The TORCHLIGHT Series of Napoleonic Romances I REVOLUTION II LOVE HI AMBITION IV SUCCESS V VICTORY VI TRIUMPH VII GLORY VHI ARROGANCE IX STORM X RETREAT XI DEFEAT XII.. ..THE END E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY The TORCHLIGHT Series of Napoleonic Romances LOVE BY LEONIE AMINOFF NEW YORK E. P. BUTTON & COMPANY 681 FIFTH AVENUE PRESERVATION COPY ADDED ORIGINAL TO BE RETAINED HAY 2 01994 Copyright, 1922, By . P. Button & Company All Rights Reserved PRINTED IK THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. n\ b PROLOGUE LIKE the chorus employed by Mr. Shakespeare to explain his play, maybe it would further our story to return to the back number? Number one the first vol- ume of these Napoleonic romances deals with the Revo- lution. There's Robespierre and Tallien in it; Mme. Tallien as a young girl; also as a girl bride she was barely sixteen when her first child was born, the son of her first husband the Marquis Devin de Fontenay, whom she divorced during the Terror, partly because she was tired of him, partly to shine the lovelier in the eyes of M. Tallien, the zealous patriot of '93, and Governor of Bordeaux. He set up a guillotine in that city and worked it for all he was worth. The divorced wife of red-headed, uninteresting Marquis de Fontenay was his mistress during that bloody reign, and they say she deserved her title of "Our Lady of Mercy" saving a good many aristocrats from death by forging passports and getting them pas- sages on outward-bound vessels. It is satisfactory to chalk up any good thing about the lady, as, truth to tell, her sins very much outweighed her virtues. In this present volume married to Tallien, she is the moving spirit of the Direc- tory, the government which immediately followed the Revolution, in its turn overthrown, 1799, by Napoleon Bonaparte, who, as you know, assumed office (and prac- tically all the power) as First Consul "for life." Josephine, when informed of this new proof of the nation's trust in her general whom she'd married to do her children a good turn did not appreciate it at all. "Oh," she said, "it sounds very dull. I love change." As it happened she had quite sufficient. History is often stranger than fiction. In this first volume of ours which I advise you to read far better 493473 vi LOVE than little tit-bits of information, which can't be either instructive or entertaining we have actually Tallien's mistress, a duchess who slips off into private life, and Bonaparte's future empress all boxed up in the same cell at Les Carmes, waiting every evening to hear their names read on the list of the condemned. We like that piece, though we have written it, we say it is true to life, with just the necessary touch of romance to make it thrilling. Fancy now, Josephine, Terezia and that dear little Ninon who vanishes out of the story like a pretty little senti- ment were actually living, breathing historical women at the time when Robespierre went about in sky-blue clothes, and Napoleon in disgrace, sucking an orange, in the narrow undrained streets of old Paris. ... It is the human touch, after all, which makes us all akin. The book as far as it is written has that merit. Not a word in it introduced for the sake of padding each line is a link in the chain of one man's life. Through the Revolution and the Terror he necessarily played a poor, humble part. To be unknown is a severe penalty on ambition. No doubt Napoleon, having finished his orange, and finding it did not satisfy his appetite, thought very badly of the situa- tion and turned his brain inside out to find a possible loophole of escape. Odd enough to say, Toulon had come out flat. He'd swept the English out to sea, but the Revo- lutionists, after paying him the flimsiest compliment for his military services, not only left him in a corner, but at the first opportunity deprived him of his commission. In this present volume our hero emerges from his obscurity, succeeds even in getting married and learning the foxtrot of the day. We see him at M. Barras' famous parties, where Mme. Tallien launched the new fashions and behaved disgracefully. For one thing she very soon ousted "darling Josephine," as she called the widow Beau- harnais, from the vacillating affections of Barras, who, as the head of the Directory, was the most important man in Paris, when sugar cost eight hundred francs a pound. Mme. Tallien always looked to the main chance. As PROLOGUE vii mistress of Paul Barras and the Luxembourg she reigned for more than a year and a day. On coming out of prison everyone was more or less poor. No doubt it was wise of Josephine to let M. Barras help her in her difficulties. That she did so and paid the price is a fact we have no particular reason to hide. No doubt Napoleon was aware of her "kindness" in that quar- ter, though of course he did not mention it. Besides, any little scandal between them was so very soon squashed by Terezia's sandalled feet. She introduced sandals, bare feet, even great-toe rings/ in ballrooms, and the very scantiest frocks imaginable. A detestable young woman. If you are not up in history we are glad to tell you her vogue vanished with the Directory. In other words, after the third volume of this work you'll hardly meet her. Napoleon could not stand her at any price, though on one occasion he made love to her. His word is law. Nat- urally Mme. Tallien goes. And not a living soul need regret her. That precious Tallien of hers whom, of course, she divorced also retires into the background. New lamps for old lamps? That's the idea. Once married, Bonaparte buckles on his sword and goes to the wars and has no end of a proud time. He was never happy ; but domineering and wise. He creates his own atmosphere. He brings his relations to Paris, and an entirely new set of people. In the interests of the story let us say the principals remain, including the doctor, the landlord, the pawnbroker, the musician and the poet at The Cow. Poor ojd blistered cow. You remember the signpost? centuries old of a creature painted blue washed pale by many a dew with gold spots on her body, poached-egg eyes and a tail literally made of wrought iron twisting cunningly out of the picture, a fair way down, tipped conveniently to support mine host's foggy street lantern. We'll tell you a secret to start off with. Souci is our favorite. Sec- ond to him comes Joseph, the disguised turnkey of Les Carmes, a brave gentleman if ever there was one, and the greatest optimist of his day. BOOK I TORCHLIGHT CHAPTER I MADAME JOSEPHINE DE BEAUHABNAIS took her widow- hood, as M. Joseph had foreseen, quite angel- ically. For the first two or three months after her release from prison, she wore becoming mourning for the late vicomte one of that splendid band of martyrs and whenever she spoke of him which was far more frequently than when he had been alive she invariably referred to him as "poor dear Alexandre." How true it is that death particularly under tragic circumstances improves our worldly position. Her husband's memory was full of tender light to Josephine. Aunt Fanny, the kindest of ladies, understood her niece's attitude and sympathized fully with her regenerated feelings towards the defunct soldier and gentleman, her nephew by marriage. When Josephine came out of prison, Madame Fanny de Beauharnais received her as a mother, in poor circum- stances. Everyone was poor at that time. Everyone had to pinch and screw and hope for better times, with the exception of a few lucky individuals, including M. Paul Barras and mealy-mouthed, triumphant M. Tallien. As we have said, Man-Tallien emerged from the Terror as a frightened duckling from a slimy pond on to a patch of golden sunlit earth, where like a duckling he very quickly recovered, shook the slime off his body and grew, as it were, a complete new set of feathers (principles). One of Josephine's first pious acts was to buy her be- reaved children suitable mementoes of their father, at the 3 LOVE expense of M. B arras. Both Eugene and Hortense had been genuinely attached to their gay, good-looking parent. However, as Josephine said, time would heal the cruel wound inflicted on their young hearts. Hortense got a dignified mourning-brooch, inset with a miniature portrait of the vicomte. Eugene was presented with a new scarf- pin and his father's old sword, which last treasure he valued extremely. "Poor dear children!" their mother would exclaim, "how uncertain is their future. What can I give them?" Madame Josephine, after accepting Aunt Fanny's hos- pitality for a little while on the recommendation of M. Barras removed into a modest apartment, not far off from the Luxembourg. With her small means the widow furnished it delightfully. At the end of the Terror furni- ture was to be had quite cheaply in Paris. All the big houses were empty, a great many demolished, others again robbed of all their contents, from garret to cellar. The streets were full of new people. If you went to the play, probably you would not know a single person in the theatre. There were few carriages in the streets. For obvious reasons all the aristocrats in town lived very quietly. Their reticence quite pained M. Tallien. His heart yearned over the "unfortunates," or rather over a class he and he alone had been able to snatch from perdition. The last year of Terror was going out meekly as a lamb. True spiritual regeneration aside there was much to be done from a practical point of view. The granaries were empty. The exchequers full of worthless paper money. Prices were ruinous. The dirt and confusion in