The Wanton Princess

Dismounting in front of the door, he kept the mare's reins over his arm in case he had to remount in a hurry and again make a dash for liberty. The footman who answered the door said that Lord Edward was out, but expected back at about six o'clock. Roger knew the man well and had often given him a good tip; so when he replied to Roger's low-voiced enquiry whether anyone had asked for him and replied, 'No, sir,' Roger had good grounds for believing him. Roger then said that he had called to see Lord Edward on a highly confidential matter so if anyone asked for him he was to be told he was not there. Then he handed the horse over to be taken round to the stable and went upstairs to Droopy's private apartments.

Until nearly seven o'clock he waited there in considerable apprehension for, however loyal the footman on the door might prove, if Bow Street Runners arrived and produced a warrant, he could not prevent them from searching the house.

At last Droopy appeared. He was slightly drunk after spending four hours dining at the Beefsteak Club and after­wards consuming the best part of a decanter of Port. But he exclaimed, 'Roger! Makes me old heart beat better at the sight of you. But, dam'me! I didn't expect to see you before tomorrow at the earliest.'

'Tomorrow!' Roger repeated, much surprised. 'And why, pray, should you have expected to see me then?'

Then, or within the next few days,' Droopy lowered him­self with some care into an elbow chair. 'But meseems they've been prodigious swift to act upon their orders.'

'I don't understand!' Roger frowned. 'To what orders do you refer?'

'Why to those for your pardon, of course.'

'Pardon! Dear God, you cannot mean it.'

'I….I do indeed. After your father's failure and His Grace of Portland's refusal to approach His Majesty I was loath to raise your hopes again, lest they be once more disappointed. But I... I went down to see Billy Pitt. He's no power now... more's the pity. But he agreed that something must be done for you, and ... and the King could not refuse him an audience. He told our poor addle-brained monarch that even had you blown up the Houses of Parliament which, as things are would be no bad thing,' Droopy broke off and tittered, 'you ... you still deserved a pardon for the immense services you have in these past ten years rendered to the State. Whatever may be said against "Farmer George," he... he has ever put what he believes to be the interests of our country before all else. Billy Pitt is no fool. He'd had the forethought to bring a parchment with him in his pocket. Before the old dunderhead could have second thoughts, he ' had him sign it.'

Roger took a deep breath, 'So I'm free! Oh, Ned, dear Ned, bless you for that. I'll go pay my respects to Mr. Pitt tomorrow and thank him for his share in this. But 'tis to you I owe it.'

'Think naught of that. You look, though, in a sadly bed­raggled state. Order yourself a bath brought up and a change of raiment. Meanwhile I... I'll stretch myself for two hours on my bed. Then we'll sally forth together and go to old Kate's place behind the Haymarket. Sup there, have her pretty wenches disport themselves for us, eh? And... and make a night of it.'

Hardly able to believe in his good fortune, Roger rested and refreshed himself. Later old Kate received them with many curtsies. Droopy threw handsful of golden guineas on the floor and laughed uproariously as the girls scrambled for them, then fought to sit on his and Roger's knees and show their appreciation of this generous patronage.

In the small hours the two friends returned to Amcsbury House, decidedly the worse for wear and, arm in arm, sup­ported one another up the stairs. It was eleven o'clock next

morning when Roger woke, but over a late breakfast they knocked back a couple of bottles of Florence wine and felt the better for it.

Roger then rode down to Beckenham; but his thoughts were the saddest he had had for many a day, as he could not get over Georgina's betrayal of him. At Holwell House Mr. Pitt received him kindly and said:

'Mr. Brook, we have had many differences of opinion, but that does not alter the fact that you have served England far better than many more eminent men of your generation. Owing to the secret nature of your work, I was unable to recommend you for a knighthood; thus there was all the more reason for coming to your assistance when you fell into grievous trouble. Naturally I deprecate the crime of violence for which you were condemned, but the life you have led must have forced upon you many dangerous and desperate situations; so, to some extent, the habit you have acquired of resorting on the instant to weapons must be accounted a mitigation of your act. Let us now forget it.'

Mr. Pitt was alone that day and invited Roger to stay to dinner. Roger accepted as both a command and a pleasure. Over the meal Pitt talked freely of the situation.

He had been such a close friend of Addington's that when ill the previous year he had stayed in his house and been treated as one of the family, so most men would have taken it hard that such an intimate friend, when sent for behind his back by the king, should have consented to supplant him. But Pitt bore Addington no malice and as a private Member was giving him his support.

About the King's attitude to Catholic Emancipation he was caustic, declaring that His Majesty's ostrich-like policy was both dangerous and unjust toward many thousands of his loyal subjects; that the days when 'Popery' was a danger to the realm were long since gone, and that it was now entirely unreasonable that many patriotic and intelligent men should remain debarred from holding office because they were either Dissenters or Romans.

Since Roger's return from Russia he had not seen his host, so he gave him an eye-witness account of Paul I's murder. When he had done Pitt commented ' 'Twas a terrible business and shocked all Europe. Why they could not simply have put him under restraint, as we have our King in the past, I cannot think. But his removal proved invaluable to us at that time. The pity of it is that the present government is rapidly losing the advantage gained thereby. Young Alexander greatly favoured an alliance with us, and with his help we might have crushed Bonaparte. Instead they signed the Peace, although eighteen days after my retirement Admiral Nelson had smashed the nucleus of the Northern Fleet at Copen­hagen. Since then Russia and France have been drawing together on the Eastern question, as both have designs on Turkey. And now we are again at loggerheads with the Czar over Malta.'

'As I have been incarcerated for above four months, sir,' Roger remarked, 'I know little of what has been going on.'

'Indeed yes; that I had momentarily forgotten. By this disastrous Peace it was agreed that we should return all our maritime conquests made during the war, with the exception of Ceylon and Trinidad, to France and her allies Holland and Spain. Those, of course, included the Cape and Malta. Should we give up the Cape our route to India could be cut at any time and our mercantile interests in the sub-continent become gravely imperilled. This has raised such an outcry that, I gather, the Government is considering going back upon its word lest it be kicked out of office.

'As regards Malta, under the treaty it should be returned to its former owners, the Knights. But the Order has become so effete that it is now quite incapable of protecting shipping in the Mediterranean from the Barbary pirates. Within six months the Corsairs would have the island and soon be using it as a base to raid the coast towns of southern Italy. It was, therefore, decided that it should be governed by a Protecting Power, to be neither France nor Britain. The obvious choice is Russia and the Czar insists that he should take it over. But again our government is having second thoughts and is resist­ing his claim, whereas the French are backing it. Hence the Czar's annoyance with us, and his new inclination to enter into a pact with the French.'

When they had talked of numerous other subjects, Pitt asked 'What now do you plan to do; settle in England or re­turn to France?'

'Recently, sir,' Roger replied, 'apart from my spell in prison, I have met with a private misfortune which makes me disinclined to remain here, where I am likely to be reminded of it.'

Mr. Pitt made a slight grimace. 'If 'tis your own country­men that you wish to avoid you'll be hard put to it in Paris. I'm told the capital now swarms with them, and many of them are touring the provinces. Charles Fox spent September there, and his speeches praising the Revolution having been reprinted in the French journals, he was given a royal wel­come in every city through which he passed. Bonaparte received him with special honours, and he was shown his own bust at St. Cloud, among a collection including Brutus, Cicero, Hampden, Washington and other champions of Liberty.'

Roger gave a cynical laugh, 'Then, since it pays so well, if there is another war I'll play the part of a traitor.'

'Nay, Charles Fox is no traitor. At least, not intentionally so; although it must be admitted that he caused grievous harm by encouraging discontent among the masses in this country while we were at war, and often seriously hampered my measures for the prosecution of it.'

Two days later Roger said good-bye to Droopy Ned and the members of his family who lived at Amesbury House; then he went down to Lymington to see his father, whom he found sadly crippled by the gout.

Having thought matters over he had decided not to return to Paris. It was nine months since he had left there and during that time the whole European scene had changed. Now that the war was over, even if Bonaparte was prepared to forgive his long, unexplained absence, it seemed that the First Consul would have little use for him; and as Paris was full of English people he might run into several whom he knew. To reply in broken English to one or two who might claim his acquaintance that they had mistaken him for his English cousin would cause him no worry; but should he have to tell the same story to a number of them, and they compared notes, that could result in the resemblance arousing a most undesirable interest in his past activities.

In consequence, after staying for three nights at Walhampton House he boarded a brig in which he had arranged a pas­sage from Southampton to Bordeaux. On landing in France he hired a coach and made a leisurely progress through Agen, Toulouse, Carcassone, Nimes, Aries and Aix-en-Provcnce, spending a night or two in each of these cities to enjoy the remains of their ancient or mediaeval glories, before arriving at St. Maxime on November 14th.

The morning after his arrival he took a walk to his vineyard and enquired of a labourer working in the neigh­bouring one after the health of Madame Meuralt. With a grin the man replied, 'She lives here no longer, Monsieur, although she still comes to stay at times. In the summer she married a Monsieur Tarbout who, I'm told, has a prosperous mercer's business in Nice.'

Roger was glad for her, but could not make up his mind whether he was glad or sorry for himself. To have renewed his liaison with pretty, plump, passionate little Jeanne would have given him something to occupy his mind; but he was still so sick at heart about Georgina that he felt no real inclination to philander with any member of her sex.

He had been at his chateau for about ten days and one afternoon returned from a long, solitary walk on the sea­shore. As he was passing the room he used most frequently, in which he had collected a small library, he happened to glance through one of the tall windows. To his surprise he caught sight of a man sitting at his desk going through his papers. Imagining the intruder to be a thief, he was about to tiptoe round to the hall and collect his pistols. Then the man turned his head slightly, exposing his profile to view. Roger's surprise turned to amazement, then wonder and sudden apprehension. He found himself staring at his old enemy Joseph Fouche, the Minister of Police.

14

Bonaparte becomes Napoleon

Roger and Fouche had buried the hatchet shortly before the coup d'etat of Brumaire, because Fouche had foreseen that Bonaparte would most probably succeed in seizing power and Roger had provided the bridge between them. For many years Fouche, like Talleyrand, had known that 'Mon­sieur,' 'Chevalier,' 'Citoyen' and now 'le Colonel' Breuc were, in fact, Roger Brook, the son of an English Admiral. But neither had ever caught him out while spying for Mr. Pitt and, since '99, both had accepted it that, as a protegé of Bonaparte's, all his interests lay in regarding France as his adopted country that might hold a fine future for him.

What, then, was Fouche doing here, going through his papers in his absence? Had he, in his amazingly widespread intelligence net, picked up some little happening out of the past that had led him to believe that for all these years Roger had been acting as a British secret agent, and had come to the chateau in the hope of finding corroborative proof?

Swiftly Roger ran through in his mind the papers that were in his desk. Almost at once he was able to reassure himself that there was nothing among them which could be associated with his secret missions. Breathing more easily he walked softly on, entered the house, tiptoed to his little library and quietly opened the door.

At the faint noise it made, Fouche looked up; but he made no effort to conceal what he had been doing. Shuffling the papers before him into a pile, he pushed them away and came to his feet. With a faint smile on his lean, cadaverous face, but without looking directly at Roger, he bowed and said:

'Ah, here you are at last. You have a very pleasant place of retirement here, Monsieur le Colonel.'

Roger returned the bow. ‘I am happy that it meets with your approval, Monsieur le Ministre. May I enquire to what I owe the pleasure of this visit?'

' Tis very simple. It may not be known to you, but before the Revolution my family owned a plantation in San Domingo and ships that plied thence and back to my native town of Nantes. In recent times I have been fortunate enough to make a modest sum out of contracting to supply the requirements of our armies. But now we are at peace, such transactions may no longer prove very lucrative; so I am again interesting myself in shipping and have just spent some days in Marseilles. The port being not far distant from your—er—hideout, it occurred to me that it would be pleasant to renew our acquaintance. That—er—is if you happened to be here and not—er—perhaps away engaged in other activities.'

To Roger the implication was clear. Fouche suspected that his long sojourns on sick leave in the south of France might be, as indeed they often had been, cover for secret trips to England. But he had his answer ready, and said smoothly:

'I am most fortunate in being here to receive you, for had you looked in to see me above ten days ago you would have found me absent—as you have no doubt already informed yourself by enquiries made of my servants or in the vill­age.’

Fouché held up a long, bony hand in protest. ^lMon cher Colonel, how can you think that I would seek to ferret out particulars of the doings of my friends?'

'Yet I came upon you going through my papers,' Roger replied a trifle tartly.

'Oh, that!' Fouche waved the matter aside then smoothed down his long, grey frock coat. 'Alas, I have never been able to acquire the habit of idleness that our friend Talleyrand is so fortunate in possessing. Your man said you were to be expected back shortly and showed me in here. Such journals as I found on the table were hopelessly out of date, and I had to employ my accursedly active mind in some way, so it occurred to me to look through your desk.'

A cynical little smile twisted Roger's lips, 'I suppose such a manner of passing the time must be second nature to a Police Chief. But I fear you were unfortunate if you hoped to come upon any secrets.'

'No, no. You wrong me. I had no such thought. But I have always been fascinated by the way others live, and how much their households cost them. I did no more than look through your bills.'

Confident that Fouche could have come upon nothing that could injure him, Roger said, 'But I forget myself. You must be in sad need of a glass of wine and I trust you will stay to dinner.'

'You are most kind. I might even stay here overnight if that would not be trespassing too greatly on your hospitality; for I should much like the opportunity of discussing various matters with you at some length.'

'About that there will be no difficulty. Indeed, I am honoured to have Monsieur le Ministre as my guest.'

Fouche bowed, 'I thank you; but there is one—er—small point upon which I must put you right. The First Consul has recently dispensed with my services. I am no longer Minister of Police.'

'You astound me,' Roger replied, raising his eyebrows. 'Have you then quarrelled with Bonaparte?'

'No, no; I would not say that,' Fouché replied, looking away and blowing his nose. 'It is only that he thinks that he can now do without me. He is, of course, mistaken—that is, if he wishes to retain both his life and his power; but let us talk of such matters later.'

Roger left the room to order a somewhat better dinner, and a bottle of wine to be brought to the library.

Over dinner they talked of many things, and there were few about which Fouche did not have inside information.

Roger had been absent from France for close on a year and a few weeks after he had left for England Hortense de Beauharnais had been married to Louis Bonaparte. She had been in love with the handsome Duroc, but he had not cared for her and had refused Bonaparte's offer of her hand. Josephine, meanwhile, perpetually harassed by the hatred of her Bonaparte relations, had been seeking some way to sow dissension among them. If she could marry off her daughter to Louis Bonaparte that should detach him from his family and make him her ally. With the arts she knew so well how „ to use she had persuaded her husband that it would be a most suitable match. Hortense had been very averse to it; but her mother had overruled her protests. Louis, too, had greatly disliked the idea, but he was a weakling and had tamely submitted to his brother's orders. So on January 7th these two young people, although hating one another, had been united in wedlock.

In January, too, the renewal of the Legislative Bodies had become due. No provision for this had been laid down in the hastily composed Constitution; so Bonaparte had decreed that the Senate should name the Tribunes and Legislators who were to go or remain. As might have been expected, no member was left in cither Assembly who had the courage to oppose him violently.

Another innovation the First Consul had introduced was the splitting of the principal Ministries, so that their functions were divided under two equally responsible Chiefs. By this means he had cunningly deprived any single Minister of the power to thwart him and could check the activities of one Minister by the reports of another employed on more or less the same type of work. Fouche had found himself the opposite number to Savary, formerly one of Dcsaix's A.D.C.s, whom Bonaparte had found to be a useful man and had now made Chief of the Security Police. All this Fouche declared, was a clear indication of Bonaparte's intention to make himself Dictator. On May 8th another step had been taken by his succeeding in getting passed a measure that extended his First Consulship for a further ten years. Two months later he had followed that up by having a referendum put to the people, and such was his immense popularity that the voting had been only eight thousand odd against the three million five hundred thousand in favour of his becoming First Consul for life. He had at once introduced a new Constitu­tion, that he had ready in his pocket, which curtailed still further the liberties of the people who were so besotted about him, and from August 1st had decreed that henceforth he should be known as 'Napoleon'.

Meanwhile he had forced through reform after reform, all aimed at restoring France to a monarchy in all but name. In April he had ratified the Concordat with Rome and, to celebrate it, had a spectacular Te Deum sung in Notre Dame, which he had compelled all the notables to attend. Those old die-hard Revolutionary Generals Augereau and Lannes had had to be virtually arrested and conveyed to the Cathedral under escort in a carriage. Throughout the service they had talked without restraint, using their habitual oaths. Augereau had spat on the floor and Lannes declared loudly, 'Just to think that a million Frenchmen gave their lives to get rid of all this nonsense, and now we are forced to submit to it again.'

In an endeavour to win the allegiance of the Generals, Bonaparte had ignored the abolition during the Revolution of Orders of Chivalry and proposed to introduce a new one to be called the 'Legion of Honour'.

This was announced in May and was to have several grades so that persons of all classes should receive the dis­tinction as a reward for their services to the State, and the highest rank of the Order was to be awarded both to the leading Generals and learned men of the Academy.

Against considerable opposition Bonaparte had forced his project through the Senate and a great outcry from the old sans-culottes had resulted. Many of the Generals, too, had declared it contrary to the principles of the Revolu­tion.

Lafayette, whom Bonaparte had compelled the Austrians to give up after having been for many years a prisoner of war, flatly refused to accept the new honour. Moreau, revolt­ing at this desecration of Revolutionary ideology, declared that he would hang the Cross of the Order he had been awarded to the collar of his dog.

Fouché went on to say that, having crushed the Jacobins; Bonaparte had found a new threat to his ambitions in many of the Generals and the rank and file of the Army, which was still strongly Republican. Augereau. Brune, St. Cyr, Jourdan, Lannes, Oudinot, Macdonald, Massena, Moreau and Bernadotte all intensely resented his assumption of virtually monarchical powers.

They had actually conspired against him and introduced a proposal to the Senate that his power should be curtailed by dividing France into a number of Military Governments. Bonaparte, of all people, had promptly assumed the role of the defender of the 'Liberties of the People' and, declaring Military Governments to be a most tyrannical form of rule, had the measure thrown out.

Bernadotte, who positively hated him, had then had his Chief of Staff, General Simon, despatch in secret thousands of pamphlets for distribution among the troops, that began,

'Soldiers! You no longer have a country; the Republic has ceased to exist. A tyrant has seized upon power; and that tyrant is Bonaparte'

Fouché had, of course, known all about this and had Simon and a number of officers arrested. Bonaparte had again shown extreme astuteness. Instead of ordering a purge that might have set half the army by the cars, he had had the arrested officers released without trial; one by one, quietly, got the recalcitrant Generals out of France to distant com­mands where they could do him no harm, and despatched all the most revolutionary-minded regiments on an expedition to San Domingo.

This, the largest island in the West Indies, had been a source of enormous wealth to France in the days of the Monarchy but, early in the Revolution, fiery agitators had been despatched there to preach the doctrine of equality, with the result that the slaves had risen and massacred thousands of the white population.

