let alone a madman.'

‘I had not realized that His Majesty's mind was in quite so parlous a state.'

'Unfortunately that is the case. My brother and others write to me that from unpredictable the Czar's behaviour has become intolerable. He will brook no opposition to his craziest whims, regards everyone about him with deep sus­picion and on an impulse will order the imprisonment of loyal subjects without cause.'

'Surely then, the time has come when he should be put under restraint,' Roger suggested. 'Here in England, as you know, when a few years back King George's mind became unbalanced. His Highness of Wales was by act of Parliament appointed Regent, and His Majesty kept more or less in confinement until he recovered.

'In Russia we have no parliament,' replied the Ambas­sador with a shrug. 'The only means of staying our tyrant in his course would be through a Palace revolution by which he was deposed and locked up in a fortress.'

'Think you. Your Excellency, that there is any chance of that?'

'It is difficult to say. Should he continue acting in his present fashion, his principal ministers may be driven to such a measure for their own protection. I only pray God it may be so, for naught else now seems likely to avert his entering into a pact with the First Consul to assist him in his war against Britain.'

This conversation gave Roger furiously to think. It fore­shadowed a very different situation in Europe from that which had existed the previous year, and made him wish more than ever that Mr. Pitt had agreed to a pacification when conditions were so much more favourable to Britain. But there was nothing he could do about it; so he threw himself wholeheartedly into the many pleasures enjoyed by the company during the following two days then, at Geor­gia's pressing, stayed on with a few of the other guests at Stillwaters to see in the New Year.

On the afternoon of January 1st, still with a slight head from an excess of Punch consumed the previous evening, he removed to London. Droopy Ned. he found, had returned there two days earlier after having spent Christmas at his father's scat, Normanrood, in Wiltshire. Over a supper of cold lobster, broiled marrow bones and champagne, they gave each other their news.