France, thanks to Robespierre's horrid excesses, were truly awful. Each member of the new government was given any amount of new brooms. "Sweep away," said Tallien, enthusias- tically. "Sweep away!" gesticulating as a windmill all eagerness to set everyone a good example. To tell you the truth, it required a stronger brain than M. Paul Barras possessed to know if he was standing on his head or his LOVE 5 heels at this ticklish transition period of French history. He had accepted office as the head of the Convention. Tallien was his right-hand man. Talleyrand was in Amer- ica, or rather, on his way back to France. If his head was safe Talleyrand could always be relied upon to look after his own interests and (if they coincided) the interests of other people. Barras was looking forward to the ex-Bishop's assistance in the delicate task of pleasing all parties, or, if that was impossible, to satisfy the majority. Fouche was another public man to the fore. All moder- ates. All innocent of any participation in Robespierre's devilish schemes. That was to be understood. The lovely Terezia was disappointed at the turn of events. She had expected more of the Dagger Trick. Tallien growing his new feathers struck her as a lamentable object. He was greedy, untruthful, unpleas- ant not a man a woman would go out of her way to marry. The months slipped by and the lovely Terezia gave her lover every cause for impatience we might even say for jealousy. Freedom found her ready for any extravagance. Her admirers were legion. Kisses always agreed with her. She only laughed when Josephine advised moderation. Prudence was totally out of fashion. Solo- mon's teeth ! weren't they all entitled to the best of every- thing, considering what they had gone through? "I'll stop at nothing," said Terezia. "Do you re- member Wednesday's soup at Les Cannes?" Josephine made a face. "Please let me forget it," she said. "All the same, I do consider mourning crepe and red tulle incongruous." "It is a symbol." "What's that?" The ladies were having tea at Bonfreres, the celebrated pastrycook in the rue St. Honore. Josephine was hostess. "Take another cream bun," she said. "I've had three; they are delicious." "Thanks, darling. I must think of my figure." "When are you going to marry Tallien?" 6 LOVE "If only Tallien was a man and not a vile worm, I'd marry him to-morrow. As it is, I can't bring myself to the point." "He'll get on, darling. A clever woman can always shape a husband. A pat here and a pat there, and there you are." The pretty widow sat back in her chair, looking the picture of all the virtues. Terezia reflected. "Dear, dear," she said, "I wish people weren't such beasts. If they hadn't made such a wicked fuss, and mur- dered the poor dear King and Queen, we would have been much better off. Do you know jam has gone up to three hundred francs a pound?" Josephine smiled. "Paul is a darling," she said, some- what irrelevantly. "Anyhow, madam," said Terezia, "he is useful." "Invaluable," said Josephine. "Marriage is all the fashion," said Terezia, pettishly. "You have got to follow my example." Josephine sighed. "That's what all my friends tell me. Find me the man, Terezia. He's got to be young and handsome, ambitious and certain to get on." "There's General Augereau " "Not my sort at all. He's a block of wood." "General Hoche " "How can you contemplate marrying a man who pro- poses by letter?" "You are a horrid little wretch." "I am satisfied with my children." "They don't bother you. True." "What do you mean?" "Nothing. Has Barras got the ballroom in order?" They both laughed. "He is only a dear friend." Terezia rose. "I've five visits to pay, and it is three o'clock. I dine at five." "It was charming of you coming." LOVE 7 "A treat, Josephine. How do you like my new hat?" "It is lovely. A little bit too big, perhaps." "Not an inch. Come along, darling. Don't forget your bag." The ladies rustled out of the shop, leaving a trail of scent behind them. The little tea cost Josephine five hun- dred francs. As we have said, prices were ruinous. Where do people get their money from? We know Josephine's source. Also Terezia's. But those people who weren't in their fortunate circumstances. Or did everyone have a friend with a private account on the public exchequer? Josephine parted with Terezia outside. She got into a cab private carriages were still looked upon as savoring of class and the devil. Madame de Beauharnais preferred to walk. It was only a step to her apartment, she said. On her way she looked in at Henri's celebrated flower- shop, and selected a big bunch of violets and lilies. She took them with her. The order was entered in M. Henri's big ledger. He was particularly polite to his customer. "It is pleasure, citoyewie, to serve you," he said. "You have such perfect taste." He bowed. "Thank you," said Josephine sweetly. From his little diamond-paned window the proprietor of the best flower-shop in Paris in 1794 watched the lady disappear down the crowded thoroughfare. She was a very graceful woman. It was the last week in November, and everything pointed to a brisk winter season. "A nice change," said Henri to himself. "I am sure I wish them the best of good luck." We expect he meant the aristocrats, who last season had been very much out of favor. CHAPTER II A WEEK later, M. Paul Barras paid Josephine de *"*- Beauharnais a visit. He was very kind in coming to see her. She had dressed herself in her prettiest clothes. After five months' widowhood she permitted herse 1 ^ shades of lilac, grey and white. Black was too sad. 'And black and red as she had said to Terezia was vulgar. This afternoon she was looking her very best and was charmingly gay and confident of the future. They were seated in front of the fire Josephine curled up on the hearth-rug, with an elbow on M. Barras' knee. He in the pink velvet chair. The hearth-rug was of white fur. The little drawing-room, scented by lilies and violets, was not over-lighted. In fact, the fire, which burned very clearly, made all the effect it wanted. The shaded lamp on the satin-wood round table in front of the big gilt- framed sofa didn't interfere with it at all. "You are so good to me," she said. "Haven't I assured you a thousand times I'm your debtor?" "Si si," said Josephine. "How nice it is to be warm ! How I have suffered from the cold." "Poor darling!" "We never complained. We made a point of never com- plaining. Even when the rats ran away with our precious soap we made a joke of it." "The past is over." "Is it? Really, really over? Sometimes I wake up in the night and think I am dreaming. I touch my silk counterpane. 'That's not a real bed,' I say- He stopped her by a kiss. 8 LOVE 9 "Josephine, I adore you." "It would not have been real except for your generosity. It was lucky meeting a fairy prince as you stepped out of prison. I wrote to you at once " "And I came round without the loss of a moment." "So you did. And Aunt Fanny gave you tea and told you about my children." "I was not listening." "For shame, sir!" "I was thinking of you, and how sweet you looked " "Thin as a post !" "ana that you had the most wonderful eyes in the world." "To think," she said softly, "if it had not been for you I would have starved. Aunt Fanny's reticule wouldn't have gone round." He laughed. "Of course you would. Those little hands weren't made for work." Josephine jumped up and fetched a bag of colored silks and shook it at him. "Look, sir," she said; "my knitting." She pulled out the heel of a stocking. "I must not tell a story. Clementine helped me with the heel. But I've done nearly all the rest." He caught her hand and kissed it. "You are a wonderful little woman. Don't cry; life is too short for tears." "We are going to live for ever. Oh, poor dear Alex- andre! It does seem hard on him. We did not get on exactly. But I've quite forgotten it." He was silent. She sat down on the rug again. She held her slender hands to the blaze, looking into the fire. "On the whole he was a good husband." M. Barras cleared his throat. To tell you the truth, the charming widow's reminiscences bored him stiff. The late vicomte had never appealed to him. "Crown him, by all means, madam. A dead man is often a hero to his friends." 