Out of this imbroglio a Negro General named Toussaint L’Ouverturc had arisen. He was a man of remarkable gifts and had succeeded in restoring a state approaching order in the island. In May 1801, following Bonaparte's example, he had given San Domingo a Constitution and appointed himself Governor for life. He had then written to the First Consul requesting that France should take the island under her pro­tection and defend it from the English. As at that time Bonaparte was already putting out peace feelers towards Britain he acted with extreme duplicity. Replying to Tous­saint in the most flattering terms, he said that he would send an army to protect San Domingo, while his real intention was to reconquer it.

The expedition had sailed the previous December under the command of Pauline's husband, General Leclerc. Fouché, who rarely laughed, sniggered into his handkerchief as he told Roger of Pauline's fury when her brother had ordered her to accompany her husband. She adored the gaieties of Paris, visualized life in the West Indies as exile among savages, and believed it to be a plot hatched by her enemy, Josephine, to get her out of the way. But Bonaparte had proved adamant, so she had had to pack her many dresses and Paris had lost the most beautiful of all her beautiful girls.

In May Bonaparte had shown his complete contempt for the doctrine that 'All men are equal' by a decree that slavery should be re-introduced in San Domingo. In June the unlucky Toussaint had been lured aboard a French ship, treacherously arrested and sent back to France as a prisoner.

In European affairs the First Consul had been equally active. Having drafted a new Constitution for the Cisalpine

Republic, early in the year he had summoned four hundred and fifty representatives from it to meet him in Lyons and there settle which of them should be appointed to the most important offices. Count Melzi was proposed for President and, as he was both the most important person in Lombardy and strongly pro-French, the Deputies naturally expected that this choice would please their overlord. To their surprise he had angrily refused to sanction the appointment. Thereupon, before the next session of the conference, Talleyrand had dropped a hint to a few of the right people that the First Consul was very hurt that no one had thought of proposing him for this honour. In consequence, next day he had been elected unanimously and with acclaim, President of the Republic, now to be styled that of Italy.

In the summer, the British having withdrawn from Elba, he had promptly put a French garrison on the island, with the excuse that France was the Protecting Power of Italy. He had then annexed Piedmont and the Duchy of Parma.

During the autumn he had busied himself mightily in negotiations for the redistribution of the German territories to various petty Princes who had been dispossessed during the war. And here he had been able to offset the annoyance of the Czar about his annexation of Piedmont and Parma by favouring several Princes who were relatives of Alexander's through his German wife and mother.

He had, however, run into trouble over Switzerland. Although the independence of that country was supposed to be restored by the provisions of the Peace, he had demanded of the Swiss the cession of the Valais so that he could carry out one of his pet schemes; the building of a military road across the Simplon Pass. The Swiss had refused him the Canton and the English were encouraging them to stand firm.

In fact, from Bonaparte's point of view the English were behaving altogether badly. They were seeking to wriggle out of numerous clauses in the Peace Treaty they had signed because, they now declared, they had been tricked over them. They had refused to restore Pondichcrry, the sphere of French influence in India, and were delaying the withdrawal of their garrisons from both the Cape and Malta on the pretext that Bonaparte had broken his word by interfering in the affairs of Switzerland.

Roger knew well enough that Cornwallis had been made a complete fool of at Amiens but, however idiotic the conces­sions made there, it seemed that, affairs in Switzerland apart, the British Government had ample grounds for the attitude they were taking as retaliation for Bonaparte's seizure of Elba, Piedmont and Parma. But Fouche, his long bony fingers picking at a bunch of grapes, was going on:

'So there, mon cher Colonel, matters rest at the moment. It has been another wonderful year for France and 'tis my opinion that "Napoleon" will go even further than has "Bonaparte". But now that I have put you au courant with great affairs, pray tell me about yourself, and how you have spent these past many months?'

Roger was ready for the question and replied quietly, 'I spent a good part of them in prison.'

'Prison!' Fouche exclaimed, his fish-like eyes for once meeting Roger's. 'You astound me. What can possibly have so bemused your mind that you failed to call on my good offices? Whatever you had done, I would have found a pretext to get you out.'

'I thank you for your good intent,' Roger smiled, 'but it was beyond even your powers to do so, for 'twas in England that I was in gaol. On the signing of the peace I decided that I would go over there and visit some of my less unpleasant relatives.’

Fouché nodded his long, thin, skull-like head, 'I recall now that you long since quarrelled bitterly with your immediate family. But what was the trouble in which you landed your­self?'

'A duel was forced upon me, and in regard to such affairs the attitude of the English is still barbarous. Here in France, from time to time, the monarchs issued Edicts forbidding duelling, but they were sufficiently civilized to appreciate that there are occasions on which a man has no alternative but to defend his honour. Provided the accepted code of duelling was observed, no serious action was ever taken. The treat­ment I received in the country of my forebears made me more than ever disgusted with it; so as soon as I was freed I returned to France.' 'And what do you plan to do now?'

'Remain here, I think, at least for some months. Now that France is at peace Bonaparte, or Napoleon as we must now call him, can have little use for me. And I'm told that Paris swarms with Englishmen. So incensed am I about their having imprisoned me, did I get into an argument with one of them I'd like as not have another duel on my hands.'

With a shrug of his lean shoulders Fouche remarked, ' 'Tis true that throughout the summer and autumn there were thousands of them in Paris, but now the winter has come all but a few are gone home. As for remaining here, this is a charming retreat you have but, if you would permit me to advise, I would advocate your return to Paris.'

'Why so?' Roger asked.

'Upon two counts. With Peace France is prospering as never before, so 'tis my view that everything possible should be done to maintain this happy state of things. But there is a grave danger that it will not last. Napoleon is so disgusted with the English that he is already contemplating again making war on them. Should he do so, now that Italy is completely ours and we have naught to fear from Austria, Prussia or Russia, 'tis certain that he will revive his long-cherished plan for invading England. I am of the opinion that such a venture would prove a great disaster. You are one of the few people who might persuade him of that, and so stay his hand.'

'He may well refuse to give me back my place,' Roger demurred. ‘I should have reported to him again last Spring, or at least have asked his leave before proceeding to England. My failure to do so may have angered him exceedingly and cost me his good will.'

Fouche shook his narrow head, 'Nay. He has ever a soft spot for his old friends and will forgive them much. In spite of your long, unauthorized absence I feel confident that he will take you back into his good graces. Then, if you regained his ear, your knowledge of England and the dangers involved in a cross-Channel expedition might prove the fly on the chariot wheel.'

Putting his bloodless lips to his glass Fouché drank a little wine, then went on, 'The other side of the picture is that, should his ambition overrule sane judgment, you would again be one of his immediate entourage and so be in a position to promote the career that you told me, upon our settling our old differences, you meant to make for yourself in France.'

For a moment Roger studied the lean, corpse-like man seated opposite him. He could see no trap in the advice offered and recalled Fouché's having once said to him that his policy was, whenever possible, to have friends rather than enemies. It could, therefore, be assumed that his present object was to induce Roger to return to Paris for their mutual good, in the belief that Roger would himself benefit and, at the same time, prove a friend for him near Napoleon.

'I thank you,' he replied gravely. 'I agree that everything possible should be done to preserve the peace. Should I decide to go to Paris, my reception by Napoleon would depend much on the mood in which he happened to be, but were it good I'd not forget the generous interest that you have shown in my affairs. I'll think the matter over and let you know my decision tomorrow morning.'

That night both his sense of duty and his inclination prompted him to take Fouche's advice. However bad the bargain Britain might have made at Amiens, there was no reason whatever to suppose that, should the war be renewed, she would get a better one a year or two hence; in fact, since she had no single ally left on die Continent, it might prove very much worse. Talleyrand, Roger felt sure, would do everything possible to hold Napoleon back, and some occasion might arise in which he could be of help in that. It would mean denying himself the winter sunshine, the azure skies, the mimosa and carnations, the oranges and tangerines of the South of France, that he had been looking forward to in January and February; but little Jeanne Meuralt was no longer there to give him her companionship, along that part of the coast there was no society and the longer he remained outside Napoleon's orbit the less chance he would have of regaining his old position as a confidant of secrets that might change the destinies of nations.

So next day he packed such things as he needed, while Fouché walked down to the village and drove back in the travelling coach that he had had stabled there. Roger left money with the Dufour couple and told them and the other servants that he might not be returning for some months; then, that afternoon, he and Fouché set off in the coach for Paris.

They arrived on December 2nd, and Roger was made as welcome as ever at La Belle Etoile by the Blanchards. They had wonderful things to say about the happenings in Paris since he had last been there. The peace had brought not only scores of English 'milors' to France but also many Russian and German nobles. The Place du Carousel had been a sight to sec on review days when they all went there in their splendid equipages. The parties at the Tuileries were becoming ever more brilliant. Now, like a King and Queen, Napoleon and Josephine received at their Court all the Foreign Ambassadors who presented to them the visiting aristocracy from their countries: Lord Whitworth for Eng­land, M. Markoff for Russia and the Marquis dc Lucchesini for Prussia; and the Ambassadors in turn gave magnificent receptions for the First Consul and his wife. Never since the fall of the Bastille, thirteen years ago. had the theatres been so packed or the fetes been attended by so many thousands of well-dressed people.

Business was booming, not only in the capital but throughout the whole country, for the Industrial Revolution had come to France. Napoleon's remaking of the roads and canals and his suppression of brigandage now made com­merce between cities swift and profitable. The bad old days of the almost worthless paper assignats were gone and the funds, which at the time of Brumaire had been down to seven francs, now stood at fifty two.

In the autumn Napoleon had organized an Exhibition of Industry in the Louvre and converted many of its splendid apartments into an art gallery, where could be seen the great collection of Old Masters looted out of Italy and such masterpieces as the Venus dc Medici. It had again become fashionable to go to Mass. In return for the Concordat the Vatican had led the way in recognizing the new Kingdom of Etruria and the Helvetii and Batavian Republics as French Protectorates. Food was plentiful and cheap. New buildings were going up everywhere. The projects of Napoleon for the betterment of France seemed endless and he was looked on by the majority of the people as the giver of all good things.

Next day, dressed again as a Colonel and wearing the sash of an A.D.C., Roger was received by the great man. Napoleon stared at him for a moment then snapped, 'How dare you present yourself to me in uniform! You forfeited the right to it months ago. Owing to your weak chest I gave you leave to spend the worst of last winter in the south. Your failure to report to me in the Spring amounts to desertion and I mean to have you court-martialled for it.'

Roger had known this to be a risk that he would have to run, but felt fairly confident that he could surmount it. Making a pretence of beginning to take off his A.D.C.'s sash, he gave a shrug and replied, 'As you will. If my old friend and master has become an unjust tyrant in my absence there is naught that I can do about it. Strip me of my uniform. Have me drummed out, if it pleases you. Order your Court to condemn me; but I'd be unfortunate indeed if I were thrown into a French prison after having spent a good part of the year in an English one.'

'An English prison?'

'Yes. Before reporting to you in the Spring I thought I'd take advantage of the peace and spend a few weeks in England, so as to be able to inform you on my return how things were going there. A duel was forced upon me and for fighting it I was clapped into gaol. As soon as I was free I returned via Bordeaux, then went to St. Maxime for only long enough to see that all was well with my small property there. Then, although it is mid-winter, giving no thought to my chest, I came with all speed to Paris, so that I might with the least possible delay congratulate you on having become First Consul for life.'

Napoleon grunted, 'I see! I sec! That certainly puts a different complexion on matters. But now there is peace I have no use for beaux sabreurs. At least not at present.'

'No; not at present, First Consul,' Roger smiled. 'But I have a feeling that you will before we are much older.'

'What the devil do you mean?'

'I travelled north with Joseph Fouche. He gave me the impression that you are by no means satisfied with the con­duct of the English.'

'Fouché, eh! That intriguing Jacobin! He has a finger in every pie and although I got rid of him he still catches news of everything in his spider's web.'

Beginning to pace up and down with his hands clasped behind his back, Napoleon went on. 'But he's right, of course. They are thwarting me in India. They are still sitting at the Cape and refuse to evacuate Malta. Their journals, too! No doubt you saw them. Article after article, maligning me most shamefully. 'Tis disgraceful that they should allow their scribblers to write filth about a friendly Head of State. But I've no wish for war. Under me France has become prosperous as never before. I intend to keep it so. Yet this haggling with them infuriates me. They agreed the peace terms so they should keep them; but I suppose one can expect no better from a nation of shopkeepers.'

'In view of their recent treatment of me I'd like nothing better than to have at them again,' Roger remarked. 'But since you are set on maintaining the peace, why not let me resume my old duties as assistant to Bourrienne?'

'Bourrienne!’ Napoleon stopped pacing and frowned again. 'He is here no longer. I got rid of him last October.'

'Got rid of Bourrienne!' Roger exclaimed. 'Mon General, I can scarce believe it. Why, he was your oldest friend and invaluable to you. What frightful crime did he commit?'

' 'Tis naught to do with you. And no man is indispensable.

Meneval now serves me just as well and has all the help he needs. No, for the moment I have no use for you, so you had best return to the sunshine of the south.'

Although Roger was well aware of Napoleon's duplicity, he had formed the opinion that he really meant what he had said about not wanting a renewal of the war, which was a considerable relief; but he had been so taken aback at the dismissal of Bourrienne that for a moment he was at a loss to think of any other suggestion which might lead to his employ­ment. He had just made up his mind to bow himself out and see Talleyrand, who might find a use for him, when Napoleon suddenly snapped his fingers and cried:

'I have it. You will have heard of our misfortunes in San Domingo?'

Roger's heart gave a lurch and seemed to descend to his boots. The last thing he wanted was to be ordered off to the West Indies, and if he was but did not go it would almost certainly mean Napoleon's finishing with him for good.

'No, First Consul,' he replied, striving to keep the anxiety out of his voice. 'Since my return to Paris yesterday I have seen no one of importance before waiting on you; and Fouché made no mention of the island except that the Negro general Toussaint l'Ouverture had been sent back to France a prisoner.'

Napoleon made an impatient gesture. 'Oh, Leclerc did well enough on his arrival on the island. He found Cap Haitien in possession of the Negro General, Christophe. But he had sailed from France in thirty-two ships carrying twenty thousand men; so, although he had to land his troops on the beach a few miles from the town, the very sight of our force was enough to scare the blacks into abandoning it. After that he soon had the island under control and he dealt with l'Ouverture as I had directed.

'But that was in the winter, when those fevers that apparently rise from the lowland swamps lie dormant. Since then, alas, the situation has become very different. With the warmer weather our men began to go down with the fatal sickness. By high summer they were dying like flies. That encouraged the Negroes to revolt. Seeing our increasing weakness, whole battalions of them that we had trained and armed for our service deserted and went over to the enemy. By October this accursed yellow fever had reduced Leclerc's effectives from twenty thousand to two thousand; and against the black hordes he was hard put to it even to hang on in Cap Haitien. Now that he is dead, unless courage and intel­ligent leadership save the day for us we may be forced to abandon the island altogether.' 'Lcclerc dead!' Roger exclaimed.

'He was stricken with the pestilence and died early in November.'

'I am most distressed to hear it. He was a charming and intelligent as well as a brave man.'

'Yes,' Napoleon nodded glumly, 'he was a good man and I am sorry now that I chose him for that command. I did so only because he was up to his ears in debt. Like all my family, with the exception of my mother, Madame Leclerc has no idea of the value of money. She is appallingly extrava­gant and poor Leclerc was half out of his wits wondering how to pay her bills. My idea was that, after a few years as Captain General on that great island, he would have returned rich enough to live like a millionaire for the rest of his life.'

As Napoleon spoke. Roger was wondering anxiously what was coming next. Never having commanded a formation he thought it unlikely that he was to be sent out to take Leclerc's place; but with Napoleon one could never tell. He had sent Duroc, who had no diplomatic experience, as his Ambassador to St. Petersburg and had recently made Savary, another soldier, Chief of Police. Roger thought it more likely that he was to be despatched to this devilish island as A.D.C. to some other General, or as the First Consul's personal representative, to send him an on-the-spot report of the situa­tion.

Pausing at one of the tall windows Napoleon stood staring out for a full minute. Roger, silently regarding the back of the short, stalwart figure, continued to wait for the blow to fall.

15

White Magic

Suddenly the First Consul swung round, his expression changed to brisk geniality. 'We must do what we can to console Pauline. I had intelligence yesterday by a fast sloop that she is on her way home. Her ship should dock at Bordeaux in a week or ten days' time. Someone must meet her, tell her of my grief for her, and act as her escort. She prefers well-born men to rough soldiers. You, Breuc, are the very man for this task. Take one of my coaches, proceed to Bordeaux with all speed and, when Madame Leclerc lands, do all you can to bring the smiles back to those bright eyes of hers.'

Roger could hardly believe his ears. To be given this intriguing mission instead of being packed off probably to die of yellow fever in the jungles of San Domingo seemed too good to be true. Jerking to attention, he cried, ^‘Mon General, you can rely on me.' Then with a laugh lie uttered one of those 'Gasconades' that at times he used to support his role as a Frenchman. ' 'Twill be a sad day when the master whose thousand activities have again made France great cannot find a use for a man with the qualities of his servant, "le brave Breuc":

'You impudent fellow,' Napoleon replied. But he loved flattery, so he smiled and pulled Roger's ear as he added, 'You are almost as conceited as that gallant who commands the Hussars of Conflans. What is his name? Yes, Brigadier Gerrard. Very well; keep your sash, and take good care of my favourite sister.'

After visiting the stables and arranging for a comfortable coach with a team of six horses and outriders to lake him on his way to Bordeaux next morning, Roger went to the Rue du Bac. There Talleyrand received him, but could give him only a few minutes as he was about to leave to attend a recep­tion at the Prussian Embassy. Roger gave him a somewhat edited account of his misfortunes in England, then enquired the reason for Bourrienne's dismissal.

Having taken snuff, the Foreign Minister replied, 'Poor fellow, he lost his place through a mere peccadillo, but unfortunately one that is a heinous crime in Napoleon's eyes. He takes no exception to his Generals looting the territories over winch they are sent to rule, or to me in maintaining myself in reasonable comfort by accepting, now and then, a few francs from the Ambassadors whose business I choose to expedite; because that is foreign money. But for some reason I have never understood poor Bourrienne was paid no salary. He was permitted to draw such money as he needed from the First Consul's private purse. Such an arrangement was well enough in its way, but not one by which one could put aside a comfortable fortune. In consequence, Bourrienne entered on a speculation with one of these army contractors. Extraor­dinary to relate it did not turn out well, so he endeavoured to recoup himself by drawing on the Public Funds. Savary got wind of this and reported it to the First Consul. To rob the French Exchequer is the one thing that he will not permit even his family to do; so Bourrienne was sent packing, and without even a gratuity, after his many years of faithful service.'

'Indeed! It is unlike Napoleon to show ingratitude; and I am most sorry for our old friend.' 'And I.' Talleyrand took another pinch of snuff, then flicked the grains from his lapels with a lace handkerchief. 'Meneval is highly competent, but Bourrienne was the finest personal assistant any monarch could have. He had a marvel­lous memory, could speak and write many languages, and take down dictation as fast as anyone could speak. He knew how all the departments worked, was well versed in inter­national law and had known Napoleon from the days when they were cadets together at Brienne. To retain his services for a million francs would have been cheap at the price. But our little man has at times these queer quirks of moral rectitude which, I must confess, I find surprising in anyone almost as unprincipled as myself.'

Roger then told Talleyrand about his new mission. The diplomat raised an eyebrow. ^lMon cher ami, I at the same time congratulate you and deplore your fortune in being charged with acting as the official protector of this lady. She has been well named la belle des belles and you would not be human did you not swiftly become a prey to a desire to sleep with her. I think that as far as she was capable of being in love she loved Leclerc; so you may find her still chilled by his death and unresponsive to any man's attentions. But the Bonapartes are a lecherous breed, and Pauline is the most libidinous of them all. Did you know that not long after Leclerc was despatched to serve with the Army of the Rhine she entered on affaires with three Generals simultaneously; Moreau. Macdonald and Beurnonville? On comparing notes they found her out, but that gives you the measure of her amorous propensities.'

'Then after six weeks aboard ship she must be ripe for some masculine entertainment,' Roger smiled.

'Perhaps: unless she seduced the Captain of the ship on the way over, and has formed a passion for him, as such hot-blooded women are apt to do. I wish you luck with her but, should you succeed, I advise you not to become deeply involved, for I am convinced that to set your affections on such a woman could lead only to unhappiness.'

Still pondering this sage counsel, Roger set out for Bor­deaux. His coach covered the three hundred and forty miles in six days. On reaching the port he engaged the best suite of rooms in the most comfortable hostelry, pending Madame Leclerc's arrival.

Pauline's ship docked four days later and Roger went aboard at once. Her Captain, a fine handsome man in his early thirties, received him in his stern cabin and together they drank some excellent triple-distilled Rum termed Sugarcane Cognac. Over this warming tipple the Captain gave him an account of the way in which things had gone wrong in San Domingo.

That a great number of the troops had fallen victim to yellow fever was only half the story. The real cause of the disaster had been Napoleon's decree that the estates of the French planters should be restored to them and the Negroes be reduced once more to a state of slavery. Leclerc, realizing the danger of promulgating such a decree, had refrained from doing so, but General Richpanse, the Governor of Guade­loupe had, and the news had spread like wildfire to the other islands. With Toussaint a prisoner and Christophe defeated the great majority of the Negroes had been quite willing to accept the Government of France and to regard themselves as French citizens; but when they learned that they were again to become slaves, the whole black population of the island rose in revolt.

Had a state of peace been maintained many of the troops stricken with the fever might have been nursed back to health. As it was, French detachments up-country, already weakened by the ravages of the disease, had been cither massacred or driven into the forts along the coast. Cap Haitien had been beseiged by a rabble of Negroes many thousands strong led by their witch doctors and screaming for French blood. The situation had become so threatening that Leclerc had feared he would have to evacuate the island and had sent a company of troops to escort Pauline and her ladies down to the beach.

Despite her frivolous nature, she had played her part as a Governor's wife in a way that did her the greatest credit. During the early months of the occupation she had enor­mously enjoyed being the First Lady of the land, designed a special costume for her staff and an orchestra, received all the notables most graciously and given a constant succession of concerts, dances and expeditions to beauty spots.

Then, as the Spring advanced, a number of unknown infections had broken out. She had been inflicted with sores on her hands and arms and several of her household had gone down with yellow fever, which was already spreading as a serious epidemic among the troops. But Pauline had refused to be intimidated and go into isolation with her little son and immediate entourage. Instead she had insisted on continuing to hold her receptions and concerts to maintain morale, and could not be prevented from visiting the stricken soldiers in the hospitals.

When the crisis came and Leclerc had determined on a last sortie against the great horde of Negroes, he had sent a party of Grenadiers to bring Pauline and her household down to the beach but she had refused to accompany them, proudly declaring to the other women, 'You may go if you wish, but I shall not. I am the sister of Bonaparte.'

Ignoring her defiance, four soldiers had picked her up, put her in a chair and carried her off toward the waiting ships. But she had never gone aboard. News had arrived that Leclerc's sortie had succeeded, the blacks had broken and temporarily fled; so she had had herself carried back to the Residence, yawned gracefully and said, 'How I despise these stupid panics.'

By then Lcclerc had already been infected by the pes­tilence. Although desperately ill he continued to conduct the defence in person, but the fever proved too much for him and he had had to take to his bed. Regardless of the danger of catching the fell disease, Pauline had nursed him devotedly but in vain. On November 8th, weakened by his exertions, he died.

Her grief for 'her little Leclerc', as she always called him, had been terrible to witness. Adhering to the cold Corsican custom, she had cut off her beautiful golden hair and laid it at her husband's feet in his coffin. She had then draped her­self in funeral black and refused all consolation.

When Roger enquired how she had supported the voyage, the Captain replied, 'I have hardly seen her. Except for rare occasions she has kept to her cabin. Her maid, Mademoiselle Aimee, has taken her such little food as she could be per­suaded to eat, and reports that for whole days she has sat as though in a stupor. Her health, too, has never been good and the summer heats in San Domingo thinned her blood and sallowed her wonderful complexion. No doubt these weeks at sea will have restored her beauty; but, seeing the mental state she is in, it has been a relief to me that as her host while aboard my ship I have not had to attempt to entertain her. And I do not envy you, mon Colonel, in having to be her companion in a coach for a week while escorting her back to Paris.'

Quietly and efficiently Roger then made his wishes known. Leclerc's coffin was to be taken ashore without his widow's knowledge, so that she should be spared the sight of it, and sent independently to Paris in the splendid catafalque, drawn by six white horses with black trappings, that he had had prepared while waiting for her in Bordeaux. Her child, whom she had sent for only twice on the voyage, and his nurse, were also to be taken ashore in advance, and would travel in a separate coach. He would escort Madame Leclerc that even­ing to the hostelry where he had engaged lodgings for her.

These arrangements were duly carried out. At five o'clock he went with the Captain to the small state-room that Pauline occupied in the day-time. Gravely he conveyed to her the compliments of the First Consul and his deep sympathy, then said that he had been charged with the honour of escorting her wherever she wished to go.

She showed no sign of recognizing him and acknowledged what he had said only with an inclination of her head, which was so heavily draped in black veils that he could hardly discern her features. After murmuring a few words of thanks to the Captain she took Roger's proffered arm and allowed him to lead her to the coach that stood waiting on the dock. In complete silence they covered the half-mile journey to the inn. There, Roger escorted her and her maid up to their rooms, then left them.

Downstairs he ordered a bottle of Chateau Filhot and, while drinking it, considered the situation. Pauline was clearly in a far worse state than he had expected. Mercurial by temperament, she could be the gayest of the gay; but, as she was now, a prey to heartbreaking grief, it would prove difficult to rouse her from it. However, she was barely twenty-two and had a nature that demanded love and laughter; so it could be only a question of time before she emerged from her black depression. How long that would be was the impon­derable that he had to endeavour to assess.

Her dead-black garments had not concealed her superb figure and her sombre veils had not so entirely hidden her lovely face that he could not recall it in all its beauty. In the past she had always accorded him something a little more than just friendly interest, regarding him with the eyes of an experienced woman who was weighing up what sort of lover he might make. Should he now dare to count on that to re-arouse her passions? If he did, and failed, she would report his unseemly conduct to her brother, and that could be the end of any prospect of his continuing in the great man's service. That was the devil of a risk to take. But it was now or never; and Roger knew that if he did not take it, he would regret to the end of his life having forgone this chance to make the most beautiful woman in France his mis­tress.

He sent for the chef and ordered supper. Meat tended to make people feel heavy, whereas shell fish were light and their properties stimulated desire; so he ordered lobsters lightly simmered in fresh butter and then flamb6 in cognac, sweetbreads with mushrooms and, as a final course, white truffles cooked in champagne; another natural aphrodisiac. Then he talked with the sommelier and they decided on a glass of pinaud new-made from the last vintage and only procurable in the Bordeaux district, a bottle of Chateau Cheval Blanc, as the nearest approach to Burgundy which, for this occasion, Roger would have preferred, then a magnum of champagne that had lain in bin for twenty years. For two covers was Roger's injunction; and to be served at eight o'clock.

Newly shaved, powdered and immaculate he entered Pauline's sitting room at that hour. The waiter had already laid the places at the table. She was still wearing a light veil. Through it, mistily, with large sad eyes she looked up at him and said:

'Monsieur le Colonel, you must excuse me, but I prefer to eat alone.'

Roger bowed. 'Madame, that I appreciate. But I am under orders from that great man who has remade France anew—your brother. He charged me not only to act as your escort but to do my poor best to persuade you that, despite your tragic loss, life can still hold much happiness for you. I dare not disobey his commands, therefore I pray you at least to permit me to sup with you.'

'As you will, Monsieur,' she replied dully. ‘I have both affection and a great respect for my brother, and have never questioned his judgment. But you must forgive me if I am in no mood to converse.'

Handing her a glass of the aperitif, he said. 'If you have not drunk this before, you will find it quite an experience. It is a kind of wine, but does not travel; so is obtainable only in these parts.'

She drank it down without comment, then they took their places at the table. Roger did the talking and he was extremely able at it. To begin with he spoke gravely of serious things, that he knew perfectly well would not interest her, then went on to talk about the change in Paris that had taken place during the past year: the fetes, the receptions, the foreign nobility and the new fashions in women's clothes. At that a faint flicker of interest showed in her lovely eyes and, breaking her long silence, she began to ask him questions. By the time they got to the truffles served covered with a napkin, she was smiling. Then as the champagne was produced her depression descended on her again, and she said:

'I have had enough wine, and you must excuse me if I now go to bed.'

'No, Madame,' replied Roger firmly. 'Not yet, I pray you. Join me in just one glass while I talk to you about a matter of real importance.'

She shrugged, 'Very well then; but I cannot think what it will be.'

Roger sat back and said with the greatest gravity, 'Madame; your august brother, your family and all your friends are greatly concerned for you. It is only natural that a feeling of loss and desolation should now hang like a dark cloud over your mind, but it will not continue there indefi­nitely. You are still so young and time is the healer of every sorrow. Sooner or later you will emerge from your widow's weeds to become again your old gay self.'

She shook her head and tears welled up into her big eyes, 'You may be right, Monsieur: but I loved Leclerc dearly and not for a long time yet will I be consoled for his loss.'

Roger made her a little bow, 'Understandably, Madame,' you think that now. But I cannot believe that you wish to continue in this state of despair. Your own well-being and the consideration you owe your friends both demand that you should take any step that will shorten your period of bereave­ment and enable you to enter fully into the joy of life again.'

'What step could I take?' she asked sadly.

'There is one, the potency of which has been proved many times in cases similar to your own.' Roger paused a moment, then added. 'But it would mean resorting to magic'

Her eyes widened. As a descendant of Corsican peasant’ she had an inbred belief in every sort of superstition and in the powers of witchcraft. A little fearfully she said, 'I would give much to regain my former happy state; but I'll have no dealings with the Devil.'

'The Devil plays no part in this,' Roger assured her ear­nestly. 'It is of White Magic that I speak: the performance of a simple ceremony in which no sacrifice is made. It is a remedy of great antiquity based on the laws of nature and handed down through countless generations. You have only to imbibe a potion in certain given conditions and when you wake you will think on your tragedy as no more than an event that happened many years ago.'

She leaned forward a little, 'Where can I procure this wondrous draught that will make me forget poor Leclcrc and become my happy self again?'

Roger smiled at her, 'You will recall, Madame, my telling you that your brother charged me to do everything that lay in my power to dissipate your sorrow. So I have this potent medicine with me. Do you consent to participate in this ceremony with me you shall receive it.'

'What are the conditions of which you spoke?' she asked.

'Have you a white garment?' he enquired. 'If not we must procure one for you.'

'My night robes are white.'

'That will serve, but it must be a clean one; and you must wear naught else, even jewellery, so that you must take off your rings and remove those earrings from your ears. We shall need the light of three candles, no more and no fewer. And a bright fire should be burning in your room. A little before midnight I will come to you and, on the hour, administer the potion.'

She gave him an uneasy look. 'Monsieur, I gather that it is to my bedroom that you propose to come. My maid will be sleeping in the adjacent room. Our voices might rouse her, and thinking someone had broken in upon me she would alarm the house. Were you found with me that could pro­voke a most terrible scandal.'

'Then you must speak to her beforehand and tell her that you are expecting someone. You could say that a courier with a letter from the First Consul is expected to reach Bordeaux tonight, and you have given me instructions that at whatever hour he may arrive I am to bring the letter straight up to you.'

'That would suffice,' Pauline agreed thoughtfully. Then she looked down at her plate and went on in a low voice. But, Monsieur; although I assume your intentions to be honourable, is it essential to the magic that I should appear before you near-naked in a night shift? I'd find that most embarrassing.'

Roger smiled across at her. 'Madame, I appreciate the delicacy of your feelings and am happy to reassure you on that point. You can remain in bed and receive the potion there. Should you feel that modesty demands it, draw the sheets up to your chin. The position you are in will make no difference to the efficacy of what I shall give you.'

For a long moment Pauline hesitated, then she said, 'I would give much to be free of my memories of San Domingo. Will you swear on your heart that this potion of which you speak owes nothing to the Devil?'

Roger crossed his heart. 'Madame. I swear it.'

'Will I find taking it very unpleasant?'

'On the contrary, you will at first find it so stimulating that you may beg of me a second draught; but later you will feel deliciously relaxed and fall into a sound sleep.'

'So be it then,' she nodded, and beneath the light black veil she was wearing the candle light caught the gold of the short crisp curls with which her head was covered. Rising from the table she went on, 'I'll speak to my maid as we agreed, see to it that there is a good fire burning and no more than three candles alight. Then I'll expect you a little before midnight and take this magic potion which you promise will work such wonders. Meantime I thank you, Monsieur le Colonel, for this excellent supper and your kindness to me. Talking with you while we ate has made me feel almost human again.'

Well satisfied, Roger kissed the hand, still showing scars from the sores that had marred it in San Domingo, that she held out to him and bowed her out through the door that led to her bedroom.

Returning to his own room he spent the best part of two hours there. At first he tried to concentrate on a book, but after he had read several pages twice over, found that he had absorbed hardly any of their contents. His brain refused to function except in forming mental images of the beautiful Pauline in scores of different circumstances and positions.

At last the time of waiting was over. By then the inn had fallen completely silent. Quietly lie made his way along to Pauline's sitting room. His heart was beating furiously and he knew that he was taking a wild gamble with his future. Another few moments would decide. Either he would be holding her divine form in his arms and she would be return­ing his kisses, or she would rouse the house, bring people running and declare he had assaulted her. Then he would have to run for it himself and somehow escape to England; for it was certain that when Napoleon was told of this attempt to ravish his favourite sister, he would have every police agent in France hunting for le Colonel Breuc to throw him into prison.

Crossing the sitting room he knocked gently at the bedroom door. For a moment there was silence, then, in a low voice, Pauline called, "Entrez, Monsieur.'

In the bedroom a bright fire was burning, its flames flickering on the ceiling. Three lighted candles were set on the dressing table. Pauline was sitting up in bed leaning against her pillows, no longer enveloped in her black robes and the veil that had half hidden her features. Her face was thinner than when he had last seen it fully and the light of the candles caught the gold in the short, crisp, boyish curls that now covered her head. At the sight of her loveliness he drew in a sharp breath.

As he advanced to her bedside her eyes held his. They were wide with anticipation and excitement at the thought of the magic potion he had promised to bring her.

He was wearing a chamber robe and had nothing on beneath it. Suddenly he threw it off and stood naked and erect within two feet of her. She gave a gasp, but before she could speak he smiled and said:

‘I have not lied to you. I have within me the magic potion that you need.'

16

The Stolen Honeymoon

It was not long after midnight when Pauline gave a happy sigh and exclaimed, 'Oh God, how good it is to be possessed again by a man!'

Pulling her towards him, Roger buried his face in her neck for a moment then gave a laugh, ' 'Twas that you needed, most beautiful of all the beauties. And when you wake tomorrow you'll find all your joy in life restored.'

Clutching him closer she said quickly, 'I'll not sleep yet. Remember you promised me a second draught of your magic potion; though I little thought then how you meant me to receive it.'

'You shall have it, sweet, and a third; and yet another as dawn breaks over Bordeaux. I wonder, though, that you did not suspect my intent; for though I spoke a riddle I had in fairness to give you the chance to read it aright.'

She laughed. 'You fooled me utterly. 'Twas your talk of magic, three candles only, a bright fire, a deep sleep and to awake relaxed. Then when I saw you standing beside my bed! Such a fine figure of a man, so handsome and so—so virile, how could I resist?'

It was that upon which Roger had counted, and it had been his only card. Had she rejected him he would not have attempted even to kiss her, let alone force himself upon her. Knowing by repute her passionate nature and that for two months at least she had not been made love to he had gambled on the sight of him naked being alone sufficient instantly to stir her hot southern blood. And her reaction had been that for which he had hoped.

She had suddenly stretched out a hand to grasp him. Next moment his mouth had been glued to hers. There had been no amorous dalliance, not a word spoken between them. Both she and he had been seized with a brainstorm that resulted in a wild scramble. He remembered tearing aside the bedclothes and her great eyes moist and gleaming in the light from the candles as she threw herself back then pulled him down upon her. Next moment they had been locked in a fierce embrace ending several minutes later in sweet oblivion as they together died the 'little death'.

Turning slightly in his arms, she whispered, 'You are prodigious brave, mon Colonel. Do you realize the risk you ran? Had I not felt on the instant a desperate urge for you, I might have screamed for help. Then, even had I later had the wish to pardon you, your outrageous conduct would have conic to the ears of Napoleon; and he has had people shot for less.'

‘I know it; but having counted the cost of failure my yearning for you overcame my fears. The very sight of you has sent me half crazy with desire ever since I first set eyes on you at Montebello.'

'Can that be true? I was then but a chit and getting over my schoolgirl infatuation for Fréron.'

'You were the loveliest baggage for your age in all Italy; or Europe for that matter.’

She leaned over and gave him a long kiss, then said, 'How truly delightful it is to hear you say that you have been in love with me for years. It makes me far less shamed to think that I gave myself to you without even the demurs demanded of my sex by convention. And I'll confess now that more than once when you have paid your respects to me in Paris I've caught myself thinking that I'd enjoy going to bed with you.'

'Then this night was decreed by Heaven. Though I'm mightily flattered that you should have had such thoughts of me.'

'I'm not alone in that. When women are together the subject is always men and I've heard several confess that they would welcome your attentions. But in Paris you are looked on as a prude.'

'Indeed!' Roger laughed. 'I'm far from that. But I find little pleasure in casual romps with ladies only passably good-looking, and there are few who are perfect enough to rouse in me ardent desire.'

'Another compliment. If words were all, you would make a gallant any woman would dote on. But if we are to enter on an affaire I need to judge you by your deeds, and our first joust was too fierce and swiftly over for me to assess your mettle by it.'

Pushing her from him, Roger slipped out of bed. Startled, she sat up and cried anxiously, 'Don't leave me. What is it? Have I offended you?'

'Not in the least,' he assured her gaily. ‘I was but teasing you; and unless other ladies have misled me you'll find naught to complain of in my staying powers. Before we make a test of that though, I crave a boon of you.'

'What is it?' she asked, smiling at him.

'That you, love, get out of bed, let me remove that white night robe you are wearing and feast my eyes upon your loveliness.'