10 LOVE "Now you are cross. I don't like you when you arc horrid." "I was furiously jealous of your late husband." Josephine turned round and gave him a look, quite a tender one. She smiled with her mouth closed, or nearly so. A trick ladies learn who have no teeth to disclose. Her teeth were, as you know, her little purgatory. Most of them had by this time fallen out. Dentistry a hundred years ago was in its infancy. Ladies who lost their teeth went without. . . . Napoleon did not mind. "I have not known you for all these months without finding out when you are angry," she said, nodding her head. "I am really rather clever. I'll forgive you this time." "Amiable gentleman, I regret I did not know him better." "You would have been great friends." "Under the circumstances I doubt it." "If he had lived they would not have existed. Alexandre would have provided for his wife and children." "God rest his soul !" "Are you staying to dinner?" said Josephine, wisely changing the subject. "I'd love to. But I am up to my ears in work." "Poor darling. That is why you are looking worried. Pass it over to Tallien." "He is the man who causes the work." "Oh!" "I have to tone down his policy. He'll rant about everything, knowing nothing of the situation." B arras slapped his gloves against his knees. "I'd like to murder him." "The savior of France! Never forget he saved my life." "No, he didn't. Pure chance." "Nothing pure about it! Another day and we would have died, or gone mad." "Don't think about it, my little one. You are safe." She put her hand in his. "It is like a dream," she LOVE 11 whispered. "Just you and I, and the wicked world out- side." "I never want to leave you," he said. Her soft dress was of dove-grey silk. An amber comb shone in her auburn hair, and round her slender neck she wore a curious filigree necklace of gold and hammered silver, which seemed to emphasize her thinness. Her deli- cate bust was ungirdled, and fell and rose with each breath. At the foot of her petticoat dangled a little sachet filled with her favorite violet perfume. Her shoes were of grey satin, with silk stockings to match. "You always have a moment to spare for little Josephine." "Even when she is naughty and extravagant." "Sir, I'm not extravagant! Everything is so fright- fully dear, except furniture." She pointed to a magnificent Louis XIV bureau standing in one corner of her pretty, though rather overcrowded sitting-room. "Fancy, I got it for a franc." "A silver franc is a good deal of money in these times." "As to your assignats I hate them." She leaned forward and drew a bundle of notes from her silk bag and flung them into the fire. "They are absolutely worthless," she exclaimed. "Yes- terday a cabman charged me for an hour's drive a thousand francs. I've got to pay a hundred francs for a pound of candles, and eighty francs for a pound of starch. And gloves what do gloves cost?" "You threw at least six pairs into the fire just now." "How stupid of me !" she cried. "I am so sorry. For- give me." He rose to his feet, a fine, imposing gentleman with a twinkle in his deep-set eyes dressed in the height of the ornate fashion of the day. He might have been forty or less. His thick dark hair was touched with grey at the temples. He was clean-shaven except for a small moustache which barely hid his sensuous mouth the 12 LOVE mouth of a man who does not stand on ceremony and who is fond of life. His skin was sallow, save for a red flush on his forehead. He had strong, white teeth. As the nominal head of the Convention, M. Barras had at this time every need of his well-known courage and tact. In the intimacy of his private life M. Barras cheer- fully forgot the dismal profession of politics. He acknowledged to himself that he was master of as ugly a crew as ever sailed on unknown seas. He couldn't see a handsbreadth in front of him. So he conveniently shut his eyes, made love to the charming widow Beauharnais, and let his easily if somewhat dubiously amassed wealth flow through his fingers. Even at the worst stage of the Revolution he had kept open house. After the fall of Robespierre he immediately set the social wheel revolving. At the Luxembourg palace he entertained on a princely scale when bread was thirty francs a loaf which speaks volumes for his financial genius if not for his statesmanship. His only rival in the art of entertainment was apparently ce Tallien. Tal- lien's was not a generous nature. The two men were utterly and radically different. Barras was a gentleman by birth and education. To be exact, a vain and pompous gentleman. In his younger days he had had many adven- tures. He had sailed the high seas, some say on a pirate ship. He had ventured his life no, with his no doubt highly-colored past we have nothing to do. Josephine still kneeling on the hearthrug looked up at her tall friend with a sweetly contrite expression. "What am I to do?" she asked. "Accept your punishment." He bent down and kissed her soundly. As in duty bound she defended herself (weakly), played a good deal with her fascinating eyes, and at length turned round and buried her face in a convenient fender- stool (covered with vieux-bleu velvet). "You are such a blessing," she murmured. "Pshaw I" he said. "Gratitude is the last thing I want." LOVE 13 She thought a moment and looked up at him critically. "I wonder they didn't guillotine you." "I was born under a lucky star, madam." Again she shook her head. "I suppose I am stupid. I don't believe in that kind of thing. Terezia tells me Gen- eral Bonaparte accepts his present poverty because he believes in his own fortunate destiny. Are you all mad?" "More or less," he smiled. "A man in love is never sane." "Is the little general in love?" "I believe he has proposed to his grandmother " "Grandmother?" "In years, you know. However, the worthy Madame Permon has refused him." "The idea! He must be a droll person." "A good marriage would help him on in the world. He is rather in difficulties just at present." "Why don't you assist him?" "I do all I can. He is an exceptionally clever man." "I don't like exceptionally clever people." Barras laughed loudly. "That is one for me," he said. "Have you ever met him?" "Who? This terrifying Corsican? Never." "You will see him at my house next Tuesday." "He does not interest me in the least. Darling I only love one man in the whole wide world." For the next half-hour or so they were happily engaged by strictly personal matters. There was scarcely room for two in the pink velvet armchair, snugly drawn up to the fireside, so presently Josephine accepted a seat on M. Barras' knee. She declared she felt so safe in his arms. She laid her head on his shoulder and shut her eyes. "You will always love me?" "Always." "Until Never for ever?" She played with his hair and patted his face. "You have great responsibilities, sir," she said. 14 LOVE "I have you," he admitted. "Yes. Times are un- certain." "I don't mind as long as we have nice parties." "My modest little Tuesdays " "Your balls will be heavenly, of course. But there is only one Tuesday in every week," she sighed. "We are just starting. By-and-by you'll be longing for the country." "Never! I have had enough of dullness to last my life." "I thought you were fond of the country." "So I am. I was only joking. I intend, sir, to have a beautiful estate with the best gardens in France, some- where in the neighborhood of Paris. You'll see, it will be a lovely house. I arranged it all in prison. One room will be all in yellow; another in green. And there'll be a long south terrace prettily set out with garden furni- ture, and bordered with fabulous roses. I was born in the south. Flowers and dreams belong to each other. They are inseparable." "Am I in the picture, Josephine?" "But of course," she said sedately; "you have got to give me the house. Or if you won't, someone else must." They talked of the Talliens. Josephine said she con- sidered it very indiscreet of her friend to postpone her marriage, allowing at the same time that she understood her hesitation. "In her place I'd do the same. He may be a hero," she said. "But he has got awful hands. Objectionable hands. And there is too much of his smile." "A fox." "Is he? But she must marry him. She said so herself. Society demands certain regulations." M. Barras laughed. "Don't trouble your dear little head about her," he said. "She doesn't interest me in the least." Josephine hid her face on his breast. "Oh, dearest," *aid, "I pity you." LOVE 15 He stroked her shining hair. "What is the secret?" he asked. "Terezia had the enormous impertinence to tell me that she admired you immensely, and that she intended, tout simplement, taking you up. 'It will be perfectly easy,' she said. 'He is the kind of man who loses his head at once/ " Barras laughed constrainedly, meeting Josephine's merry glance rather awkwardly. "The good-for-nothing baggage! Madame, take my advice and leave the future Madame Tallien ^severely alone." Josephine wriggled. "I can't afford it. I have so few friends in Paris. Terezia can be very nice." He wrapped her passionately in his strong arms. "What odd creatures you women are," he said. "You never keep to the same thing for one moment. Yet you are adorable." "Yes, of course," returned Josephine, simply. (She was entirely convinced of her rightful position in this world.) She sighed contentedly; they were both silent, until an involuntary shiver on her side made Barras exclaim anxiously, "You are not ill?" "Oh, no," said Josephine placidly, "I have never felt better in all my life. Feel my hands aren't they nice and warm?" "You are not accustomed to our climate." "It is atrocious. Was there ever such a winter? It is not yet Christmas and already the Seine is frozen ugh !" She turned and faced the blaze. "How the poor must suffer!" "I'll tell you a piece of news " Josephine slipped off her lover's knees. "No, no," she interrupted. "I am sick of news ! I know the royalists have been pardoned, and that there is a talk of reinstating the monarchy " "Come back ; I want you." "Hush! There is someone at the door." Barras sprang to his feet. 16 LOVE "Come in," said Josephine. "The devil " "Do I disturb you, my dear? It was such a fine after- noon, I ventured on a walk." "Not at all. Delighted to see you, ma tante. I think you know M. Barras?" "We are old friends," smiled Aunt Fanny, kissing her niece and extending a very thin hand to M. Barras. Josephine led the old lady to the seat of honor on the sofa. "Not too near the fire. I must think of my complexion." "You look as pink-and-white as a girl," said Madame de Beauharnais. "You must agree with me, monsieur?" Barras bowed stiffly. "Are you comfortable?" asked Josephine, slipping a cushion behind her back. "Perfectly." Aunt Fanny, with a dainty gesture, drew out a large pocket-handkerchief from her reticule. "My dear," she said. "The Talliens are