Without a moment's hesitation Pauline pulled her shift off over her head and jumped down on to the floor. She was extremely proud of her magnificent figure; so much so that she scandalized her family by acting as a model in the near-nude for the sculptor Canova's masterpiece 'Venus Victrix'.

To Roger's delight she displayed her charms to him with the utmost freedom, standing in front of him with her hands clasped behind her neck so that her breasts stood out in perfect symmetry, then walking up and down the room, dancing a few steps and assuming provocative attitudes. She drew him like a magnet and, his joy in watching her over­come, he took her in his arms, picked her up and carried her back to the bed.

Later he collected from the sitting room the magnum of champagne of which they had drunk only a quarter at supper. Over the wine they talked, laughed and caressed one another for two hours that seemed to pass like twenty minutes. They then made love again, put out the candles and curled up together in dreamy bliss. But there was no dawn party for, in his excitement, Roger had forgotten that it was December so the sun would not rise until late; and he did not want Pauline's maid to catch him in bed with her mistress.

At about four o'clock, finding that Pauline had fallen into a heavy sleep, he gently disengaged himself from her, slipped on his robe and tiptoed from the room.

When his man woke him at seven, although he had slept for only a few hours, he felt like a giant refreshed and, looking back on the past night, decided that he was the luckiest fellow in the whole world.

He had just finished a hearty breakfast when Pauline's maid, Aimée, came to tell him that her mistress had passed a very bad night, so she did not feel like setting out for Paris that day, and wished him to cancel the arrangements for her departure.

Knowing very well how Pauline had passed the night, Roger was not at all surprised and was delighted at the thought that this meant for him another night with his ravishing new mistress in their present comfortable quarters; but he gravely asked Aimée to convey his respects and sym­pathy to 'Madame'.

The maid was a pretty young person with dark hair and a fresh complexion bronzed by the tropical sun. After a moment she said, 'I have been with Madame since her mar­riage to the General and his loss was a great blow to her. Despite her bad night I found her more cheerful this morning than I have seen her for a long time and Monsieur le Colonel will perhaps permit me to remark that I attribute that to his having entertained her so charmingly at supper. Such com­pany is excellent for her and if I can be of any service in encouraging her to spend longer in the company of Monsieur le Colonel, I should be happy to do so.'

To Roger a wink was as good as a nod and he guessed at once that Aimée was aware that he had spent the night with her mistress. With a smile he replied, 'As Madame will be spending most of the day in bed, no doubt she will allow you a few hours off to do some shopping, and there must be quite a number of things you would like to buy after your years in the Indies.' Then he fished out of his waistcoat pocket four gold twenty-five franc pieces and slipped them into her hand.

Bobbing him a curtsey she returned his smile. 'Monsieur le Colonel is most kind, and anyone can sec that he is not one of those jumped-up officers but a real gentleman. I feel sure that Madame will be sufficiently recovered to get up this afternoon, and I will suggest to her that she should dine with you.'

Well pleased by this happy understanding with Aimée, which would lessen the necessity for subterfuge in his affaire with Pauline, Roger went out into the town to buy her a mass of flowers.

Before escorting Pauline to the inn, Roger had seen her son, Dermid, but had not spoken to him. That afternoon he found the boy with her. He was a pretty, fair-haired child and would be five in April, but he was far from strong. She had borne him when she was only seventeen, and such an early pregnancy had harmed the health of them both. Roger had, that morning, thought of the boy; so was able to pro­duce for him both sweets and toys, which soon made them good friends. When his nurse had taken him away, Pauline threw off her black weeds and the lovers eagerly embraced to exchange passionate kisses.

Over dinner Pauline was as gay as a lark, but towards the end of the meal, when Roger broached the subject of their journey, her face clouded over and she said, 'I have been thinking about us this morning. In Paris I no longer have a house so, for sonic weeks at least, I'll have to live with my mother, or my brother Joseph, which will make our being together difficult. Besides, I'd have to continue to wear mourning, and I've always hated black. It does not suit me. Why should we not go incognito to some place where we can live for a while openly as husband and wife?'

Roger considered for a moment. Her idea held out to him a temptation to spend several weeks in Paradise; but it could prove extremely dangerous, and he said, 'My love, it would be heaven; you must remember, though, that you are now a person of great importance—a member of an almost Royal family. If we disappeared 'tis certain that your brother would set his police to search for us, and when they ran us to earth the fat would be in the fire with a vengeance.'

She pouted, 'But I do not want to go to Paris. My poor little Leclerc was weak and ill for a long time before he died, so I have been starved of love for an age. When one is only twenty-two that is a terrible state to be in. Somehow we must arrange matters so that you can continue to sleep with me.'

Smiling at her, Roger replied, 'I think it could be done if you will write to the First Consul. Tell him that you dread having to sec again in Paris scores of people who will condole with you and constantly remind you of your loss; that you must have more time to get over it before facing such an ordeal, so you wish to make a tour incognito through some parts’ of France that you have not yet seen. Happily he charged me with the care of you and to do my best to alleviate your sorrow; and I'd be failing in my duty did I not act as your escort.'

Pauline's brown eyes with their golden glints lit up as she returned his smile. 'You are clever, cher Colonel, as well as strong. I will do that. Now, whither shall we go?'

‘I have a small chateau at St. Maxime that I occupy occasionally. There is no society in the neighbourhood, nor anyone likely to recognize you. To get there we should have to pass through several towns of interest, about which you could later tell your brother, and give him the impression that you had stayed longer in each of them than would actually be the case. How does that idea appeal to you?'

Clapping her hands, she cried with delight, 'Bravo! What a man I have found! You have everything. Even a chateau in the southern sunshine by the sea where we can enjoy together a pastoral life. We'll set out tomorrow.'

'What of young Dermid and his nurse?' Roger asked.

She shrugged, 'Oh, I'll send them on to Paris. My mother will take good care of the child.'

'Then they can go in the coach I brought for you, escorted by my sergeant and his troop. In any case we'd have to rid ourselves of the men; otherwise in every place we lay for the night it would be all round the town in no time that you were the First Consul's sister. I'll hire another coach privately, and we must choose a name for ourselves.'

For some minutes they discussed possibilities, then Pauline said, 'I have it! Spring is in my heart again. Let us be known as Monsieur and Madame Printemps.'

'Excellent,' he laughed. 'Now. what of Aimée? I take it you would not wish to go without her, but if she comes there'll be no preventing her knowing that we are lovers.'

'She knows it already. Even if she slept like the dead and failed to hear our gambols through the partition wall, the state of my room when she entered it this morning would have told her everything. 'Twas considerate of you to creep away without waking me, but you left half the sheets and one pillow on the floor, and the empty champagne magnum on my bedside table.'

With a contrite grimace, Roger said, 'For that I greatly blame myself. But it was still pitch dark when I tiptoed away and I was so drunk with happiness that my mind was quite bemused.'

'No matter. The little baggage is entirely to be trusted. She even had the impudence to congratulate me on you.'

Roger grinned, 'When she brought me your message this morning about having passed a sleepless night, I felt sure she knew the reason. All, then, is well. And now loath as I am to leave you, sweet, I must beg to be excused. Since we're to start tomorrow, and secretly, I have much to do between now and supper time. Meanwhile, I suggest that you write that letter to your brother, and I'll give it to my sergeant in the morning.'

After a further session of long kisses, he tore himself away and went out into the town. At a military outfitters he bought the shako and sabretache of an officer in a regiment of Curassiers and the rank badges of a Captain. Then, his Colonel's rank badges hidden under the long cloak he was wearing against the cold, he went to a hostelry some distance from that in which he was staying and, as Captain Printemps, hired a comfortable coach to be ready for him at one o'clock the following day, giving his destination as Toulon.

Returning to his own inn he went in search of Aimée and when he found her learned that her mistress had already informed her that they were to set out next day on a secret journey. He told her to pack only the clothes that 'Madame' insisted on taking and have them ready by midday. The rest, and the mass of impedimenta she had brought with her from San Domingo, were to go in the coach to Paris. He then took Aimée up to his room, gave her his spare uniform coat and asked her to change die Colonel's badges on it for the Cap­tain's.

Next, he sat down to write two letters. The first was a brief despatch to Napoleon, reporting Pauline's safe arrival and that, being in a sad state of depression, she desired to spend a few weeks before returning to Paris among people who did not know her, and of her tragic loss, and that, anticipating it to be the wish of the First Consul, he had agreed to remain with her until she felt capable of facing the world again.

His second letter was to the Defours at the chateau, inform­ing them that he had recently married and, soon after the arrival of the letter, would be bringing his wife to St. Maxime. There were to be flowers in every room, and no expense was to be spared on local purchases that would make the house more pleasant as a residence for 'Madame'.

Having finished his letters he had time only to clean him­self up before joining Pauline for supper.

Tonight she had cast aside not only her veil but all her black garments and was wearing a blue velvet dress embroidered with gold flowers, that set off to perfection her tanned arms, neck and face. It was another gay meal and afterwards there was no question of his leaving her. Carrying a magnum of champagne he accompanied her into her bed­room and there undressed her. Neither did he creep away in the small hours. When Aimée came in she found them still together in bed sound asleep.

An hour and a half later Pauline gave her orders to Dermid's nurse, and a letter for her mother. Roger gave the two letters for Napoleon to his sergeant and told his servant to return to Paris in the coach with the nurse. The good-byes were said and at eleven o'clock the little cavalcade moved away on the road to the capital.

When paying the bill, Roger told the landlord of the inn that Madame Leclerc had decided to stay for a few days at the little seaside village of Arcachon, but first wished to drive down to the port and thank again the Captain of the frigate that had brought her from San Domingo. He then asked for a coach and a carriage to be summoned.

When they arrived at the door he had the luggage put into the coach and, when Aimée had settled herself in it, told the coachman to drive her to Arcachon. Returning upstairs he escorted Pauline, now again draped in black from top to toe, down to the carriage and handed her in.

Outside the dock gates he called on the driver to halt, told him that Madame wished to take a little exercise by walking along the quay to the ship, and paid him off. After half an hour's stroll round the docks they came out, picked up another carriage and drove to the inn at which Roger, in the name of Captain Printemps, had ordered a travelling coach to be ready for him. Leaving the carriage for the coach, they drove the forty miles to Arcachon, arriving there soon after dark. Aimee had reached the village half an hour earlier and had taken the best rooms at the only inn for Captain and Madame Printemps. Hungry from having missed their dinner they made an excellent early supper off freshly caught lob­sters and the local cheese, then went happily to bed as man and wife.

Next morning, with Roger wearing his Curassier shako and uniform with a Captain's badges, they took the road south to Dax, Madame Leclerc and le brave Breuc having disap­peared into the blue.

By way of Pau and Tabres they drove through the lovely scenery of Navarre, then on through Toulouse, Beziers and Montpellicr to Nimes with its fascinating Roman ruins, Avignon with the Palace of the Popes, and charming Aix-en-Provence, to Toulon. They travelled by easy stages because, owing to her early pregnancy, Pauline was afflicted with an internal trouble that plagued her if she rode for too long over bumpy roads. But, like many women who suffer from ill health, when she was happy minor ailments never seemed to bother her.

At Toulon Roger paid off the coach and, next day, hired another at an inn some way from that in which they had passed the night. With him once more a Colonel wearing his A.D.C. sash, they covered the last stage of their journey to St. Maxime.

On the morning after their arrival, touched by the com­pliment but considerably perturbed, he learned that the villagers intended that afternoon to present an address of welcome to Madame, his wife. He had brought this on him­self owing to his generosity to local charities and there was no escaping it. With considerable anxiety he and Pauline awaited the ceremony.

To their relief it passed off without incident. The Mayor and the Cure both made fulsome speeches, there were cheers and everyone was given plenty of wine in which to drink the health of the newly-weds. To account for Pauline's golden-bronze skin, Roger had given out that she was the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner in Guadeloupe and had only recently arrived in France. No one recognized her and she enjoyed enormously assuming her new role as the lady of the manor.

The last days of December and the first week in January

1803 had been occupied by their journey from Bordeaux. For a month they revelled in being alone together in the winter sunshine by the sea.

Roger found that Pauline had only a very small knowledge of great affairs and little interest in them. She was extremely self-centred, concerning herself only with love, her personal appearance and frivolous amusements. But she was straight­forward, generous, easily pleased and spontaneously gay.

At times he still thought with bitterness of the terrible ending to his life-long bond with Georgina, but Pauline's ardent passion for him and his delight in her loveliness had restored his zest for life, just as his unflagging desire for her had restored hers. With no single duty or commitment to observe they lived entirely as they pleased, sometimes lying in bed until well on in the afternoon, at others getting up at dawn to go fishing. On some nights they went on moonlight rambles and made love in the woods or on the beach. They never saw a journal and cared nothing for what might be happening in the world outside their own little Paradise. Like Venus and Adonis, they thought only of their love and of pleasing one another.

Yet, as with all mortals, there had to come an end to this dispensation from all care that the kind gods had granted them. One night towards the middle of February Roger said to the radiant goddess who faced him across the supper table:

'Beloved, my heart is heavy with the thought, but soon now we must return to Paris. It is more than seven weeks since we disappeared from Bordeaux. However great the preoccupations of your brilliant brother, he must at times wonder what has become of his favourite sister. If he has not already done so it cannot be long now before he sets his police on to discover your whereabouts. Should they find you here, living as Madame Breuc, that would be disastrous. It would mean for me at least several years' imprisonment for having abused his confidence, and for you, with your hus­band only four months dead, a scandal that would besmirch your name through France.'

'Oh, must we go!' she cried in protest. 'I have been happier here with you Rojé than ever in my life before. I cannot bear the thought of returning to that dreary round of behaving like a great lady and being pleasant to scores of people, most of whom are atrocious bores. Can we not stay here for another month, or a fortnight at the least?'

He shook his head. 'No, dear goddess. I dare not risk it, for your sake even more than my own. We will have one more week here but not a day longer. On that my mind is set, and with all your wondrous wiles you will not move it.'

So, one week later, their stolen honeymoon ended. On February 20th, sad but resigned, they took the road to Paris.

17

Of Love and War

Napoleon's face was black with anger, his broad jaw stuck out and his eyebrows were drawn down. In his harsh, Italian-accented voice, he rasped, 'Two months! Two whole months and not one word from you!'

Roger raised his eyebrows, ‘I would have thought, First Consul, that you had enough anxieties to occupy you without worrying about your family.'

'My family! Sacri Nom! They are the cause of half my worries. My brothers do me more harm than I can do them good. And now Madame Leclerc must get herself lost in southern France for eight weeks.'

'But, mon General, you knew that I was with her, so could be certain that she would come to no harm.'

'You, and who else? No one but a serving wench! And Leclerc but four months dead! If this gets out, 'twill be the scandal of the year.'

'It will not get out, unless you let it; for she travelled under a false name. You have but to endorse the statement she has already agreed to—that she spent seven weeks in a convent hearing Masses for the repose of her husband's soul. No one has cause to suspect she spent her time otherwise, and did some scribbler ferret out the truth he'd never dare publish it.’

'My sister, running round France under a false name with a man like yourself. What a way to behave!'

'Since she was determined to preserve her incognito, what else could she do? Had she travelled in your coach with a full escort she would have been harrowed by having to listen to addresses of condolence from the Mayors of every town through which she passed. On the other hand, had she not taken me with her she would have been pestered day and night by the unwelcome attentions of a score of gallants.'

'True! True! But she should at least have taken a chaperone. A month ago I ordered Savary to use his police to locate her. What a story would have been made of it had they come upon the two of you unchaperoned.'

'Where was she to find a chaperone, pray, at short notice in Bordeaux? I mean one who, entrusted with such an honour, would not have been so puffed up by her appoint­ment as to blab about it to all and sundry?'

'You are so glib of tongue, Breuc, that you have an answer for everything. But I regard your conduct as most reprehen­sible.'

'Then, First Consul, you do me a great injustice. You charged me with the care of Madame Leclerc, but you gave me no order that I should bring her direct to Paris. Your actual words to me were, "Do all you can to bring the smiles back to those bright eyes of hers". Well, I have done it.'

'That, at least, I am glad to hear,' Napoleon grudgingly admitted.

'Indeed, our tour of the ancient cities in the south worked wonders. Knowing something of their history I was not badly qualified to be her guide. She showed the greatest interest in many places that we visited, particularly in the ruins of the Roman amphitheatre at Nimes.'

'Ruins!' Napoleon gave a harsh laugh. 'Pauline has never cared a fig for ruins! The sight of them wrought no change in her. I'll vow. 'Twas yourself and your sleeping with her.'

Drawing himself up, Roger cried, 'First Consul, I protest 1 You have no right so to malign Madame Leclerc'

'Nonsense, man! I know Pauline better than you will ever do, however many times you've tossed her between the sheets. She gave horns to Leclerc before they had been married three months, and during his absence on the Rhine I had to post a dozen officers to the provinces to prevent her scandalous affaires with them becoming the talk of Paris.'

Roger was furious. Being in love with Pauline and having witnessed her terrible distress at Leclerc's death, he had gradually formed the belief that the tales of her immorality were untrue, and that she had done no more than flirt with her many admirers. Seething with anger, he snapped:

'Were you not who you are I would call you out for that. You should be ashamed to believe such slanders about your sister.'

With one of his amazing changes of mood, Napoleon sud­denly laughed, then pulled Roger's ear, 'My poor Breuc, you have completely given yourself away. No man issues a chal­lenge in defence of a woman's honour unless he is in love with her. For that I cannot blame you. She is so dazzling a creature that many times when she has entered a room a sudden silence has fallen and I've heard a dozen men catch their breath. But she is as licentious as she is beautiful, and if you did not seduce her I'd stake my life that she seduced you. I'll not now insist that you admit it; but I'll have to send you to the provinces.'

Relieved as Roger was to have got through his ordeal, his heart sank, and he said, 'Mon General, as Madame Leclcrc has gone to live with her brother Joseph and his wife, we will have no opportunity to see one another except in public, and as no one but yourself knows of the journey we made together no scandal will link our names. It is above fourteen months since I had the honour to serve on your personal staff, and see something of Paris. Can you not possibly find some use for me that will allow me to remain here?'

Napoleon, his big head bowed, took a few paces up and down before replying, 'Perhaps, yes. Now I think on it I may need you in a few months' time. The accursed English are playing me up most damnably. They have agreed to evacuate the Cape and Egypt, but most dishonourably refuse to carry out the terms of the Treaty by which our territories in India were to be restored to us, and they remain adamant about Malta. Not content with that, they continue to slander mc in their journals; yes, even to the vile extent of asserting that I seduced my step-daughter Hortense then, having got her with child, quickly married her off to my brother Louis.'

'How infamous!' Roger exclaimed with genuine indigna­tion, for he felt convinced that there was not an atom of truth in such an accusation.

'Yes. What minds they must have! But in that, at least, I proved them to be liars. I had a poet write some verses praising Hortense's dancing, then gave a ball at Malmaison. There, to her great annoyance, and much as I dislike the sight of pregnant women, I made her do a few pirouettes in front of me. She was then seven months gone and her state plain for all to sec. As she had been married to Louis for over nine months that made it as clear as crystal to everyone that she could not have conceived by me before her marriage.'

For a moment he was silent, then changed the subject, 'But about yourself. Although I wish the peace to continue and am being very patient with the English, their attitude is so unfriendly that I can only regard the present state of things as a short armistice. I am convinced, too, that to make war upon them again would be ultimately to our advantage. Therefore I am already preparing to resume hostilities. When the peace was made I allowed our activities on the coast to be slowed down, but recently I've given orders that they are to be increased. You can report to Berthier and take up again with him your previous role as my liaison officer in all matters concerning the invasion of England.'

Having expressed his gratitude Roger withdrew, marvelling now at the narrowness of his escape. After he and Pauline had left Arcachon no one could have had any idea whether they had gone north, south or east and France had many cities, but as Savary's police had been on the lookout for them during the past month, they were lucky not to have been identified as Captain and Madame Printemps in one of the towns where they had passed a night on their way up from St. Maxime to Paris. Still luckier, he felt, was the fact that Savary had replaced the astute Fouche as Chief of Police; for the latter, with his unerring instinct for assessing possibilities, would have sent one of his agents straight to St. Maxime, and God alone knew what would have happened when the First Consul learned that his A.D.C. had taken his sister there to live openly as Madame Breuc.

As Roger descended the grand staircase he saw Duroc coming up. After Duroc's mission to Russia he had been transferred as Ambassador to Prussia and was still in Berlin when, some fifteen months earlier, Roger left Paris to go secretly to England. Since then Roger had spent only two days in the capital early in December, during which they had not chanced to run into one another; so this was the first time they had met since they had come face to face in St, Peters­burg.

As old friends they exchanged hearty greetings and swapped news of their more recent doings. Duroc, it tran­spired, was no longer being used as a diplomat and for over a year past had re-occupied his old post as Comptroller of the Palace. After they had talked for some minutes he said;

'You know, Breuc, I would have taken an oath that I saw you in St. Petersburg at a reception given by the new Czar. Those blue eyes, straight nose and firm chin of yours seemed to me unmistakable. The man I took for you turned out to be an Englishman who spoke the most atrocious French; but the two of you were as alike as two peas.'

Roger laughed, 'Yes, Talleyrand told me that you had written to him about the encounter. But at that time I was at my chateau in the south of France, and a week later here in Paris. There's no great mystery to the matter though. It was my Scottish cousin, Robert McElfic, now Lord Kildonan, whom you met. We are much of an age and when young were often taken for twins.'

After another few minutes of lively talk, they agreed on an evening to dine together and parted. As Roger made his way back to La Belle Etoile, he again had good reason to thank his stars that, when Count Muriavieff had introduced Duroc to him, he had addressed him only as 'Monsieur' and omitted to mention his name.

When Roger reported to Berthier next morning they natu­rally discussed the worsening of Anglo-French relations, and the ugly little Chief-of-Staff was of the opinion that if the First Consul really wanted to keep the peace he was going the wrong way about it. In the autumn he had sent a Colonel Sabastiani on a tour to Algiers, Egypt, Syria and the Ionian Isles. The Colonel had returned to France late in January and, to everyone's amazement, the First Consul had ordered his report to be printed in Le Moniteur on the 30th.

It had been undisguisedly an intelligence appreciation of France's prospects in the Mediterranean and Near East should she again go to war with Britain. The report described the British Army in Egypt as being in a very poor state and that of the Turks as beyond contempt, so that an army of six thousand French should have little difficulty in re-conquering the country. It barely disguised the fact that Sabastiani had gone there for the purpose of contacting Ibrahim Bey and inducing him to lead his Mamelukes in a revolt against the English. It also stated that the people of Corfu would declare themselves for France immediately they received French support.

Naturally the English had been greatly incensed and now flatly declined even to discuss withdrawing their troops from Malta. They had gone further and brought a measure before Parliament for an increase in the armed forces. But the Government was weak, with Pitt still in retirement and Grenville and Dundas now in opposition. Fox, too, had attacked the measure furiously in one of his great orations and this violent dissension in Parliament had led Napoleon to believe that Britain had become so impotent that he could ignore any protests she might make about his doing what he liked on the Continent.

So confident was he of this that on February 18th he had had a violent scene with the British Ambassador, Lord Whitworth, using the old trick of carrying the war into the enemy's camp by declaring that Britain had been guilty of the basest perfidy, while he was doing no more than assist countries adjacent to France in maintaining stable govern­ments.

His assistance to the Swiss had consisted in sending in his two German-speaking Generals, Ney and Rapp, with an army at their backs to make known his wishes about Swit­zerland and to insist on the Valais being handed over to France. This also had led to heated protests by the British, but he had brushed them contemptuously aside and declared his intention of becoming the sole arbitrator between the Federals and the Unionists who had long been disputing the way in which Switzerland should be governed.

Roger was sufficiently broadminded to appreciate that there were faults on both sides. The British had failed to honour numerous clauses in the miserable treaty they had signed, while Napoleon had ignored the limitations it had set to the aggrandisement of France on the Continent; so there was justification for the re-opening of hostilities by either. Berthier's view was that, recognizing the immense power now at the disposal of France, the British would accede to the First Consul's demands without a fight. But .Roger was not so certain. Although the weakness of Addington's govern­ment was deplorable and the nation evidently divided, he knew the streak of obstinacy in his countrymen that had led to their defying the might of Spain and wresting the control of the seas from the Dutch; so that if pressed too far they might yet sink their differences and, weak though they were by comparison, again challenge France.

Among Berthier's activities, Roger learned, was the sending over to Britain of Consuls and Vice-Consuls who were in fact military engineers with orders to make plans of the harbours and coasts; but there was nothing he could do about that.

For the moment he was much more concerned with his private affairs. His eight weeks with Pauline, far from having decreased their desire for one another, had made its satisfac­tion nearly a necessity. After their first hectic weeks together there had naturally followed a decline in their amorous propensities. But it had not lasted. There had followed a more temperate intimacy that had soon become a habit to which they both looked forward with unflagging delight. Both of them were highly experienced in the art of love and physically each was the perfect counterpart of the other. Pauline had declared frankly that never in a life-time would she find a lover who satisfied her more fully, while Roger remained entranced by the perfection of her beauty and thought himself the luckiest man in the world every time he took her.

Now she was living in Joseph's new house, the splendid Hotel Marbeuf in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore, and it was impossible for them to continue spending their nights together but, fortunately, they had the willing Aimee as a go-between; so on every afternoon that Pauline had no commitment she changed into clothes belonging to her maid, slipped out from the garden door of her brother's house and came to La Belle Etoile, there to make love with Roger in his bedroom.

Hating her black garments as she did, they served as an excuse for her to refuse to participate in her sister-in-law Julie's charitable or social activities; but there were after­noons when a visit from her mother, or an old friend such as Laure Permon, now the wife of General Junot, prevented her from leaving the house, so that Roger waited for her at La Belle Etoile in vain. And there were others when she arrived at the inn to find that he had not been able to keep their rendezvous owing to some call of duty. Thus, to their intense annoyance, their plans to be together were quite frequently frustrated.

Meanwhile, Roger had been back in Paris for ten days before he had a chance to talk alone with his old friend Talleyrand. He found the Foreign Minister far from happy about the way things were going. Talleyrand agreed that, if driven too far, the English would again resort to war; and, in spite of all his endeavours, France's relations with Russia had steadily deteriorated. Napoleon had refused to compen­sate the King of Sardinia for the loss of his kingdom of Piedmont by more than offering him the small territory of Siena, or a slice of Greece, should France and Russia con­tinue to dismember the Turkish Empire. The Czar, as a fervent upholder of the rights of hereditary monarchs, had been greatly incensed by this and once again it looked as though armies might clash and thousands of soldiers die on account of the claims of King Victor Emanuel. Roger con­sidered such a cause for going to war utterly unreasonable, but consoled himself with the thought that in this case it would at least lead to Russia becoming the ally of England.

Another matter that had given Talleyrand grave concern was the French claim to Louisiana. The previous autumn Napoleon had organized an expedition which, under General Victor, was to cross the Atlantic and take over this territory from the Spaniards. The plan had been for it to be sent out on the pretext that it was a reinforcement for General Leclerc in San Domingo. But two factors had led to its sailing orders being postponed. Firstly, the French forces in San Domingo had been reduced by casualties and yellow fever from twenty thousand to two thousand effectives and these appalling losses had caused Napoleon to hesitate to send more troops to a country in which they would be exposed to the same disease. Secondly, the ex-British Colonists in the northern states of America had declared that they would oppose any nation that claimed suzerainty of the territories that lay to the south of those of the Union.

Jefferson had instructed Monroe, the Ambassador of the States in Paris, to make a deal if he could. Talleyrand had foreseen that to refuse it would be to throw the new Power, with its considerable number of warships, into the arms of the British, whereas a reasonable settlement with the Americans could make them the ally of France. In consequence, he had wisely negotiated a treaty with them by which France ceded her rights to Louisiana for a payment of fifty million dollars.

As March advanced, relations between Britain and France grew still more strained. On the 13th there occurred a most unseemly scene during a reception at the Tuileries, of which Roger was a witness. In front of the assembled Ambassadors Napoleon, without warning, violently attacked Lord Whitworth.

'It is you,' he rasped, 'who are determined to make war upon us. If, for the sake of preserving peace, I should yield on a single point, the English would become more treacher­ous and insolent. Were we to yield now, England would next prohibit our navigation in certain parts of the world, and I am not the man to brook such indignities. Your government wishes to drive me to war, but France will lose nothing by it. In a very short time I can have two million men at my disposal. You will be the first to draw the sword; I shall be the last to sheath it. Woe to those who show no respect for treaties.'

Lord Whitworth was a cold, hard man and an aristocrat who had difficulty in concealing his dislike for the upstart Corsican. Later he told his friends, 'The fellow is beyond the pale. Before the assembled Corps Diplomatique he abused me in the language of the barrack square. From the glare in his eyes I thought he was about to hit me. Had he done so I would have knocked him down without regard to the conse­quences.' As it was, with true British phlegm he had merely raised his eyebrows, turned on his heel and walked quietly from the room.

His report of the episode to the British government led, after considerable hesitation, to their sending him orders on April 23rd that, if Napoleon continued to refuse to satisfy their requirements about Switzerland and on other matters, the Ambassador was to demand his passports.

On May 11th a conference was held at St. Cloud. The three Consuls, Talleyrand, Joseph Bonaparte, the Secretary of State, Maret and numerous other dignitaries were present. Roger, with several other A.D.C.s and secretaries, was in attendance and later learned what had taken place. Joseph had pleaded hard that his Peace of Amiens should be kept and Talleyrand had supported him. The others, fearing to displease the First Consul, cautiously hedged when giving their opinions.

Napoleon admitted that he had not wanted to engage the English again until the autumn of the following year, by which time his ship-building programme should ensure France a fleet of equal power to that of the British. But he declared that he would not give way over Switzerland or Malta, and that if the English wanted war they should have it. When a vote was taken all but Joseph and Talleyrand voted for the rejection of the British demands.

In consequence, Lord Whitworth left Paris next day and, on May 18th. Britain declared war on France.

For some months both countries had been preparing for a renewal of the struggle and their Navies took immediate action, first blood going to the British by the capture of two merchantmen off the coast of Brittany. On the 22nd this was announced in Paris, together with an order that all English­men between the ages of eighteen and sixty still in France were to be arrested and held prisoner for the duration of the war, as a reprisal for the merchantmen having been seized before the declaration of hostilities. This was not the case, as the vessels had been taken on the day war was declared and three days after Napoleon had laid an embargo on all British vessels in French ports, thus himself being the first to commit a hostile act.

No such order for the internment of enemy civilians on the outbreak of war had ever before been issued in any country. To penalize non-combatants in this fashion was an innovation that horrified all Europe. Even in France it was regarded as a most barbarous act; but Napoleon refused to rescind the order and as a result over ten thousand British subjects were condemned to languish in concentration camps, many of them for as long as eleven years.

Although war had been declared, Talleyrand determined to make an effort to arrange a suspension of hostilities; and Napoleon, no doubt owing to his concern over the weakness of the French fleet, agreed that he should do so. The Russian Ambassador, Markoff, also attempted to mediate through his colleague, Vorontzoff, in London. But Napoleon remained adamant on the question of Malta; so these negotiations broke down.

Britain, for her part, made an endeavour to limit the sphere of conflict by offering to respect the neutrality of Holland; but Napoleon would not hear of it. He needed the Dutch Navy and the closure of the Dutch ports as an essen­tial part of his 'Continental System' which he hoped, by excluding all British goods from Europe, would ruin the commerce of Britain; so the unfortunate Hollanders were forced to take up arms on behalf of France.

By the peace of Amiens, Hanover had been returned to Britain and King Ferdinand restored to the throne of Naples. But General Morlter swiftly overran Hanover, compelling the hopelessly incompetent Duke of Cambridge to surrender, and General St. Cyr promptly re-occupied Southern Italy. Napoleon, meanwhile, was working with his usual intensity, organizing with Berthier the withdrawal of French forces from the Rhine to the Channel coast for his projected invasion of England.

To Roger it was now clear that this new war that had been entered upon would be fought to a finish. Napoleon was not content to be only the master of a great part of Europe. His ambitions extended to an Empire that would stretch from the Americas right across North Africa and through Egypt to include India; and in whichever direction he cast his covetous gaze his way was blocked by England. Only by completely crushing the stubborn British could he succeed in his vast designs. On the other hand, defeat for Britain must mean bankruptcy and near-slavery, so it was certain that she would fight to the last ditch. It was possible, too, that she might again persuade other nations that Napoleon was a menace to them all, use her great wealth to subsidize their armies, and form another combination of powers which would succeed in defeating France. But the struggle could end only in one or other of the great protagonists being utterly broken.

For Roger, personally, the war meant a great increase of work. Throughout May and June he was often closeted with Berthier or members of his staff far into the night, and on four occasions he was sent by Napoleon on missions to the coast that took him from Paris for several days.

Meanwhile, Pauline had ceased to be dependent on her relatives. Now that Napoleon was the undisputed master of France he could allocate funds as he wished, and in April he had granted her a pension of sixty thousand francs per annum. Overjoyed at having the money to make the best of her almost royal position in the new society, she had rushed out and bought herself a fine gilded carriage, more splendid even than that of her sister, Caroline Murat. Then she had acquired as a home of her own the magnificent Hotel of the Dues de Charost only a few doors away from Joseph, in the Rue du Faubourg St. Honore. Regardless of expense she had furnished it in the latest Greco-Egyptian fashion; so that the salons and her bedroom, with its great canopied state bed surmounted by a gilded eagle and supported by sphinxes, had become one of the sights of Paris.

But being the sole mistress of this luxurious mansion made it no easier for her and Roger to pursue their secret love affair, since he dared not go there, except when she held receptions, from fear that Napoleon would soon be informed of it and send him permanently away from Paris. Moreover, many afternoons when they could otherwise have met she had had to give to furnishing and installing herself in the Hotel de Charost*, while the increase in his duties occasioned by the renewal of the war more often than formerly prevented him from taking advantage of the afternoons when she was free. In consequence as summer advanced their meetings became less and less frequent and, when they did manage to meet at La Belle Etoile, instead of being able to spend a long after­noon together he usually had to rush off back to the War Office after only an hour with her.

The lengthening of the periods between their meetings added fuel to the fire of their desire, and they both became a prey to terrible frustrations; yet there seemed no way in which they could surmount the barriers that kept them so much apart until, one afternoon towards the end of June,

*Historical Note. Now the British Embassy.

after twelve days had elapsed since they had seen one another, Pauline said:'Rojé, mon coeur, I cannot support this state of things much longer. It is now close on four months since we have spent a night together, or even enjoyed a meal in one another's company. Our meetings are confined to this one room. We dare not go for a drive in this lovely summer weather nor picnic in the Bois. Even on the few occasions when I see you in public we may not exchange more than a few conventional platitudes, then must quickly separate lest Napoleon's argus eye detects us and he sends you to Italy or the Rhine. But of late I have been giving much thought to this atrocious restraint placed upon our love and have thought of a way to overcome it. We must get married.'

It was a lovely sunny afternoon and she was lying naked on the bed, her hands clasped behind her head. He was already hurrying into his breeches. Balanced uncertainly on one foot, he stared at her for a moment with his mouth open, then repeated, 'Married!'

'Yes: why should we not?'

'Do you mean secretly?' he asked.

"No. What good would that do us? We'd be no wit better off. But as my husband you could come to live with me and share my huge bed. We could go about together and have a marvellous time.'

'Of that I've not a doubt,' he agreed quickly. 'But 'tis not yet eight months since Leclerc died, and you are still in mourning. 'Twould outrage convention did you marry before the year is out.'

She rolled over on her stomach, kissed the pillow on which his head had rested while he had lain beside her, and mur­mured, '1 care nothing for that. A few stuffy old ladies will say catty things of me, but they always have. 'Twould be the topic of the week and then forgotten.'

'Maybe. But what of your brother? I do not sec him readily giving his sister's hand to a simple Colonel like myself.'

'Why should he not? Eliza is married to Bacciocchi, who is a nobody, and Caroline to that handsome blockhead Murat. He had only just been made a General when they married and Leclerc was no more than a Colonel when he first courted me. You are a better man than any of them.'

‘I thank you, sweet, for the compliment,' Roger smiled. 'But Eliza's marriage was arranged by your mother without Napoleon's knowledge and, even then, he was furious that she had not made a better match. Since the marriages of all three of you he has enormously increased in stature and now looks on himself almost as a monarch. He'd never . . .'

Suddenly she turned over again, swung her legs off the bed and sat up facing him, 'Not if you are afraid to ask him,' she cried with tears in her voice. Then she hurried on, 'Are you called le brave Breuc for nothing? I've heard it said you are one of the few men who on occasion dare to defy him. He cannot kill you because you wish to marry me. And, whatever people say of him, he has a noble nature. Whatever cause his old friends give him for anger he never bears umbrage against them for long. We cannot go on like this! We cannot! There are times when I lie in bed half out of my mind from wanting you. Get his consent and our whole lives will become a joy to us. Docs my love mean so little to you that to retain it you'll not risk incurring his displeas­ure?'

Roger had never tired of looking at her; and there she sat, as beautiful as Venus descended from Olympus, splendid in her nakedness, her body perfection, her lovely face alight with love. There could be only one answer to her challenge. Taking a step forward he seized her in his arms, glued his mouth to hers for a long moment, then gave a laugh;

'It will be all or nothing, but in my life I've gambled oft enough for a far smaller reward.'

That night, no longer hypnotized by her presence he thought the matter over in cooler blood. To secure Napoleon's consent would be to take the biggest fence he had ever attempted in his life. Passionately in love with Pauline as he was, he asked himself if he really wanted her as his wife. She was light-minded and irresponsible and he was well aware that their present desperate craving for one another could not last indefinitely. Even so, it seemed that it could be a long time before they tired of each other physically. And the advantages to himself of such a marriage could be immense. Having never been trained as a professional soldier, he thought it unlikely that Napoleon would make him a General of Division, as he had Leclerc. Neither did he wish it. But such a marriage could well lead to his being made an Ambassador, or the Pro-Consul of some State subservient to France, and in such a post he would not only wield great power but be in a position to influence events in favour of his own country.

For years past he had endeavoured to persuade Georgina to marry him, but his hopes in that direction had, alas, been finally shattered by her betrayal of him. So why should he not make a bid to become the husband of the sweet-natured and dazzling Pauline, the most beautiful woman in France?