married." "Married! Where? When?" "Last Thursday." "How delightful ! Now I can account for Tuesday and Wednesday. Terezia's parties are sure to be good." "I hope they will be happy," said Madame de Beau- harnais, blowing her nose. "Dear Aunt Fanny, you are always so kind." "And so well informed," said M. Barras drily. CHAPTER III MADAME FANNY DE BEAUHARNAIS was Josephine's aunt by marriage. With flying colors the redoubtable lady had not only survived the horrors of the Revolution, but she had also managed to evade imprisonment; which was a mystery to her large circle of acquaintances. The fact remained, that while her friends suffered, she retained her freedom, her dignity and her vanity. She was in those days that rara avis an authoress a woman who had produced both novels and poems, without meeting with any marked success or failure. She took her vocation with great seriousness and continued, year after year, to publish some book or other. "Needless to say, such a talented lady took a lively interest in the members of her own family. Her relatives never ceased to dread her inquisitiveness and to respect her knowledge. By common consent there was nothing Aunt Fanny did not know! She was certainly an amusing woman and an inveterate gossip. A morsel of scandal invariably made her seek her voluminous shawl, her furred bonnet, her silver-crooked walking-stick and hurry out of doors. She would in the happiest frame of mind continue her house-to-house visita- tion, exhorting her friends to secrecy for the sheer joy of being the first in the field to impart some particularly choice piece of news. Josephine felt convinced that her aunt had been flying round Paris since noon. The actual celebration of the long-deferred Tallien marriage was an event in the social world. ... So like Terezia to spring a surprise on her friends. Anyone else would have had a proper wedding. . . . True, there were reasons against festivities on a large 17 18 LOVE scale. Does a divorced woman wear white satin and orange-blossoms on the occasion of her re-marriage? Josephine was not at all sure. While Aunt Fanny was complimenting M. Barras on some creditable speech (she followed the political events of the day with great interest), her niece let her gentle eyes wander round her charming drawing-room. It was a well-furnished little flat of five rooms. Through a vista of intervening apartments, she saw in the end room of all her great bed, upholstered in green silk and lavishly carved and gilt. She knew it contained no less than five down pillows and that under the lace counterpane there Itay a stitched silk quilt of incredible softness and warmth. . . . All this in exchange for Les Carmes, at the price of a little complacency and the generosity of a rich man. . . . And such a nice, kind man. . . . She glanced at Barras with affection. What a pity she could not love him ! On the whole, perhaps it was just as well. This was only an interlude in her life a little affair, conducted on very respectable lines. She could trust him not to compromise her reputation. She wondered if, on the whole, she would have the heart to marry again. Would it not be best to content herself with her widowhood and the education of her children? She sighed. Somehow the future on these extremely prosaic lines lacked attractiveness. Josephine loved romance. She had even read her aunt's novels, and wondered who had written them. (There was a report circulating in the literary circles that Aunt Fanny's authorship depended on the good-will of a certain gifted but irresponsible poet.) From M. Barras' finely-cut profile, Josephine looked at her aunt's wonderful face, which still showed the remains of good looks in an extremely renovated condition. Her wig was elaborately powdered and worn a la Marie Antoinette, adorned with a wreath of pink roses posed coquettishly on the left side poor paper roses, they were LOVE 19 frankly faded and crumpled. Aunt Fanny was excessively careful in her expenditure. Her thin cheeks were daubed with indiscriminate quan- tities of blanc-de-perle and geranium rouge. By nature meagrely furnished with eyebrows, the enterprising lady had boldly resorted to the blackest dye and the most elab- orate curves art had ever conceived. Her eyes, though sunken, still gleamed brightly. Her very red lips were generously proportioned. Aunt Fanny always deplored her niece Josephine's tiny mouth as denoting a certain weakness of character. She had already prophesied for her an unenviable destiny, which ended somewhere in the vicinity of a pauper's grave. "Depend on it," she would say, "such extravagance will inevitably prove your ruin poor child!" Josephine always took moral lectures with admirable good temper, listened sweetly and promised to amend her ways without in the least altering her conduct. Madame Fanny Beauharnais was attired in an old-fash- ioned voluminous silk dress, draped over an immense hoop. Her slender waist (of which she was inordinately proud) was tightly corseted. Report had it that she slept in her iron stays which may or may not have accounted for the sulphur tint of her shrivelled bust but which certainly pushed her figure out of all proportion. Her bony, thin fingers were loaded with cheap jewelry. Her neck was partly hidden under a garnet necklace of fine workmanship, set with seed-pearls and filigree gold. Under her chin she wore a ribbon of turquoise-blue silk. "What are you doing, Josephine?" "I am going to order you some of your favorite milled wine." "Dear child, how thoughtful you are. I have got a charming niece, M. Barras." "A niece to be proud of," he admitted, looking after Madame de Beauharnais' graceful figure as she disappeared into the dining-room. "Her future lies on my conscience, sir." 20 LOVE "An unnecessary trouble, madam." "You mean she'll get on in the world?" "Exactly." "She is not in her first youth, and she has got to look after a couple of very high-spirited children, at present being educated at their respective schools." Barras smiled. "I'll find her a suitable husband." "Sir, he will have to be strict." "I'll see to that, madam." "A reliable gentleman of a good family if you please." "Naturally." "In these days one can't be too careful about possible connections." (She looked at him with her head on one side.) "Of course." "I have an extremely high opinion of your intelligence, M. Barras." She raised her mittened hand with an arch gesture. "As far as I can see, you honor my niece with a good deal of your attention. She is attractive, sir." "Extremely so, madam." "And some say she is very pretty." "She is lovely." "Why don't you marry her yourself? From every point of view the alliance would be suitable. You are not too young ; you have a good position, and have hitherto evinced an enviable firmness of character. If a man can success- fully stand at the head of the Convention, it follows that he could with equal success cope with a foolish woman. I admit that Josephine has her good qualities, but she is hopelessly extravagant and impressionable." "You honor me greatly, madam," said M. Barras, feel- ing very embarrassed. This solution of the problem of Josephine's future had never entered his mind. She was charming, undeniably charming but . . . besides- On the whole he preferred his freedom. "Surely, madam, you know that I am a married man?" "Sir! A thousand pardons. I thought the lady dead years ago." LOVE 21 "To Paris, madam, only Paris." Considering all his manifold duties and anxieties this was not the time to enter upon a second marriage. He knew that Madame Josephine would be the very first per- son to agree with him. She also preferred, as it were, to take things easily. She was a dear little, sensible soul and who cared a straw if it amused her to throw bank- notes in the fire? "Life is mysterious," said Madame Fanny in her deepest voice. "Very," agreed Barras politely. "Sir, we have all our duties to perform." "Dear madam you, with your great abilities " 0h, sir " "Can understand that a man, a lonely man in my posi- tion, appreciates a woman's friendship. Madame de Beau- harnais honors me with her confidence. She is very sweet and kind. At all hours of the day I know that I am welcome here. I can come and go as I like " Madame Fanny raised her eyes to the ornate ceiling. "I understand the situation completely," she said. "If I startled her by some unwarranted proposition I might lose the little^ ground I have gained." "I retract my words. In such matters it is presumption to offer good advice." "Madam, I thank you." He rose and walked across the room, and stood staring into the fire. "How early it gets dark," remarked Madame Beauhar- nais, nervously. He looked at his watch, furnished heavily with seals at the other end of the short fob-chain. "It is close on five o'clock. "As a man of honor " He turned abruptly and faced her a dark red flush on his face. "You mistake, madam," he said, almost roughly. "I am a selfish scoundrel." Madame Fanny could not credit her ears. Why this 22 LOVE sudden change of front? Had her plain-speaking offended him? As the head of the family she was in the right to look after the interest of her relatives. Poor Alexandre, if he had lived ! True, if the honest colonel were alive, the present delicate proposition would never have occurred. She sighed. "I beg your pardon," she said formally. Happily she was spared further awkwardness by the entrance of her niece, followed by a charming little maid- servant carrying a tray of light refreshments. "Place it there," said Madame Beauharnais, indicating a table. "And bring in