Carefully he thought over the strategy he must adopt. He felt sure that to approach Napoleon direct could only result in a peremptory refusal. The fortress must be mined before he attacked it.

Josephine had always been his good friend. Although Napoleon was not faithful to her she retained great influence over him. At times he still slept with her and quite frequently she read him to sleep. The violent hostility of his family to her had failed to undermine her position, because as First Lady of France she did him great credit. The fact that she had never been presented at the Court of Versailles did not detract from her ability to assume the role of a great lady in a way that none of the Bonaparte women could ever have done. Her taste was admirable, the new decor of the Palaces in which they held court had been designed by her and was faultless, the clothes she wore were beyond reproach and, with great charm and tact, she had gained for her husband the goodwill of ex-Revolutionaries, returned emigres and foreign Ambassadors alike.

Having decided that in securing Josephine's aid lay his best hope of succeeding in this hazardous but tremendous coup, the following afternoon Roger secured a private audience with her. For a while they talked of times past and the extraordinary rise to supreme power that Napoleon had achieved in so short a time. Then Roger divulged his personal problem.

Josephine reacted as he had hoped she would. As she considered the matter, he could almost see her mind working. She had pushed her own daughter Hortense, against the girl's will, into marrying Louis Bonaparte solely with the object of detaching him from the hostile camp. Of all the Bonaparte sisters Pauline was the bitterest enemy because, in spite of her dazzling beauty, at great receptions Josephine's savoir faire always showed up the Corsican girl's gaucheries and put her in the second place. But Roger had long been a devoted friend. Had it not been for him her contemplated marriage to Napoleon would never have taken place. It was, too, owing to his advice to her children that they should appeal to Napoleon's affection for them that he had refrained from casting her off when, on his return from Egypt, he had received proof of her infidelity to him. If, therefore, Roger married Pauline, he would become another friend in the enemy camp and could be counted on to induce his wife to adopt a less hostile attitude.

After a few minutes' thought, Josephine nodded gravely and, although she did not disguise her feeling that it would be a far from easy task to persuade Napoleon to agree to the match, she promised to do her best.

Two days later Roger was summoned to the presence. Napoleon was not only a stickler for personal cleanliness; he so enjoyed his morning bath that quite often he lay in it for two hours or more, meanwhile dictating to his secretary or transacting business. This happened to be such an occasion. Meneval brought Roger into the bathroom, poured a can of hot water into the bath to keep up the temperature, then left them together.

Napoleon, having sat up for a moment, without the least embarrassment lay down again at full length in the big marble bath. Looking down on him Roger observed that his once spare body had filled out and, unless he took much more exercise, might soon become fat.

'You wished to sec me, First Consul,' he asked, in a voice that betrayed no emotion. But he knew that in the next few minutes his whole future would be decided. It was possible that he would become the brother-in-law of the most powerful man in Europe, with a wife that every man would envy him. On the other hand, Napoleon might place him under temporary arrest as a precaution against his marrying Pauline in secret then, on some trumped-up charge, get him out of the way for good by shipping him off to a fever-ridden French penal settlement, such as Devil's Island.

18

Sold Down the River

To Roger's relief Napoleon said quite quietly, 'Madame Bonaparte tells me that you wish to marry Madame Leclerc.'

'That is so, First Consul,' Roger replied. Then, having given a slight cough he added, 'You—er—may recall that early this year circumstances provided Madame Leclerc and myself with an exceptional opportunity to get to know one another, and ....'

'Circumstances!' chuckled Napoleon. 'What a way to put it. You mean that Pauline, having tired of playing the widow, the two of you planned to go off on this jaunt together. As for "getting to know one another," I'd take a wager that by now she knows the exact number of hairs on your chest.'

Anxious to encourage the mood of good humour that his master was in, Roger smiled and said quickly, 'She might; for it happens that I have very few.' Then, realizing the admission he had made, he added hurriedly, 'That is, if she has a good memory. We picnicked once, outside Aix I think it was, and on a lovely day. That I might enjoy the sun she permitted me to take off my shirt.'

'How gracious of her. And is that all you take off when she visits you in your room at La Belle Etoile. As Roger's jaw dropped, Napoleon laughed, 'My dear Breuc, for what do you think I pay my police if not to know what goes on in the city? But you have conducted your affaire with admirable discretion, so I let you be. Had she not been whoring with you it would have been with some other muscular young gallant.'

Roger reddened, 'First Consul, I protest.'

'Don't be a fool, man. As I told you before, I know my sister better than you will ever do. And though my word is now law to some forty million people, I cannot stop her from jumping into bed with any man she fancies. But her marrying again is quite another thing. How do you propose to keep her?’

'I have my pay and, owing to your generosity in allowing it to continue during my long absences on account of ill health and other matters, I have spent little while away from Paris; so I have quite a tidy sum put by.'

'Bah! It would not keep Pauline in the nightshifts that she is always taking off. She has no sense of money whatever, and is the most extravagant woman in France with only one exception—my wife. Mon Dieu, you should see the bills I am called on to pay for Madame Bonaparte. Dressmakers, silk merchants, modistes, jewellers form a queue here every mor­ning, and her ante-chamber is piled as high as a haystack with their wares. She can resist buying nothing that they show her; and as she cannot remember from day to day what she has bought, they fail to deliver half the goods then charge her double the price they have asked on the rest. I've found a way, though, to deal with these rogues. When, every few months, she finds herself in difficulties and comes to me for a million francs or more, I take her bills, send these vultures a quarter of the amount they claim and scrawl "In full settlement" across them. But Madame Josephine is the First Lady of half Europe and may yet be of the whole. Madame Lcclerc is but a widow with a pension, and when she marries again her pension will cease.'

Roger smiled, Mon General, in spite of your known gener­osity to all the members of your family, I had not counted on its continuing. Neither do I ask that you should dower her; only that you should appoint me to a post in which I can earn enough money to make her happy.'

'I did that for poor Leclerc, and see what became of him. Rochambeau now commands in San Domingo. Would you like me to send you out to relieve him?'

In spite of the money that might be made as Captain-General there, it was a far from pleasant prospect; but Roger replied, 'I am ready to go wherever you may decide, provided only that Pauline is willing to accompany me.'

Napoleon sat up and rang a handbell, upon which his valet appeared with another can of hot water. When he had poured it into the bath Napoleon lay back and shook his head, 'No. Pauline's courage while she was in danger there warmed my heart; but 'twould not be right to expose her to it again, and I've no wish that cither of you should die of yellow fever. Besides, although you wear a Colonel's uniform you are no soldier in the true sense.'

Roger shrugged, 'You must admit that I have never failed you yet in any task you have set me.'

'That I admit.'

'Then why not appoint me Ambassador to some country, or make me your Pro-Consul in one of the territories under your rule?'

'There you certainly have an idea. But where? Yes, I have it. You speak English like a native and know the habits of those barbarous people well. When I have conquered their fog-ridden country I could make you Pro-Consul there.'

It was Roger's belief that Napoleon would never succeed in conquering Britain but, if Fate decreed that he should, whoever he appointed Pro-Consul there would have enor­mous powers for good or ill. Hateful as was the thought of ruling one's fellow countrymen in the name of a foreign power, Roger realized that in such a situation he could greatly alleviate the sufferings of the people and might, by skilful planning, even succeed in restoring their free­dom.

As the proferred appointment would be a princely one, he said at once, 'Mon General, I am overwhelmed by your generosity. In such a situation I could give of my very best in serving you. But we have not conquered England yet. In the meantime, what are your wishes with regard to myself?'

'Madame Leclerc is only recently a widow. It would be most indecorous for her to marry again before her year of mourning is up, and that will not be until November.'

'That I appreciate,' Roger replied. 'I assume then for the next few months you will desire me to continue as your liaison officer with Berthier on the invasion project?'

Napoleon considered for a moment, then he said, 'No. If you are to act as Pro-Consul you will have command of all the forces that I may decide to leave in Britain to garrison the island and keep down its population. For that you should have knowledge of many matters of which you have so far had no experience—the strategic placing of units, the alloca­tion of quarters, the distribution of supplies and rations, the state of health of your men and so on. You should, therefore, qualify for at least the rank of General of division. I think I will send you to Davoust. He is an extremely conscientious and competent General. With your quick mind, you will learn under him in a comparatively short time how to become a real soldier. Go now, and send Meneval in to me, so that I can dictate a letter informing Davoust of my wishes concern­ing you.'

In a stale of high elation Roger bowed himself out of the steamy bathroom. Contrary to his expectations his master had not roared with rage and put him under arrest. Instead he had raised no objection to his A.D.C. marrying his beautiful sister. True, it meant a four-month separation, which Pauline would take hard, but that was a small price to pay for such a great reward.

Presently Meneval emerged from the bathroom, sat down at a desk outside, penned the letter from the notes he had taken, sanded and sealed it, then handed it to Roger with a formal bow. 'The First Consul's orders are that you are to horse at once and deliver this personally into the hand of General Davoust.'

Roger returned the bow and marched off down the cor­ridor. He thought il a little inconsiderate of Napoleon not to give him at least twenty-four hours in which to have a last meeting with Pauline and tell her the splendid news; but he was used to his master considering a matter, deciding upon it, issuing his orders, expecting them to be obeyed immediately and dismissing the matter from his mind.

Back at La Belle Etoile, while his servant was packing his things and their horses were being saddled, he wrote Pauline a note. Being by long habit cautious, just in case his letter fell into the wrong hands, he did not like to put in writing that, although they must keep it secret, they were now virtually engaged, then go into rhapsodies about what the future held for them. Instead he wrote:

'I have seen him. All has gone beyond belief well. But I must qualify myself to hold a post that will give me a big income. At the least I'll be a General of Division by November. This means that I must spend the next four months with the Army. You will know what a terrible wrench it is for me to leave Paris; but think what this means on my return. Think, too, of Bordeaux, Pau, Nimes and a little place by the sea. During my absence such scenes and the future will occupy all my thoughts. R.'

Having left it with Maitre Blanchard to be given to Aimee when she made her daily call to pick up any note from Roger asking for a rendezvous with her mistress, he had a quick meal and set out, followed by his servant leading a third horse carrying the baggage.

Few people knew better than Roger the dispositions of the Army of the Coast of the Ocean, as it was now called. Its cantonments were spread over a vast area stretching from Antwerp right down to Le Havre. Flanders, Artois and Picardy swarmed with troops, while huge reserve formations were assembled at Utrecht, Ghent, St. Omer, Montreuil, Compiegne and St. Malo. At Boulogne alone there were fifty thousand men under the command of Soult, at Etaplcs thirty thousand under Ncy and at Bruges another thirty thousand under Davoust; so it was to the ancient Flemish town, with its old gabled houses, canals and grassy ramparts, that Roger rode in the summer sunshine.

General Davoust, to whom he reported, was a strange character. A Burgundian aristocrat by birth, he had been a junior lieutenant in the Royal Champagne Regiment at the outbreak of the Revolution. Unsociable by nature and hold­ing Republican views, he had led a mutiny, been cashiered for it and imprisoned for six weeks. The triumph of the Third Estate had soon led to his reinstatement as an officer and his rising to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel; but later he had again been deprived of his commission, this time by the Jacobins on account of his aristocratic birth. Then, under the Directory, he had emerged once more, as a Brigadier in Moreau's Army of the Rhine.

In '98 he had been sent to Egypt. As a 'Moreau man' and a staunch Republican, he had regarded Bonaparte with dislike and distrust, and consorted with the little clique of senior officers who were always criticizing their General-in-Chief. Then had come the Battle of Aboukir. There Davoust had been given a reserve formation, of which Bonaparte made no use during the battle. Afterwards Davoust had demanded an interview with the object of making a bitter complaint that he and his men had been slighted. The interview was a long one and no one ever learned what had been said between the two. But Davoust had emerged from it a changed man.

Previously he had been uncouth in manner and slovenly in his dress; from that day he became a stickler for courtesy and smartness. Henceforth he took Bonaparte as his model in everything, gave him absolute devotion and studied his methods of waging war with such assiduity that, having a fine brain, he later became the ablest of all Napoleon's Marshals.

But he was a dour, hard man, with few friends and many enemies—particularly Bernadotte, whom he hated for his intrigues against Napoleon. He loved no one except his wife, to whom he showed the most tender feelings, and he had no interests outside his duties. He took great care of his men, but was the harshest disciplinarian of all the Generals, being especially severe with his senior officers, all of whom loathed him. Roger knew him only slightly, but enough of bis repu­tation to wish himself posted elsewhere.

Having read Napoleon's letter, Davoust gave Roger a cold smile and said,

'The First Consul has ordered me to instil into you the rudiments of soldiering. These are usually acquired by having served for a period in the ranks; but he does not desire that I should temporarily deprive you of your commission. He feels that the desired end can be achieved by your joining my Endurance Course for junior officers who show promise. You will appreciate that for you to do so with your present rank would be most unsuitable; so while you are under my command" you will revert to that of Lieutenant and, of course, you will not use your A.D.C.'s sash.'

With every word the General uttered Roger's heart sank further into his boots. Going pale with rage, he burst out:

'General, I am confident that the First Consul never . . .'

'Silence!' snapped Davoust. 'And if I do not have a good report of you, Lieutenant, you will have cause to rue it. You may go.'

Roger had seen summary discipline exercised in the French Army too often to become defiant. Almost choking with fury, he saluted, turned sharply on his heel and went.

An adjutant took charge of him. Half an hour later the Headquarters tailor had changed his Colonel's rank badges for those of a Lieutenant and he had been deprived of his servant, who was put on general fatigues. He was then con­ducted across the town to a big building that had formerly been a school. There he was handed over to a short, gimlet-eyed Major of Infantry, named Gaudin, who was the Chief Instructor of the Course.

Gaudin asked him a few questions about himself. Feeling it to be pointless and even dangerous to disclose the reason for his having been sent to Bruges, Roger said only that he had served on the Staff in Egypt and more recently with the Paris Headquarters of the Army of the Coast.

Under the Major's black, upturned moustache his mouth took on a sneer, 'I see. Then you have put a foot wrong somewhere and been sent here to be disciplined. As we poor fellows have to fight the wars, most of the time half-starved, while you Staff people loll about at Headquarters stuffing yourselves with the fat of the land, it will give me special pleasure to have you on my Course. Go through that door on your left and report to Captain Adott, the instructor in charge of B Company. I can trust him to put you through the hoop.'

Captain Adott proved to be a huge Dragoon with a manner and vocabulary which made it obvious that he had been an N.C.O. in the old Republican Army. He, too, asked a few questions, then clearly thought it a grand joke to have anyone like Roger in his Company.

The classrooms in the building had been converted into dormitories and the unhappy Roger got his first glimpse of what was meant by 'Endurance Course' when he saw that the close-ranged beds consisted of three planks apiece with no bedding and only a single blanket.

Soon after he had been allotted one, his new companions swarmed into the room. A few of them showed a vague interest in him as a newcomer; but the rest were too tired to do anything but lie at full length on their planks, and he was in no mood to talk. Half an hour later a bugle sounded and, pulling themselves together, they trooped down a corridor to the Company dining hall. Supper consisted of Army biscuits and an ill-cooked stew of vegetables.

When Roger commented sourly on this sparse fare, the young man next to him replied, 'It is as much as one can expect to get while living off the land during a campaign, and I don't suppose we'll do any better when we land in England.'

He passed a hideous night, turning restlessly on his plank bed, with only his uniform for a pillow. Had Napoleon been at hand Roger would cheerfully have killed him for having played him this scurvy trick. For a while he contemplated creeping out, finding a horse and making his escape; but the thought of Pauline restrained him. Napoleon had as good as promised her to him so, for her sake, he must somehow put up with this martyrdom.

A bugle call roused them at five o'clock. Hastily pulling on their outer garments, they ran out into the big yard and lined up for their first parade of the day. There followed half an hour's violent exercise during which they were required to throw themselves down, heave themselves up, then jump high in the air. Next came early morning stables and, while Roger was an excellent horseman, he loathed having to groom a horse himself. Before breakfast, another meal of biscuits and vegetable stew, they were given half an hour to shave in a crowded washroom and clean themselves up. There was then an inspection by the gimlet-eyed Major and Roger was awarded seven days fatigues for no apparent reason.

Instead of the technical instruction about supplying and administering large bodies of troops, that Roger had expected to receive, he found himself for fifteen hours a day being drilled on a barrack square, ordered off on twenty-fivc-mile route marches without water, and sent for cross-country runs from which the last ten men in were penalized by having to get up at four in the morning and clean out the latrines. In the riding school they had to trot without stirrups and jump hurdles bareback, while cynical N.C.O.s flicked their mounts with long whips until they became almost unmanageable. There were sessions of bayonet fighting, wrestling and swimming in the noisome canals until half of them were sick from the stench of the sewage with which houses on the banks fouled the water. Grimly, Roger stuck it, now falling asleep exhausted each night on his plank bed. And in one way he earned the respect of his fellow sufferers. He was a superb swordsman and soon found that in the fencing school no one could touch him. So, after he had been in Bruges a week he challenged the giant Captain Adott to a bout. The tough ex-sergeant was a fine blade and his strength made him a formidable opponent, but Roger got the better of him and he handsomely admitted it. After that, life for Roger became a little easier; but there was no escaping the daily drills, the constant exertions and the monotonous, unsatisfying food.

His rancour against Napoleon gradually subsided, for he had come to the conclusion that the First Consul's idea had been that, before he commanded troops, he should learn to appreciate the hardships they suffered during an arduous campaign. And the thought of his beautiful Pauline waiting for him in Paris enabled him to endure these weeks of physical fatigue and acute discomfort.

The officers on the course came and went, usually rejoining their units after a period of a month. None of those engaged on it had a moment to read a journal, so the only news they received from the outside world was from newcomers. It was early in September that one of these remarked one evening to Roger, 'That Prince Borghese is a lucky fellow. Just think what a night one could have going to bed with Pauline Bonaparte.'

Roger stiffened as though a ramrod had been thrust down his gullet and demanded, 'What the devil do you mean?'

'Why, don't you know?' replied his companion with a smile. 'Although she is only ten months a widow, she married this Italian Prince towards the end of August. On the 23rd. I think.'

Utterly staggered by this casual statement, Roger remained absolutely still for a moment. He felt sure that it could not possibly be true; but he had to make certain. Without a word he stood up, went along to the Instructors' Mess and asked to be allowed to look through some of the journals. By that time he had come to be regarded as quite a good fellow who had been kicked off the Staff only because he had antagonized some General; so permission was readily accorded him.

Shuffling swiftly through the numbers of Le Moniteur for the last week in August, he soon came upon an announce­ment that he could still hardly believe but had half feared to find. There it was in black and white; 'Marriage of the First Consul's sister, Madame Leclerc, to the millionaire Italian Prince, Camillo Borghese.'

Almost physically sick at the thought of the way in which Pauline had betrayed him after all he had endured for her sake, he left the Mess and stood for a few minutes outside in the passage. Rage welled up in him, taking the place of disgust, then sudden determination.

Davoust was completely merciless, and even took pleasure in signing death warrants for wrongdoers. He spent half his time having British spies, with whom the coast swarmed, hunted down and hanged; and any deserter from his army who was caught could be certain of facing a firing squad. Regardless of the fact that he was risking his life, Roger walked out to the stables, went straight to the stall in which stood the best officer's charger and saddled, bridled and mounted her. He could stand no more. Come hell or high water he meant to confront in Paris the brother and sister who had used him so ill and call them to account.

19

Blackmail

The officers on the course were allowed only one pass a week to spend an evening in the town; so as Roger rode through the gate the picket on duty shouted at him, asking where he was going on horseback. With the resource that had become second nature to him, he forced a grin and replied:

'To Paris, of course. I've a young woman there who is expecting me. ‘Twill make a pleasant evening's ride.'

Paris being some hundred and eighty miles distant, the young officer doing picket duty that night thought it a huge joke, gave a loud guffaw and waved him on.

By midnight Roger was in Lille, where he slept, and next night at Estrees-St. Denis. On the second afternoon after leaving Bruges he entered Paris. At La Belle Etoile he enjoyed his first bath for two months and rid himself of the lice and bedbugs that had been a torment to him.

Dressed in civilian clothes he went out that evening and, regardless of consequences, called at the Hotel de Charost, where he enquired for Aimee. The footman on the door fetched a haughty major-domo who regarded Roger with surprise but, judging from his clothes and manner that he was a man to be obeyed, he despatched the footman to the rear ofthe house. A few minutes later he returned with Pauline's plump, pretty little maid.

At the sight of Roger her eyes went round with apprehen­sion and she gave a little gasp. But he smiled at her, led her to the far end of the great empty hall, where they were well out of earshot of the footman and slipped two gold pieces into her hand. Then he said in a low voice:

'Aimee, I am anxious to congratulate your mistress on having become a Princess; but you will understand that I would prefer to do so in private. Can you suggest a time that would be suitable for you to take me to her?'

For a moment Aimee hesitated, then she replied, 'There'll be no better opportunity than the present, Monsieur Le Colonel, as His Highness is out dining with some gentlemen. But I dare not. I dare not. 'Twould lose me my place.'

Roger first pressed into her now unwilling palm two more gold pieces, then he produced from the top of his breeches a short, sharp knife, and said with a smile, 'Be not afraid. You have been a good friend and I would not harm you for the world. But you can tell your mistress that I threatened to cut your throat with this, if you refused to take me to her.'

The girl gave a sudden half-hysterical laugh, 'Grace Dieu, you are the very devil of a man. I've always thought so, and that you'd stick at nothing to gain your ends. I'll do it then; but first you must swear to me that you will not harm her.'

'No, I mean to do no more than lash her with my tongue for her infidelity to mc.’

Aimee shook her head, 'She has deserved that, and to my mind has made herself a poor bargain. I suppose it means a lot to her to be called "Your Highness," but I wouldn't let her weakling of a Prince share my bed, however much he offered me. Come then, mon Colonel, I'll take you to her; but point your dagger at my back as we go into her room.'

She led him up the broad pillared staircase, across a lofty landing and into a blue and gold boudoir. Pauline was sitting at the far end clothed in filmy draperies. The only light in the room came from a wall bracket holding candles beneath which she was sitting reading.

Turning her head she asked, 'What is it, Aimee?" Then in the dim light she recognized Roger, dropped her book and came to her feet.

At the same moment Roger flashed his knife, so that Pauline caught the glint of steel, and snapped at Aimee, 'You may leave us now. Should you rouse the house I'll seek you out, and I've told you what will happen to you.'

Aimee backed away and swiftly closed the door behind her. Most women in Pauline's situation would have been seized with fear that Roger, having forced his way in, intended to inflict a bloody vengeance on them. But a smile suddenly dawned on her lovely face and she cried, 'Oh, Roje, what a joy it is to sec you."

Taken aback by her greeting, he put up his dagger, frowned and replied, 'I am surprised to hear you say so, after your treatment of me.'

She shrugged, 'You mean my marriage. But you aban­doned me; so you cannot blame me for that.'

'Abandoned you! Nom d'un nom! I've served two months in prison and was ready to serve two more, so that we might be permanently reunited in November. And what do I find? In August, before even your twelve months of mourning were up, you have married another.'

‘I heard only that you had left Paris, and that without a word to me. I assure you that for some weeks I was utterly disconsolate.'

'Did you not get my letter?'

'No; to whom did you give it?'

'To my landlord at La Belle Etoile, for Aimee. I wrote to let you know that Napoleon had as good as promised me your hand, but decreed that I must spend the time of waiting experiencing what the troops go through; so that when I had married you I should be fitted for a post as Governor-General.'

She shrugged. 'I never received your letter. And you must be aware of the duplicity of which Napoleon is capable at times. Clearly he never intended us to marry and adopted these means of getting rid of you. It seems, too, that he had you watched and, somehow, intercepted your letter to me.'

Roger could not believe that cither Maitre Blanchard or Aimee had betrayed him; but the landlord was a busy man, so it was possible that he had given the note to a potman to hand to Aimee and that, before Aimee had come to the inn, some police spy had bought it from the potman.

'Whether or not you received my note,' he cried angrily, 'you could have gone to your brother, enquired my where­abouts and communicated with me.'

Pauline stamped her foot, ‘Roje, you are unjust. You left me stranded and with the impression that you had run away because you were too frightened of Napoleon to ask him for my hand. I am not made to live like a nun and Borghese pressed his suit with all the ardour of an Italian.'

'So you fell in love with him?'

'No, oh no! It was the emeralds he offered me. They are the finest in Europe. I must show them to you. I simply could not resist them. But that bitch Josephine! Would you believe it, she had the walls of a room specially repainted turquoise in which to receive me on the first occasion that she knew I would wear them on going to Court. The colour killed that of the stones utterly. I was so furious that I could have scratched her eyes out.'

Roger sighed. What was he to do with this magnificently-beautiful but utterly inconsequent creature? After a moment he asked, 'And Borghese. What sort of a husband does he make?'

'Oh, terrible! I've been an utter fool. I don't think he is attracted by men, but he is practically a neuter. I am as starved of love as when we first met in Bordeaux.'

Suddenly she advanced on Roger and threw her arms round his neck. As he felt her warm, thinly clad body pressed against his own he was conscious of a swift upsurge of passion and clasped her to him.

With a low laugh she murmured in his car, 'Borghese will not be back for hours yet; and when he does return it is certain that he'll go straight to his own room. Oh Roj6, how good it is to feel your strong arms about me again. I want you. Roje. I want you desperately.'

Two minutes later he was in her bedroom with the door locked behind them.

In the early hours of the morning Aimec smuggled him downstairs and out into the street through a door in the gar­den wall that led into the Champs Elysees.

That day Roger lay long abed contemplating his position with very mixed feelings. All prospect of marrying Pauline was now gone, and with it that of some well-endowed post as a member of the Bonaparte family. On consideration he decided that the latter was more to be regretted than the former. He had never been afraid of work or of taking responsibility, so he would have enjoyed using his’ talents as the Viceroy of some French-dominated territory; whereas Pauline's light-mindedness and instability of character might have caused him many irritations if he had married her; and she was now, once again, his mistress.

It was as clear as crystal that she had married the Roman Prince only for his title, his family jewels and because he was so rich she could indulge to her heart's content in every kind of extravagance.

She had told Roger that, on the rare occasions Borghese did come to her, it was always before midnight; so at that hour Aimee could safely let Roger in by the door in the garden wall and bring him to her. If at any time there was a risk of his being caught in her room, he could go out on to the balcony and clamber down into the garden. With his happy memories of their tour through Navarre and Provence, and stay at St. Maxime, this opened a prospect that half the men in France would have envied him. But there was another side to his return to Paris which was far from being so satisfactory.

Napoleon had evidently never had the least intention of letting him marry Pauline and, instead of saying so frankly, had used his guile both to break up the affaire and to prevent it from developing into a scandal. No doubt his ambition had been gratified by his sister marrying a millionaire Prince and he had derived considerable amusement at having rid himself of his troublesome A.D.C. in a way that should teach him not to be presumptuous. But what was he going to say when he learned not only that Roger had returned to Paris but had also, as his police would soon find out, again become Pauline's lover? Added to which there was the most unpleasant fact that by this time Davoust would have had 'Lieutenant' Breuc posted as absent without leave.

After much thought, Roger dressed in civilian clothes, called a sedan chair and had himself carried round to the Rue du Bec. Having waited for well over an hour in an ante­room, he was received by Talleyrand. Gracious as ever, the Minister rose from his big desk, extended a perfectly mani­cured hand and said:

'Cher ami, you must forgive me for keeping you waiting but, try as I will, I simply cannot avoid sometimes having to attend to affairs of State. Where have you been all this time, and why are you not wearing your beautiful uniform?'

Sitting down in a gilt Louis Quinze elbow chair, Roger crossed his long legs, gave a rueful smile and replied, 'The First Consul decided that I should be taught the rudiments of soldiering, so sent me to Davoust's school for young officers at Bruges.'

Talleyrand raised his eyebrows, 'So that is where you were. Not a very pleasant experience, I imagine. But I did hear a rumour that he had sent you out of Paris because he was annoyed by your attentions to a certain lady.'

Roger grinned, 'So you know about that. I might have guessed it.'

'The lady happens to be one of a dozen or so about whose—er—activities I find it useful to keep myself informed. Her marriage must, I fear, have been something of a blow to you. But she was so set on it that she refused even to wait until her period of mourning was over; and Napoleon, fancying himself as the brother-in-law of a Prince, was persuaded to give way to her.'

'Well, it is a fait accompli; and on account of it I've landed myself in a fine mess. When I learned of her marriage I was so infuriated that I took horse and rode straight to Paris; so I am a deserter or, at least, absent without leave.'

'The devil you are! That is no laughing matter. What stupid things we do on account of women. Really there are times when I feel it would be wiser to become a Trappist monk and be done with them for good. But I simply could not live without these silly creatures.'

'Nor I,' Roger agreed. 'Of course, what I ought to have done was to write to Napoleon and say that now the cause for his sending me out of Paris was removed, would he give me leave to return here? As things are, when he is informed by that awful man Davoust that I've deserted he will be furious.'

'You must sec him and endeavour to put yourself right with him before he hears from Davoust.'

'I should have done so yesterday but I missed my chance. As he charged Davoust in a personal letter to put me through the mill, I count it certain that by this morning a despatch from the General reporting my disappearance will have reached him. If I present myself, the odds are that his Cap­tain of the Guard already has an order to arrest me and send me back to Bruges.'

'That would mean a court martial and your complete ruin. Your only chance is somehow to persuade Napoleon to sec you, complain of his harsh treatment of you, declare that he has punished you enough, and plead your past services to induce him to call off Davoust.'

'I entirely agree. And that is why I am here. Would it be asking too much that you should speak to him on my behalf and induce him to give me a hearing?'

Talleyrand considered for a moment, 'Out of friendship alone I will do that; and in any case I consider you too valuable a man to be deprived for good of a place near him, if that can be prevented. I think, too, that you had best send for some things and remain here for the night. If Davoust's courier has arrived in Paris this morning, an order for your arrest may already have been issued. If so, the odds are that the Provost Marshal will go straight to La Belle Etoile as the first place to look for you. I will take you with me to the Tuileries tomorrow. But, should Napoleon consent to see you, I would not count on his restoring you to his good graces. Desertion is a crime that you may be sure he will not look upon leniently.'

Roger made a grimace, 'I know it; but if I can see him at least I will have some chance of mitigating his anger.' He then thanked his friend most gratefully for the help he had promised to give him and, a few minutes later, Talleyrand sent for his steward to tell him that Roger would be staying there that night.

That evening the Foreign Minister had first to attend a reception then a ball; so Roger dined alone and spent the time browsing through some of the beautifully-bound books in the library. Next morning there was a breakfast for eight at which many of the topics of the day were eagerly debated; but Roger's mind was so taken up with wondering whether he would be free or a prisoner by dinner time that, though he smiled automatically at the witticisms uttered by the others, he hardly took in what they were talking about

At midday he accompanied Talleyrand in his coach to the Tuileries. In Napoleon's antechamber there was the usual crowd of Ministers, Generals and functionaries waiting to be received in audience. Several of them smiled at Roger and asked him where he had been. Anxious to avoid being drawn into conversation, he only returned their bows and replied that he had just come back from the coast.

The twenty-minute wait seemed to him interminable; but at last an usher, with a list in his hand, called out Talleyrand's name. Roger had expected the Minister to go in and plead his cause while he went through another ten minutes or more of agonizing suspense. But Talleyrand transferred his cane to his other hand, smiled at him and said, 'Mon cher Colonel, be kind enough to give me your arm.' And next minute they were walking towards the great double doors.

Instantly Roger realized how skilfully the great diplomat was handling this difficult situation. If Napoleon was in one of his black moods the very mention of Roger's name might result in a peremptory refusal to see him, and lead to an order for his immediate arrest; but he was not going to be given a chance to refuse. For at least a moment Roger would be face to face with him—but, possibly, only for a moment.

The big doors were thrown open. There fell a sudden silence in the ante-room. In a loud voice the usher announced, 'Monsieur de Talleyrand-Perigord, Minister of State for Foreign Affairs,' then his mouth opened again to call out Roger's name; but with a swift, imperious gesture Talleyrand motioned him to silence.

Napoleon was standing with his hands clasped behind his back looking out of a window. The doors closed with a gentle swish. In his beautifully-modulated voice, Talleyrand said:

'First Consul, I am fortunate this morning. I bring you an old friend of ours whom I chanced to see outside the Palace on the bank of the Seine. He told me that he was in such despair that he intended to throw himself into the river. Knowing that his loss would grieve you deeply I insisted that he should give you the opportunity of restoring his faith in humanity.'

At Talleyrand's first words Napoleon had swung round. He stared at Roger for a moment then opened his mouth to speak, but before he could do so the Minister added smoothly, 'Colonel Breuc has refused to confide his troubles to me, so it would embarrass him if I remained. My business can wait until you have comforted him.' He already had a hand behind him on the door knob. Giving it a twist and a quick push, he bowed himself backwards out of the room.

It was a brilliant demarche and Roger took swift advan­tage of it. Looking angrily at Napoleon he asked in a bitter voice, 'Seeing the way you have treated me since last we met, can you be surprised that I was about to take my life?'

'Psst!' Napoleon made an angry gesture. 'What nonsense! Surely you did not expect that I meant to give you my sister?'

'You led me to suppose so. Then having got rid of me, pushed her into marrying this Italian Prince. What a way to behave!'

'I did nothing of the sort! I even tried to dissuade her from marrying him until the end of the year. But she forced me to give my consent by telling me that the ardour of this Italian had led to her letting him get her with child.'

Roger suppressed a gasp; for if Pauline had been in the family way it must have been he who was responsible. But she had made no mention of that, so had evidently since got herself out of that trouble. After a moment he said:

'Nevertheless you gave your consent to her marriage, and so spoiled for good our chances of happiness. And you prepared the way most skilfully, leading her to believe that I had deserted her by stealing the letter I wrote her after I last saw you.'

'Letter! What letter! I have more important things to do than steal other people's billets doux!'

'Your police intercepted it. They must have, as it never reached her. You'll not deny that you set them to spy on me and make certain I left Paris.'

'Of course. I gave orders that in no circumstances were you to be allowed to enter the Hotel de Charost. Had you openly appeared there to take leave of Pauline it would have been certain to end in a lovers' parting that would have set the servants' tongues wagging. You might even have declared yourself her fiance. I should have been mad not to take pre­cautions against your doing something of the kind.'

'I might have. I loved her desperately, and had the right to. But out of respect for you, I refrained. And what was my reward for behaving honourably towards you? You had me reduced to the rank of Lieutenant and put through a more brutal course of training than is inflicted on any raw, rebel­lious conscript.'

Napoleon gave a short, harsh laugh, 'That was no more than you deserved for holding your head too high. And it is still too high! I'll not have you attempt to browbeat me in tin's fashion. Such leave as General Davoust gave you is cancelled from this minute. You will return to Bruges immediately.'

'Have you not then received a despatch from the General this morning?' Roger asked with a pale smile.

'No. Why should I have? What had he urgent to com­municate to me?'

'Only that I never asked for leave, but had simply taken it.'

'What!' Napoleon's eyes grew black with anger. 'D'you mean you actually dared to leave Bruges without permis­sion?'

Roger's dark blue eyes blazed back into those of his master, 'Dare!' he cried. 'Surely you know mc well enough to realize that having risked my life for you a dozen times I'd not hesitate to dare anything on my own account? On learning of Pauline's marriage I took horse at once for Paris. And how can you blame me? Since you'd gained your end and married her off to this Italian, how could it longer serve you to keep me in slavery at Bruges? Naturally, I returned expecting you to reinstate me; but this morning I was seized with a morbid fit and decided that you were a master not worth serving, so I would make an end of myself.'

'Do you realize that you have laid yourself open to a court martial?'

'Of course. But whatever you may do to mc, I now have at least the consolation of knowing that Pauline still loves me.' 'And how do you know that?'

'Because on arriving in Paris I at once sought an explana­tion with her, and we spent last night together.'

'You . . . you!' Napoleon stammered, his eyes bulging. 'You actually had the audacity to ... to... '

'Why not? She loves me, and I had the right to.'

'Mon Dieu, your insolence knows no bounds. I'll have you court martiallcd for desertion and that will be the end of you.'

'Do, if it pleases you,' Roger sneered. 'First you plan to wreck the happiness of your favourite sister and a man who would have made her an excellent husband, then you decide to ruin the career of one of your most faithful servants. People will not think so well of you when they learn how you have treated your poor brother-in-law.'

'Brother . . . brother-in-law,' Napoleon stared at him. 'What the devil do you mean?'

Roger shrugged, 'You will admit that when faced with an unexpected situation you are apt to be hasty in your judg­ments?'

'What of it?'

'Well; when Pauline and I returned from our little, er—journey, we thought it wiser not to spring it upon you, but to ask your consent to our marriage and go through an­other ceremony later here in Paris.'

'Another ceremony 1' Napoleon gasped, having gone white to the lips.

'Yes. Of course we were commendably discreet and pur­posely selected the Mayor of a tiny Commune to marry us, so that news of it should not get about.'

'I... I don't believe it.'

Again Roger shrugged. 'You have only to tell that idiot Savary, whom you have made Chief of Police, to send one of his agents down to St. Maxime. He will then report to you that for a month Pauline lived with mc openly at my chateau as Madame Breuc. Somewhat to our embarrassment the vil­lagers, headed by the Mayor and Cure, came to present us with an address of welcome. Of course they did not know Pauline was whom she was; but they soon will if you start to stir up trouble.’

'But... but this means that Pauline's marriage to Prince Borghese is null and void. She has committed bigamy.'

Now really beginning to enjoy himself, Roger nodded, 'I fear that is the case. Unfortunately Pauline is not gifted with your brains. Greatly as I adore her one must admit that she takes life very lightly. Owing to your machinations she thought that I had gone out of her life for good, and I had great difficulty last night in convincing her that by her hasty marriage to Borghese she had committed a form of crime. Of course, in the bad old days of the Revolution it would not have been of much consequence and you could somehow have wriggled her out of it. But I fear you have cooked your own goose by arranging the Concordat with Rome. The Pope would have given you a dispensation for her before she married again, but he cannot do that afterwards. So if I claim my wife publicly, as I now feel inclined to, there seems little that you can do about it, and poor Pauline will have to pay for her stupidity by burying herself with me somewhere in the country.'