another lamp, Clementine. It will be more cheerful, ma tante. What have you two been talking about?" "All kinds of things, my dear. M. Barras has been telling me how fortunate you have been in your recent purchases." Josephine stood with her back to the firelight, with a crystal jug in her hand, carefully pouring out some claret. Her soft modern dress clung to her youthful figure. She looked very slight and girlish. The pretty maid-servant curtsied deeply to the ladies, and left the room to carry out her mistress* instructions. She seemed entirely to fit into the picture and was a credit to the gentle widow's orderly establishment. Her quilted green petticoat was short enough to reveal her high-heeled shoes, red as full-blown poppies. Her basqued bodice was of some dark material and her little rounded muslin apron was furnished with two big silk rosettes. "Yes," said M. Barras, "after this, madam, no one can call you extravagant." "I am so glad," said Josephine. "Isn't it a nice old thing?" She pointed to the bureau. "And that sofa over there I got it for five francs real gilding and hand- carving and covered in Aubusson tapestry." Her aunt laughed at her serious tone. It was so delicious to hear Josephine pose as the most prudent LOVE 23 woman in Paris. Why, she did not even know the value of vegetables! She kept house by paying money. "I can congratulate you on your pretty home. I had no idea that poor dear Alexandre had left you so well off." "He made some lucky speculations, ma tcmte." "Very wrong of him, my dear. A sensible man never speculates. A proposl" (She turned to M. Barras.) "I was talking yesterday to General Bonaparte at the Bourriennes' they seem to have quite taken him up he is anxious to invest a certain sum in house property " "Who? General Bonaparte?" "Exactly. He has an extraordinary way of forcing his ideas on other people. Before I had left, M. Bourrienne was prepared to advance him the necessary capital." "Not a bad idea. Paris is filling up." "The old houses exist, and for the most part belong to their rightful owners." Barras shook his head. "Excuse me, madam, that is unfortunately not a fact. It has been part of our policy to appropriate private property." "In other words, you have been robbers, sir robbers on a large scale." She sat very upright, and her eyes blazed. Aunt Fanny had the courage of her opinions. "It is all over," said Josephine gently. "We are all getting happy and good again." She smiled from one to the other. "Please don't wrangle. Dearest Aunt, I am so tired of politics. I know I'll set up a beautiful baker's shop and bake oh, hundreds of lovely hot loaves, and give them away for nothing to the poor, then I'll cease to hear of their sufferings." "Don't be childish, Josephine. This is not a matter for fun." "I am in deadly earnest," she pouted. "Do you think it is an edifying sight to find a family encamped on your doorstep, and two of them dead from sheer want?" 24 LOVE "Of course not! Only I hate hearing about horrors. I have had quite sufficient to last my life." "We must not worry the sweet lady," said M. Barras, looking kindly at his hostess. "For the matter of that, madam, we are all doing our best to alleviate distress." "A teaspoonful of oil to a barrel of vinegar I would like to know who tastes the difference," said Madame Fanny in her sharpest voice. "Rome wasn't built in a day," said Josephine. "Two lumps of sugar and a little cinnamon isn't that how you like it?" "Thank you, my dear. I can't sleep at night for dread of the future. I blush when I think how history will talk of us say a hundred years hence." Josephine, behind her aunt's back, made a wry face at M. Barras. "Who cares what happens in a hundred years?" she said. "We will all be dead and buried and finished with by then. No one will even remember the existence of poor little Josephine." She came across the room towards her aunt. "Say it is good!" The old lady accepted the tumbler of wine offered her, took a sip, and put it down on the table beside her. "Excellent. There is nothing so hopeless as to battle against egoism. We will leave the subject, my dear. What might this wine have cost you?" Josephine smiled. She very nearly said, "A kiss, 9 ' but prudently refrained. "A thousand francs a bottle," she answered. "It sounds awfully expensive, but it is quite nice, so it does not matter. Monsieur, please help your- self." "Mark my words," said Madame Beauharnais, "in another hundred years some fool will be giving a thousand francs for your old sofa, and one franc for a bottle of new wine. Of what account is progress? We practically remain on the same spot." "We are all savages at heart, madam." Barras spoke LOVE 25 slowly, looking at Josephine, standing upright against the white-panelled wall. The widow Beauharnais, as if conscious of his scrutiny, replied, "Life has only room for to-day and to-morrow." "And what of yesterday?" asked her aunt softly. "Yesterday does not belong to the living, but to his- tory," said Barras. "That is a matter of opinion," replied the old lady, drawing herself erect with a proud gesture. "In my young days we at least respected our dead." Josephine hung her head. Her lips drooped. Her heavy eyelashes swept her flushed cheeks. (Barras, staring broadly, considered her at that moment a very enchanting person.) "We must sacrifice ourselves," declared the widow mournfully. "We have all agreed to bury the past. As in war, we mourn our dead with pride." "A very beautiful sentiment, my dear, especially when easily carried out. I am not blaming you, child." She snapped-to her immense reticule and held out a conciliatory hand. Josephine stepped forward and, kneeling down, she buried her face in her aunt's lap. "There, dear Josephine, pray calm yourself." "It hurts," she murmured. "I did my best for him, and I will always keep his* memory sacred." "I am sure you will." The old lady almost winked at M. Barras, as much as to say, "How can you resist her?" The atmosphere was a little strained. M. Barras bravely tried to turn the conversation, and racked his brain to find a cheerful topic. "Madam, were you present at the Tallien wedding?" "No, sir. A civil marriage, and private at that." "Who were the witnesses?" "M. Freron and M. Masson." "H'm!" said Barras, flicking a grain of dust from his coat. "I wonder if Tallien will ever get his deserts?" Josephine got up and dried her eyes. 26 LOVE "He seems to be a very lucky man," she sighed, sitting down by the table in the lamplight, and selecting a sweet- meat from a box lying by her elbow. "We can none of us escape justice," said the old lady, folding her hands in her lap. "Yes, madam," said Barras respectfully. In spite of her wonderful make-up Madame de Beauharnais had a strong face. Beneath her vanity and her pitiable at- tempts to improve her appearance there lay a dogged honesty of purpose. "Who can escape disappointment, sorrow, sickness? If we only live long enough we must learn our lesson with as good a grace as we can." "There are exceptions to every rule." "No, sir. Old age is never agreeable." She touched her face with a grim smile. "Don't you think I regret my lost beauty?" Josephine, in the act of putting another chocolate in her mouth, stopped and looked at her aunt. Madame de Beauharnais' face glistened in the lamp- light as a freshly-painted canvas. Her eyes looked remark- ably bright. The faded wreath of artificial roses on her white wig looked curiously withered. "Have a chocolate, dear tante. They are excellent." "Thank you, I never eat sweets. But if you will per- mit me, I will take home two or three. My neighbor's little boy will appreciate them." "Oh, please do." Josephine's eyes twinkled as they met those of M. Barras. The old lady, with a dignified gesture, opened her reti- cule. "Yes," she said, "I am not accustomed to luxuries. I made my dejeuner to-day on an apple, and I had some fruit given me from Volnay." As she spoke she absent- mindedly kept filling her bag with Josephine's chocolates. "A rosy-cheeked winter apple is not to be despised. By the way, Terezia has decided on a house in the Bois." "I know." LOVE 27 "It is called La Chaumiere. An odd fancy of hers. My dear, I am not robbing you, am I ? There is a young man behind this," she said archly, pushing the empty box across the table. Josephine glanced at M. Barras. "Ah !" said Fanny good-naturedly, snapping-to her bag. "So you accept presents from M. Barras!" "A little chocolate " said Josephine guilelessly. "I have been young myself," admitted Madame, rising and standing very upright. Madame de Beauharnais' reticule was about as famous as herself. She was never seen without it. By common report it was her store-cupboard, just as much as "my neighbor's little boy" was her polite fiction. (After all, in these hard times it was just as well to be economical.) "You are not going?" said Josephine. "Won't you stay and dine with me and share my dull evening?" "Impossible, impossible. I am going on to the Tre- moilles, and I have half promised to look up the St. Innocents." "How is the duchess?" "No better. The doctors doubt of her recovery." "What a sad case!" "Yes, very. At what time do you dine? I smell cab- bage-soup." She sniffed. "My favorite dish." "At five o'clock." "How fashionably late we are ! You will see, M. Barras, that my niece will one day become quite an important person. I must run." She swept a magnificent curtsey, which Josephine re- turned with equal ceremony. "How hideous are the new fashions," said the old lady. " Josephine looks like a dish-cloth wrung out in water." "You wicked, unkind aunt !" laughed Madame Beau- harnais. "Well, good-bye, dear. If you have a spare ticket for Talma to-morrow, remember me. I am not too old to appreciate talent." 