'You ... you devil!' Napoleon stormed, froth beginning to appear on his lips. 'But there is a remedy for this. I'll have you taken in a closed carriage to Vincennes and thrown into a dungeon. There you may talk as you will; the gaolers will suppose you only to be a madman.'

'And what of the glorious Revolution?' Roger gave a bitter laugh. 'Do I see in you another Louis XV about to sign a lettre de cachet? How unfortunate for you that the mob pulled down the Bastille in '89; so that you cannot follow tradition fully and send me to it.'

'Vincenncs will serve well enough,' gasped Napoleon.

'To hold me prisoner,' Roger sneered, 'but not to ensure your peace of mind. How can you suppose that I did not resent the treatment meted out to me at Bruges on your orders? I spent this morning writing letters to men, several of whom are your worst enemies, telling the truth about myself and Pauline. I have made arrangements that should I not be reinstated on your personal staff within a week, those letters are to be despatched to their destinations, which include the Russian, Prussian and Austrian Ambassadors, and His Holiness the Pope. Now, arrest me if you dare!'

The froth from Napoleon's mouth dribbled down his chin. His eyes bulged, he gulped for air. Suddenly he lurched forward.

He would have measured his length on the floor had not Roger caught him just in time. Lifting his rigid body into a chair, Roger stepped back a pace and stared at him in near panic. He felt sure that his master's intense rage had resulted in an epileptic fit. The clenched teeth, open, turned-up eyes and purple face were all evidence of it. But what to do?

His immediate impulse was to call for help. But that would bring the crowd in the anteroom streaming in, and all France getting to know that the First Consul was an epileptic. On the other hand, to remain there alone with him could have appalling consequences. If, in the next few moments, he died Roger would be held responsible for his death. The quarrel between them was certain to come to light, then public indignation would demand a trial and an execution. But to prevent his weakness from becoming generally known would be a sure way to earn his gratitude. Taking one of the biggest gambles of his life, Roger sloshed some water from a carafe into a glass and threw it in Napoleon's face, then slapped him hard.

After a few moments Napoleon's limbs began to jerk, his features lost their rigidity and he struggled into a sitting position in the chair. Regarding him anxiously, Roger asked, 'Shall I send for your doctor?'

Feebly the stricken man shook his head, 'No, no! You... you did right to restore me yourself. No one must know that I... I occasionally suffer from these fits.'

For a full minute they remained silent, then Napoleon drew a long breath and said, 'Breuc, I have treated you ill. I admit it. For me to give you Pauline was too much to ask. But... but you have proved that you can be a terrible enemy as well as a good friend. That we have been at loggerheads is as much your fault as mine. You should have told me of this secret marriage. I love my sister, so I would go to great lengths to protect her from the results of her folly. For her to be adjudged a bigamist would be a terrible thing. Can I rely on you to keep this secret?'

Roger nodded, 'Yes, mon General. For I love her too. And what is done is done. There'd be no sense in bringing grief to all of us on account of it.'

'Then you may resume your place here as one of my A.D.Cs and, well... I'll think of some way of compensating you for what you went through at Bruges.’

'It has done me no harm and I have learned now what your soldiers suffer when on a campaign; so I need no compensation other than one thing.' 'What is it?'

'That you will not allow your police to interfere between myself and Pauline. We love one another, and we have already arranged a way in which we can assuage our desire to be together without Borghese coming to know of it.'

'Very well then. I gather that in spite of the Prince's fine appearance he is little good to a woman; so it's certain that if it were not you Pauline would soon take some other lover. Since you have proved yourself to be discreet, I'd as lief it was you than some new fancy of hers who might prove boastful and make trouble between her and her husband.'

For the first time during their interview Roger smiled with real pleasure. He had lied like a trooper about his having married Pauline; but their having lived at St. Maximc for a month as man and wife provided a sound basis for his story. He intended to tell Pauline that, should Napoleon question her about her marriage, she was to tell him that she had forgotten the name of the little Commune in which the ceremony was supposed to have taken place; so he thought it most unlikely that his lie would ever be found out.

Napoleon came unsteadily to his feet, extended his hand and said, 'Then let us regard bygones as bygones.'

Roger took it and replied, 'Mon General, I thank you. You know well that at any time I would cheerfully die for you.'

Returning his smile, Napoleon lifted his hand in the familiar gesture as though to pull Roger's ear; then it dropped to his side and he said wearily, 'Yes. I believe you would. Go now. I do not feel equal to receiving anyone else this morning. Tell all those people outside that I have just received a despatch that needs my immediate consideration, and get rid of them.'

As Roger was not in uniform he did not salute. Drawing himself up, he cried, 'Mon General, to hear is to obey.' Then, swinging on his heel, he marched triumphant from the room.

That evening he thanked Talleyrand for his brilliant inter­vention, and when he had told the whole story they laughed together over the way Napoleon had been fooled and black­mailed.

Soon after midnight Roger was outside the gate in the wall of the garden behind the Borghese mansion. Aimee let him in and took him up to her mistress.

After they had been nearly eating one another with voracious kisses he told Pauline about his interview with her terrible brother. At first she was horrified that he should have been told that she had committed bigamy. But Roger pointed out that she could be certain that he would never mention it to anyone; so the lie would go no further. She then held him away from her at arm's length, smiled at him, gave a sigh and said:

‘Roje, what a man you are! What other would have dared first to defy him, then have so skilfully brought him to heel? And he'll not now seek to interfere between us. What a triumph. Oh, I am so proud of you.'

Next day, once more wearing his Colonel's uniform, Roger reported at the Tuileries. Napoleon showed no signs at all of the epileptic fit that had struck him down the day before, and was as usual displaying his dynamic energy in dealing with innumerable problems.

The following week Roger accompanied him on a tour of inspection of several of the seven Army Corps that had been assembled for the invasion of England. They did not go as far north as Hanover, where Bernadotte commanded the First Corps, or Utrecht, where Marmont had the Second, or as far south as Brest, where Augereau was stationed with the Seventh. But at the Headquarters of the Third at Bruges, Roger had the satisfaction of enquiring politely of the sour Davoust whether he had had any deserters shot lately. At Boulogne, Soult had the Fourth Corps and, being a great devotee of music, entertained them to a fine concert. The many times wounded but apparently unkillable Lannes had, the previous year, been packed off as Ambassador to Lisbon, because of the intense irritation he had caused Napoleon by continuing to 'thee' and 'thou' him familiarly—a habit now forbidden to even the oldest friends of the First Consul. But he was too fine a soldier to be left out of the invasion plans, so had been recalled to take command of the Fifth Corps at Calais, where they found him as bluff and foul-mouthed as ever. Red-headed Ney had the Sixth at Montreuil, Murat the Cavalry Corps and Bessieres the Consular Guard.

They also toured long stretches of the Scheldt, Somme and Seine, for in every town and village along their banks—and those of the rivers Elbe and Weser as well—shipwrights brought from all parts of France were labouring night and day building the vast fleet of invasion barges that was to carry the 'Army of the Coast of the Ocean' across the Channel.

On their return to Paris there were other matters to be gone into that had already been put in train earlier that autumn. An American inventor named Fulton, a man of undoubted genius but uncertain sympathies—at one time he claimed that he would 'Deliver France and the world from British oppres­sion' and a little later that Napoleon was 'A wild beast who ought to be hunted down'—had been busying himself on two projects. One was an adaptation of the steam vessel with which Henry Bell had filled all beholders with wonder and terror on the Clyde in 1800. The other was a forerunner of the modern submarine.

Fulton's first paddle steamer had been so ill constructed that during a gale it rid itself of the weight of its engine by breaking in half, but he had since made another that astonished the scientists of the Institute by chugging very slowly down the Seine. The submarine, or 'plunging boat' as it was termed, suffered the disability that, being a sailing vessel, as soon as it disappeared under water it lost all power to move forward. Admittedly it succeeded in discharging a form of torpedo into another small vessel and sinking it, but it certainly would have been blown to pieces before it could have done so had its victim been armed with a cannon.

Napoleon, like most wise military commanders, was extremely chary of changing any main type of armament while his country was at war because, although the new type might be an improvement on the old, the change-over involved great organisational difficulties and the troops had to be trained in handling it before it could be used effectively. So he could not be brought even to consider building a fleet of Fulton's steamboats for the invasion.

By that time his building programme of flat-bottomed barges was well advanced, and during the autumn Roger saw a letter of his to Admiral Gantheaume in which he said that he would soon have one thousand three hundred barges on the northern coast capable of carrying over one hundred thousand men, and another flotilla based on the Dutch ports that would transport a follow-up of a further sixty thousand.

The menace of an invading army of such a size would have made Roger tremble for the safety of his country had he believed that any great part of it would succeed in getting ashore. But Napoleon and his generals knew nothing of the tides, cross-currents and uncertainties of the English Channel, whereas Roger had spent countless days of his boyhood sailing from Lymington on yachts large and small up and down the coast; so he knew a great deal. It was, therefore, his firm opinion that even a moderate choppiness of the sea would make most of the troops in the cumbersome barges terribly seasick, that many of the barges would sink and all be extremely vulnerable to both the guns of the Royal Navy and those of the shore batteries.

During the autumn, whenever Roger was not on duty with his master, or being despatched on brief missions by him, he continued his delightful liaison with the unfailingly amorous Pauline, to the great pleasure and satisfaction of them both.

On several occasions he encountered her husband, Camillo Borghese, when attending receptions at the Tuilerics, the Hotel de Charost and other private mansions, and soon knew all about the Prince. He was twenty-eight and an attractive man with large dark eyes. His estates in Italy were vast, but his education left much to be desired. He spoke French with a heavy accent and was incapable of writing even his own language correctly. Five years earlier, with the enthusiasm of youth for new ideas, he had espoused the Republican cause in Rome. Accepting the doctrine of 'Liberty, Equality and Fraternity' without reserve he had, with other like-minded young nobles, thrown his coat of arms into a public bonfire, wherein Cardinals' hats were already blazing, and danced round it.

These antics had since been discreetly overlooked, and older members of his family had seen to it that he retained his vast possessions. His courtship of Pauline had been warmly approved by her mother, whose natural language and sympathies were Italian; and it was Madame Letizia who had pushed Napoleon into agreeing that Pauline should be allowed to marry Borghese before her twelve months of mourning had expired.

When in society Roger tactfully refrained from paying more attention to Pauline than to the other Bonaparte ladies and, secure in her passionate attachment to him, he could afford to make himself pleasant to the Prince. Meanwhile a furious strife was raging among the members of the Bona­parte family.

The idea had long been canvassed that to protect himself from assassination Napoleon should become an hereditary monarch and thus, having appointed a successor, ensure that his death would not lead to rival factions plunging France into civil war. As Napoleon had no son, all the Bonapartes were already at loggerheads over their claims to become his heir. Joseph, as the eldest, naturally asserted it to be his right. Lucicn, the ex-Robespicrreist, was now more eager to become an heir apparent than any of them and argued that, had it not been for the part he had played during the coup-d'etat of Brumaire, Napoleon would never have become consul at all. The two younger brothers, Louis and Jerome, both put in bids. Then there were the children. Eliza had only a daughter, but both the ambitious Caroline and Pauline had sons. Louis, too, had a boy and Josephine did her utmost to persuade Napoleon to adopt him, because he was her grandson by Hortcnse. Last but not least there was her own son, Eugene dc Beauharnais, who could not altogether be ignored owing to his having become a good soldier and because Napoleon was fonder of him than he was of any of his own brothers.

During the autumn, however, two of the claimants ruled themselves out. Jerome, now aged nineteen, had been put into the Navy and sailed to the West Indies. France, since the Louisiana settlement, having most friendly relations with the United States, young Jerome had had himself landed there and, as the First Consul's brother, been most handsomely received. In Baltimore he had met and married a Miss Elizabeth Patterson.

When Napoleon had learned of this he had become berserk with rage. Pauline having married a Prince had impressed upon him the heights to which he could raise his family now that, in all but title, he was a monarch; so he had intended that Jerome's wife should be nothing less than a Princess, and the wretched boy had spoilt this gratifying prospect by getting himself tied up to the daughter of an American merchant.

The case of Lucien, by far the cleverest but also the most pig-headed and troublesome of Napoleon's brothers, was even more deplorable. An habitual lecher, while Ambassador in Madrid, he had tried but failed to seduce a Spanish Infanta, and had then acquired the beautiful Marquesa de Santa Cruz as his mistress. On his return from Spain, to the fury of his sister Eliza who, after the death of his first wife, had enormously enjoyed acting as hostess for him, he had brought the Marquesa back with him and installed her as chatelaine in a chateau that he had taken just outside Paris.

Napoleon, regarding this as a temporary affaire, made no objection to it and, ever forgiving of the ungrateful way in which his family abused his generosity, endeavoured to make friends again with Lucien, then evolved a fine plan to further his fortunes. The young and incredibly stupid King of the newly created Kingdom of Etruria had died the previous May; why should not Lucien marry the widowed Queen and so become the son-in-law of the King of Spain, which would bind Spain still more firmly to the interests of France?

Meanwhile Lucien had got rid of the Marquesa and acquired a mistress with a most dubious reputation, named Alexandrine Jouberton, the wife of a defaulting stock-jobber, and had installed her in a house in the Rue du Palais Bourbon. Then, at the end of October, when Napoleon approached him about marrying the Queen of Etruria he had calmly revealed that he had already been married for six months to Alexandrine; giving, of all things for such a man, as his reason that he had felt in honour bound to marry her because he had put her in the family way.

Napoleon's anger knew no bounds and he declared that as Jouberton was still alive the marriage could not be legal; but fate was against liim because the defaulting broker had fled to San Domingo and, soon afterwards, it was learned that he had died there of yellow fever. Pleas and threats alike failed to induce Lucien to divorce the undesirable wife he had acquired and, supported by his mother, who always took his side, he declared that he would -have no more to do with his autocratic brother and departed with his wife to live in Italy.

Napoleon, meanwhile, was taking, with the ladies of the theatre, such relaxation as he could snatch from his endless commitments. Little Mademoiselle George, honest, sweet-natured, unambitious, devoted, the perfect companion for a tired man, remained his favourite. But from time to time others were summoned, among them the superb actress Mademoiselle Mars and the pert, mentally agile Therese Bourgoin. The latter he took from his Minister of Finance, Chaptal, who had long kept her, to that elderly gentleman's fury and, not long afterwards, Therese's disgust; because she had given up a rich permanent lover for the mercurial Napoleon who, tiring of her rapacity, soon threw her aside.

The usual procedure was for Constant, Napoleon's valet, to collect these ladies from the theatre at which they were playing and conduct them in a coach, driven by the First Consul's faithful but notoriously drunken coachman, to St. Cloud. There Rustem, Napoleon's Mameluke bodyguard, took over, escorted them to a vast room with a bed in one corner and reported their arrival to his master; after which these delectable young ladies might wait for anything from ten minutes to four hours before being received by their host, according to what other matters might be occupying his immediate attention.

Josephine, of course, knew all about these goings-on and, occasionally, threw jealous scenes during which she wept copiously; but in the main she accepted them with resig­nation, on other nights reading Napoleon to sleep and con­soling herself with his abiding affection for her.

Early in November Roger suffered a severe blow to his self-esteem. On the nights when he was able to visit Pauline in secret, which averaged about twice a week, it had become customary for him to undress in a small closet on the far side of Pauline's boudoir from her bedroom. On this occasion he had spent some two hours with her and returned to the closet to dress. The little room held only a marble basin, in which Aimec always left a covered jug of hot water for him, hooks on which to hang clothes and a shelf holding a few toilet things.

He was just about to blow out the candle and leave the room when he noticed among the scent bottles and powder jars a round pocket mirror. His attention was caught by the elaborate gold cipher on the leather back, and he recog­nized it at once as that which the flamboyant Murat had emblazoned a foot high on the doors of his coaches and carriages.

To come upon the little mirror in that particular place gave Roger furiously to think. But it was possible that on some occasion Pauline, finding that she had neglected to put her mirror in her reticule, had borrowed it from her vain brother-in-law and had forgotten to return it. Picking it up he walked across the boudoir into Pauline's bedroom and, as she sat up in bed for him to kiss her goodnight, he held it out to her and asked:

'How did you come by this pretty thing?'

Smothering a yawn, she replied sleepily, 'Oh, that is Joachim Murat's. He is always looking at himself in it and must have left it on the table in the boudoir when he was taking coffee with me this afternoon.'

By admitting that Murat had been there that day she had given herself away; as there was no lavatory in the closet nor water, except that brought up by Aimee at night in a can. If he had wanted to wash he would have done so downstairs; so he could have used the closet only to undress in.

After a moment, Roger said, 'Drinking coffee was not the only thing you did together, was it? You see, I found this in the closet.'

'Oh dear!' Pauline sighed. 'How very careless of him to leave it there. He... he went in to... to, yes, fetch me some scent.'

'Stop lying!' he told her sharply. 'You keep all the scents you use yourself in your own bathroom. You went to bed with him, didn't you?'

Now wide awake and very flushed, she stammered, 'I.. .well... if you must know the truth, yes.'

'And he your sister's husband!'

'What has that to do with it?' she asked peevishly. 'Caroline goes to bed with lots of men, and would have with Lcclerc if she had had half a chance. Camillo had ridden out to Chantilly to see a race horse he wants to buy; so was out of the way and ... well, Joachim and I just felt like it.'

'I don't doubt he did. I remember hearing Napoleon once say of him, "Apparently Murat has to sleep with a woman every night but any woman does for him". But you! Damn it! And knowing that I was coming to you tonight!'

'Oh, Roje, please don't be unreasonable. How could I refuse an old friend?'

'So this wasn't the first time?'

'No, oh no. The first time was years ago, when I was a girl at Montebello.'

'And how many other old friends have you?' Roger demanded angrily.

Becoming angry too, she snapped at him, 'Since you insist on prying into my affairs, quite a number. And I don't see what you have to complain about.'

'Don't you, indeed! I thought you loved me.'

'But I do. I put you before all others. I let you come to me any night you choose.'

'D'you mean that on the nights I don't, you have other men here?'

'Well, now and then. After all, when you have to go to the coast you are sometimes away for a week or more. You can't expect me not to have a little fun with someone else occasionally.' Suddenly she flung her arms round his neck and burst into tears.

Angry as he was, he could not bring himself to upbraid her further, and she clung to him until he said he would forgive her.

While walking back down the Champs Elysees across the Place de la Concorde, then through the dark, older streets of Paris to La Belle Etoile, he sadly took stock of this new situation. Scandalous stories had come back from San Domingo about Pauline's immoralities while she was there—even that she had participated in orgies and had had a giant negro as a lover. Those he still did not believe, but it was now beyond doubt that she was a nymphomaniac and so unable to control her sexual urges. He then admitted to himself that her attraction for him was solely a physical one, and that his distress was not really because he had a deep love for her but because his pride was hurt. There remained the question of whether he should break off the affaire or continue it knowing that she had other lovers.

Having slept upon it, he decided that since going to bed with her gave him so much pleasure, and he apparently held first place in her affections, to break with her would only be to cut off his nose to spite his face; so during the next week he went to her again on two occasions, both of them tacitly ignoring the scene they had had after her revelation that he was not her only lover.