28 LOVE Josephine, through her lace blinds, looked out of the window. "It is almost pitch-dark," she declared. "Really, it is not safe for you to walk alone." "I have only a hundred yards to go." "It is much further to the Rue de Babylone. Let Clementine call you a cab." "I haven't got a thousand francs to spare." "Perhaps madam will allow me to accompany her? Our ways are practically the same." "Sir, I will be charmed." Aunt Fanny bridled and blushed as a schoolgirl. She dearly loved attention. "Take care of yourself, Josephine." Josephine played with her rings. "What am I to do?" she said. "Read an edifying book, or go to sleep," counselled her aunt. "Of the two evils I prefer to sleep. I will try my best to get you a seat, but I am afraid all the tickets are sold." "Never mind, dear. I am not afraid of my own society. When I sit alone I am always contented. There is no better company than an easy conscience, an excellent digestion and imagination. Build castles in the air, Josephine." Josephine held up her two empty hands. "Alas !" she said, "without materials how can I manage?" "Well, make them." "Madam " "I won't keep you waiting another moment, sir. A happy new year, dear, in case we don't meet again this side of Christmas." M. Barras kissed Josephine's outstretched hand. "Au revoir, madam," he said. "May I also add my good wishes? All the luck in the world." "Thank you. You are very kind." She spoke demurely, looking on the ground. "Au revoir, monsieur." (She knew that he'd be back again within an hour or two.) LOVE 29 He held open the door for Madame de Beauharnais to pass through. "One moment," he whispered to Josephine. "Angel, I adore you! Say you love me a little?" "Darling!" He snatched her hand and pressed it to his hot lips. "Josephine, don't come out here," called Madame Beau- harnais. "It is quite chilly." Josephine, conscious of her neglected duties, flew across the room to the dining-room. "Clementine!" she called. "Do hurry. My aunt is just going." The pretty little maid-servant appeared from some mys- terious doorway. "Out, madam," she answered breath- lessly, running past Josephine to assist Madame de Beau- harnais with her multitudinous wraps. In a few minutes the street door slammed. Clementine returned to the dining-room, lit the candles, and laid the cloth. Presently she came softly into the drawing-room removed the tray and asked her mistress at what time she would dine. "When M. Barras returns." The maid curtsied and withdrew. Josephine, left alone, rose from her seat by the fire and went in search of a pack of cards. She would pass the time before dinner in telling her own fortune. She shuffled the cards, pushed back her hair from her forehead and was soon intent on her game. "The ten of hearts that means money. And the king of diamonds? " She thought a moment and then called loudly: "Clementine! Clementine!" "Yes, madam?" Josephine, without looking up, kept on dealing. "Tell cook to be sure to serve the apple-tart very hot, and not to forget the cream." "Yes, madam." With lightning rapidity Josephine uncovered her cards. 30 LOVE They lay in a great circle on the satinwood table in the full light of the lamp. She was exceedingly lucky. "Madam?" "What is it?" "Cook has run out of cream, and has no money." Josephine impatiently pointed to her workbag lying on the hearthrug. "Bring it to me," she said. Clementine did as she was told. Josephine, with a little frown, pulled open the bag, shook it, took out a handful of different articles scissors, pins, a scrap of embroidery, a book of patterns. Then she remembered her own stupidity. "I have no money at home. Do you mean to say she has spent all I gave her yesterday?" "Yes, madam. Prices are terrible, and no credit given." "How provoking!" Josephine again shook her offending bag. "Cream has risen to a hundred francs a pint, since yesterday," said Clementine, looking demurely at her pretty red shoes. "They are mad." Madame de Beauharnais, from a gold purse attached to a long chain round her neck, handed Clementine a fifty- centimes in silver. "Tell cook not to sell it under five hundred francs." "Yes, madame." With a bright smile the girl left the room. Josephine shuffled her cards impatiently. "I had notes for ten thousand francs on Tuesday where have they all gone to?" she asked herself. "Never mind," she mused; "it is the privilege of men to pay women's bills. . . . Barras will be more than delighted to hand me over some of that detestable paper money. Poor dear man, he is so gener- ous! . . . He is rather careful in some ways. I don't believe he would divorce his wife and marry me, even if I were willing to sacrifice myself on account of the chil- dren. ... I am so glad Eugene has his father's sword, and that he values it. How he wept when I gave it to him! LOVE 31 He would not part with it, no, not for anything in this world. Only eleven, and such a determined character. . . ." Again the pasteboard circle gleamed redly under the light of the lamp. Not a single black card had turned up ! She nodded her head, utterly oblivious of the trials of housekeeping. "My children!" she said aloud. "Your dear mother's future is assured. . . . Plus que Reme? . . . I wonder ... I wonder . , ." CHAPTER IV T A CHAUMIERE was an ideal home for a young mar- -" ried couple. A low, rambling building, with a thatched roof and quaint-latticed windows, situated in a fashionable quarter of Paris, in the Bois Terezia had taken a fancy to it at once. In spite of a driving snowstorm at the time, she realized its potential qualities. In summer, when the roses were out (she would have masses of roses) when the horse- chestnuts in the great long avenue leading down to the river were shady and green when the birds chirped and sang it would look simply lovely. Tallien Lad offered to buy his bride an historic mansion in the Boulevard St. Germain, a great, gloomy hotel, splen- didly furnished. "No, she'd have none of it. La Chaumiere the quaint little farm-house appealed to her. Of course there was room for improvement. Tallien had shocking bad taste (so she said) in most things, and not in the least in furnishing. She was not going to live in an old Jew's shop! The place was overcrowded the rooms were caricatures of a great man's establishment. Did Tallien imagine, par exemple, that she was color-blind? Yellow satin draperies, crimson velvet sofas, and, if you please, black lacquered cabinets from his late majesty's Chinese collection. Where were the Mandarin's embroidered slippers? She'd darted this question at him one day, shortly after their marriage, when they'd come to live at the place. The sharp point of her irony had escaped him. He stood looking at her, with his mouth open. "I can't tell you, my dear." 32 LOVE 33 "You're a fool. Give me the money, and go." Only a fortnight married. T'ja! t'ja! As a marriage it did not look promising. Truth to tell, our big roaring lion of Bordeaux had been transformed into a tame cat, a cat not quite certain of his cream, living in dread of kicks. Horrid for him. Not even his wife's beauty made up to him for her want of sympathy. "I'm not made of money. You'll ruin me, ma'am." "My dear Tallien, to hear you speak one would imagine you were three years old." "You are a damned unpleasant woman." "Don't be rude. I have three hundred people coming on Wednesday. They'll eat for six hundred." "What's the idea?" "Progress, power, ambition. I intend to get on. I'm the fashion. Tallien, go down on your knees and thank God that I have married you." She spoke very earnestly from her seat on a sofa in the ball-room. It had two chandeliers, a polished parquet floor, and magnificent curtains of lace, and daffodil-yellow satin. Altogether a ludicrous room in a cottage. La Chaumiere was little else. By throwing two or three rooms together Madame Tallien had evolved her salon. It was going to be the centre of fashionable Paris. "You are a wonderful woman," he said. She smiled. "That's talking sensibly," she said kindly. "You know our interests are the same. I help you. And you help me eh?" She held out her shapely hand. "We are getting on like a house on fire." In the next room half a score of upholsterers and dec- orators were at work. The yellow salon was nearly ready. "I can see the crowds. I'll set the fashion. We'll have Greek dresses to start with." She looked reflectively at the sweep of her limbs, then up at her husband. 34 LOVE "And you, you'll look like a butterfly. One ot Joseph- ine's tropic butterflies. Aren't you happy, little lion? Dear little lion!' 5 Her hand was still held out. Like some performing monkey he obeyed the voice of his charmer. One by one he took out of a knitted green silk purse ten pieces of gold and dropped them one by one into her hand. The last piece went with a choke. "You'll ruin me," he blubbered. "Foolish little man, just when I am making you ! You are going to look like a hero and a dictator. Like a Roman, draped in something. Yes? I am here." An upholsterer came forward, with a length of bro- cade in his hand. "A thousand pardons, citoyenne, but I would greatly esteem your attention for an instant." Tallien looked after her as she walked into the next room. There was hatred in his eyes. "She spends my money like water," he thought. "In her heart she despises me. . . . Eh? I'll give her a start. I'll be top dog yet! I'll beat 'em all into jelly. They are insolent, are they? Tallien is no good. Damn their impertinence! I have got the people, the starving people. Let them dance ! She and her lot. Barras and his lot. I'll turn the music on. And it'll suit me, down to the ground. Ha-ha-ha !" Upon which pleasing reflection Man-Tallien allowed his lackey to hoist him into a wonderful short-waisted blue face-cloth coat adorned with silver buttons and a huge velvet collar. His hat was of yellow plush. His silver- headed cane was of cherry-wood. "She's a lucky little woman," he murmured to his reflection in the mirror. "In the street I'm popular. At The Cow I'm loved." The Cow was his favorite tavern. There he had his own particular set of friends and his own table. He paid the drinks. He paid for everything. In return he talked in his cups and out of them. Always nonsense. "You LOVE 35 can't make a straw figure live," as said the poet. "Not even in verse." "My dear friends," said Tallien, beaming on all alike, not a whit put out. . . . (Wait, and you'll hear for yourself. There's a treat in store for you. That is to say, if you are fond of music.) Citoyen Tallien swaggered back into the saloon and called out to his wife. "Don't wait dinner for me. I have important business in town." She never answered him. She and the upholsterers were busy selecting hangings. "Palms here," she said. "And that gilt screen by the door." "Why so glum? What are you thinking of? I hate being stared at over the top of a newspaper." "Of a lost opportunity." Terezia sipped her coffee. She put down her cup. "It seems to me you took a very fair advantage of your lucky days." Her eyes fell approvingly on a charming silver coffee- set set out in front of her. "I always liked the Rochefort silver," she said reflec- tively, "but I must have their initials and crest removed. People might think we stole it." Tallien did not answer. He rustled his paper, looking at his wife over its edge. She could not see his mouth his grinning, loose mouth, now blankly distrustful. How he hated Terezia's playing little jokes. They were having breakfast in the little dining-room. Such a warm, pleasant room. The two windows were hung with green velvet curtains. (Outside a white world of driven snow an unusual sight in Paris.) The white-panelled walls were hung with valu- able pictures, representing several notable private collec- tions. The parquet floor was partly covered with an ancient silk Persian carpet of indescribable and harmonious shades. The furniture was of Louis XIII period, all 36 LOVE except the little round breakfast-table with its white lace- edged cloth and inviting breakfast dishes. The Talliens lived well. Terezia was wearing a simple morning gown of pastel- blue silk, edged round the wide sleeves and the open neck with a narrow line of sable. By a stroke of genius her dressmaker had embroidered one single pale pink rose, tucked carelessly within the revers. As Terezia put down the heavy cream- jug, she disclosed an inner sleeve of old Mechlin and a lining of flesh-pink ninon. The lace was repeated at her bosom, where the loose gown fell away, showing the lines of her throat. She wore her hair simply gathered together in a knot. Her cheeks, in spite of her late hours, were as fresh as the morning. The sun was shining on the snow. "Pass me that dish of game, will you?" He pushed it clumsily across the table. "Why don't the men wait at lunch?" he asked sulkily. She looked at him with her charming smile. "One lackey is quite sufficient for me, thank you." "Go to hell!" he spluttered. "I beg your pardon?" "I said nothing." She had already done justice to a mushroom omelette and to an excellent trout (caught that morning and fried in cream), but none the less she appreciated the partridge. "Quite tender," she murmured, placing her heavy silver fork on the knife-rest, and dissecting the wing with her fingers. She did it quite daintily. She held the wing to her mouth and picked off the meat with her strong white teeth. He looked at her enviously, half leaning forward, his arms sprawling on the table. The newspaper had fallen on the floor. He had no appetite. "Bad news?" she asked, wiping her fingers carefully on her serviette. "The papers never tell anything." "Not even about me?" LOVE 37 "I never looked." "No," she said thoughtfully; "you never do. I might have been mistaken, but I thought last night at the theatre that some of the people were less enthusiastic." "No," he answered doggedly. "Just as you please. However, no one can exist for ever on the past, be it ever so glorious." "I would like to know to whose advantage " he yelled. "Now, don't excite yourself. I fully appreciate the significance of the IX Thermidor. Tallien is my hero, as well as the idol of Paris." He groaned. "My head is on fire," he said. "This peaceful life does not suit you." A canary from an adjoining room burst into an ecstasy of song. "Dicky ! Dicky !" called his mistress encouragingly. "Can't you ever be serious? I tell you, times are omi- nous. All the trash they write in the papers cannot hide the main facts. We are ripe for another revolution." The canary drowned Terezia's reply if she made any. "If I could trust you " he began. "You needn't. I know everything," she replied tran- quilly. He laughed, one of his immense, loud laughs. "What a noise you two make," she said plaintively. "There will be greater noise presently. Barras thinks he is the cock of the walk. He is too sure of himself." "At least he never screams." "If I choose, madame, I'll howl! I'm master in my own house." "I wish," said Terezia still more plaintively, to no one in particular, "that I had married in my own set." His head rocked, but something in her tone calmed him. His burst of rage gave place to maudlin sentiment. "Darling," he whimpered, "you know I love you and that the day you married me was the proudest one in my; 38 LOVE life. Haven't I shown you times out of number proofs of my devotion? Darling, you treat me badly. If I was jealous I'd never have a moment's peace. Sometimes I cannot endure the sight of your lovers. Once you loved me . . . yes, you loved me," he repeated mournfully. Terezia was not listening. He got up and stood over her; his hands working con- vulsively. "Terezia, for the sake of our unborn child "Be quiet!" "Say you forgive me. You must not be angry with me, Terezia. I cannot bear it ! I can't sleep at night for thinking of " "Why this scene? If I give you cause for jealousy and really and truly, it is hard to blame a beautiful woman if men find her attractive I have ample proof of your unfaithfulness." He beat his hand on his chest. "I swear by my son's salvation "Don't ! It is so unnecessary. I don't mind your love- affairs. I only deplore your taste. Will nothing make you a gentleman, Tallien?" "You treat me like a dog ... yet I love you ... I respect you. We have only been married barely a month " "It seems longer." "Let us begin again." She drummed her fingers on the table. "With pleas- ure," she said carelessly. He fell on his knees. She drew back her skirts in genuine alarm. "Whatever you do, don't kiss my feet! I can't stand it!" "Terezia, Terezia !" he moaned, hiding his face in his hands. She looked down at his thick, wavy, black hair. "What a wreck of a bad man," she thought, almost regretfully. Yet he was young enough as far as years went. Not yet thirty. About ten years her senior ... It was ridiculous LOVE 39 at barely twenty to have lived through all her experiences. ... It seemed such an age since her mother had brought her to Paris, a shy little girl of twelve. Two years later they had married her to M. le marquis de Fontenay. No, certainly she had not been lucky in her marriages ! Had she ever loved Tallien, that big, loose-built criminal, kneel- ing at her feet? Or had she always despised him? At Bordeaux he had saved her life, and she had paid hand- somely for his kindness. . . . She touched his bowed head. No, it would never do if Tallien lost his nerve ! The silly creature might pull her down. . . . "Dear," she said, "we must be sensible." And she stroked his hair. He put a fold of her dress between his teeth. "I am not afraid!" she laughed. "In future I shall have new duties to fulfil. Help me to bear my responsi- bilities." He looked up at her, his mouth still trembling. "You need not be afraid," she said good-humoredly. "It will be a little Tallien, sure enough. Only I hope he won't have your nose. Pawvre ami, it is an ugly one." "Terezia ! Terezia !" "Get up," she counselled, giving him a little poke. "I want to talk to you seriously." "You might have kissed me," he sobbed. "If you had kissed me I would have understood . . . We are strangers to each other." She kept her temper admirably. "What babies men are!" she said gaily. She held up her face. "I am waiting." He bowed stiffly. "Not now. I am not yet a beggar." He flung himself down on a sofa by the window. A shaft of sunshine touched his face. Involuntarily Terezia noticed how pimpled and blotchy his skin looked. He was not properly shaved either. His eyes had a furtive, frightened look and his big, loose lips were suspiciously red. She passed her fingers over her own mouth. Did he use some pigment? Or was it only fever? No wonder 40 LOVE the poor man did not sleep well at nights. And his bed- room was so luxurious! She turned round, pushed her chair forward, and looked attentively at her husband. "Seriously, what do you know? Last night I was too tired to listen. Politics never interest a woman at three o'clock in the morning -particularly if she has been danc- ing all night. Barras does things well." He stared out of the window. "There is a strong faction in favor of the royalists. I could lay my hands on a hundred sound and capable men, ready to sacrifice " "Is Barras amongst them?" she interrupted. "No." "Then keep quiet." "I can't. I have practically given my word "My poor innocent! Do you think anyone believes in your word?" He let the insult pass without comment. "I have a better plan than that. I will entertain the crowd." "How?" "How!" she mimicked his tone. "By giving parties, dances, dinners, kisses where necessary. I am not a fool. I happen also to be irresistible." He sat upright, fascinated by her audacity. "And how the devil " "Quite easy. If you play your cards well, by June you will be Dictator in France. No bloodshed, of course. That is happily out of date. The faculty of medicine have shown us that it is quite possible to heal without shedding blood. Why not follow their good example?" "Why not?" He knotted his fingers together. "The easiest matter in the world. You are very clever, madam." His tone was biting. "I am going to see Josephine this afternoon. I have ordered the carriage for two o'clock. Come with me." LOVE 41 "Do you think I have nothing better to do than dance attendance on Barras' mistress?" "Do exactly as you please. We have nothing more important to discuss than our contribution to the Bour- rienne dinner. It is a good plan to club together. As it is, meals are far too sketchy in Paris.'* "Two and two together," he said, evidently engrossed by some idea. "Excellent," she assented. "How we laughed the other night at the Simons' ! We were twenty people, and every- one had brought a dish of herrings. When I entertain it is different." "Be careful, Terezia." "No, no, little man, I am going to be very indiscreet! The papers will mention our splendid dinners and people will remember them and return." She rose as she spoke and picked up the newspaper lying on the floor. "Listen !" she cried presently. " * . . . Not only is Madame Tallien noted for her beauty, her charm, her intelligence, but also for her prodigal charity. As a true Sister of Mercy, she does not spare herself on behalf of the poor . . .* Tallien, I insist on having five louis d'or at once!" "The pay of an army corps. I'm not made of money." "You are worth your weight in gold! Besides, your reputation is at stake. I tell you, at the theatre last night " She looked out of the window. "Oh," she cried, "if that is not too bad! I refuse to see him." A tall young man, muffled up to his throat in an immense great-coat, was standing on the door-step, sav- agely kicking the snow off his boots. Presently he rang the bell. After an interval a footman brought in a card and a letter, "Citoyen Guery would be much obliged if the citoy- enne could spare him a few moments " Terezia waved her hand. "I am not at home," she said, snatching the letter and tearing it open. "Remember 42 LOVE in future, whenever Citoyen Guery calls, I am never at home." "Yes, citoyenne" "Stay! Did he say anything about his journey?" "Citoyen Guery has his instructions and he is leaving Paris this morning for Bordeaux." Terezia did not like Pierre. He was Tallien's confiden- tial servant. He had been with him all through the Terror. It was he who had helped his master with his dressing on the memorable occasion of Robespierre's down- fall. The man had a marvellous memory. "That's all right," said Terezia. "No answer." Pierre gently shut the door behind him. In the hall he adjusted the collar of his coat. "It is an unpardonable mistake," he pondered, "for a man to marry his mistress. They always either grow overbearing or religious." To the eager visitor, waiting on the doorstep, he deliv- ered his message: "Citoyenne Tallien is not at home." Young Guery looked up at the charmingly curtained windows. Then he turned on his heel and almost ran down the broad avenue. "He is well out of it," mused the discreet Pierre as he shut the door and put up the safety-chain. CHAPTER V TT was freezing cold this January, 1795. The Parisians suffered heavily for the better part were fireless and hungry. The Revolution had left want behind her and disorder and great astonishment; poor and rich alike in this respect. The prices asked and paid were exorbitant. People talked of the good old days of the Terror when living was cheap and comradeship easy, and made their comparisons. It is always thus. A social or a moral upheaval always leaves us the poorer. The winds swept over Paris biting northeast gales. The Seine froze solidly. At the street corners roast chest- nuts tempted the rich. There was quite a roaring trade done in them at anything you liked to ask, or take. There were no maximum prices in those days to check the profiteer. No police to speak of. Horses, rough-shod, clattered in all directions down the ice-bound streets to the peril of unwary pedestrians. Carriages were beginning to put in a tardy appearance, of a very plain description. Still, it was a beginning. Much as a snowdrop heralds spring. The sight of some pale-faced lady, seated erect in her family chariot, prom- ised better things. There was even a question of opening the churches for religious purposes. However, the Assembly put down the proposition as being too radical. "Let things slide," said Tallien, beaming. One of his happy days, when not only Madame Tallien had shaken hands with him, but also Citizens Barras, Cambaceres, Sieyes all influential people. Most days his friends cut him dead. A very mournful state of affairs. "Let things slide," he repeated. The news-sheets odd to say made poor sales. The 43 44 LOVE public were indifferent to the press. It took a great interest in their dinners, but the affairs of the country left them yawning. "It is all the same to us," they said. "Things could not be worse." Then Tallien made another great speech. "Friends and comrades," he shouted, "they might be better! I have a scheme " "Damn him!" said Barras languidly. Tallien's tirades in the Assembly bored him completely. M. Barras' atti- tude was typical of the times. If you can imagine a city of sleep-walkers, see Paris, or rather the Parisians, shuffling along without a purpose. They were too tired to do anything else. Too tired of excitement and specu- lation to ask a single question. If you had offered them a peep into the future, no one would have taken it. "Let things slide." Walking at a very quick pace, towards Cour la Reine, a young officer passed through the phlegmatic crowd. "Roast chestnuts! Three for fourpence!" He scowled at the buxom saleswoman who would thrust herself on his attention. Her face was the color of beetroot. Her eyes smiled kindly. Trade was fairly prosperous. Her little bag of coppers well worth five hundred francs in assignats; not that she would have exchanged her poor handful of sous for a flimsy note not even for a big blue. A big blue bill bore the legend of one thousand silver pieces. . . . Bah! why not ten thousand? The wind tore round the corner, from the Place de la Revolution. A cab-driver, muffled in an antediluvian cape, swore loudly as he beat his arms on his chest. His frost- bitten hand, swollen and red, caught at a tarnished metal button. It burnt like fire. . . . "Chestnuts! Roast chestnuts four for fourpence!" The young officer looked back. "My son," she said, "you want them more than I do. Why, you look as hungry as a starved cat. Good God, what eyes!" LOVE 45 The young officer smiled. He searched his pockets and brought out a precious sou. She took it gingerly and tested it with her teeth. "Bon. Of what regiment?" "The 23rd Artillery. General." She gaped. "What imagination!" "Great," he answered. "He! Robert, Id " She waved her hand to her friend the cab-driver. "Look at him. He is a general he is. This little hop-o'-my-thumb. He has fought in battles he has. He has commanded a whole army-corps." She was richly tickled at her fancy. The officer took the joke in very good part. "True, mother; if all generals were as hungry as I am, they would either eat each other or the world." She shook her head compassionately. He was so thin, so young and so obviously in poor circumstances. She knew nothing of epaulets, but she was good at spotting stains and the lack of darns. His ugly boots had never feasted on polish, and were as cracked as the mouth of a crater. Quite evidently he had had to shift for himself in this freezing wilderness of new Paris. The old days were over (God be praised!). The new days were as yet too unknown to bear comment. People were returning to Paris. Here and there shops were unshuttered. Musicians, with tuneless instruments, strutted the streets and played their ear-piercing melodies. Theatre-folk so she had heard were again employed at their ungodly calling. At the Theatre Odeon they were acting Moliere to aristocratic audiences. The pretty ladies dared once again to peep out of their windows ; poor dears they who had survived had battled through hard times. . . . The chestnut-seller was not opposed to justice, but she dearly loved the sight of an elegant lady. Just at that moment she spied a well-known carriage. "Look," she said to her customer. "She is well worth 46 LOVE a glance. The loveliest woman in France! Vive notre Dame de Thermidor!" Strange to say, this miserable sub-lieutenant disdained to admire the redoubtable Madame Tallien, driving past in all her glory, wrapped up to her enchanting chin in black fox skins; her furred bonnet ornamented with a cherry satin rosette, her beautiful face looking like a flushed pearl. "I am in a hurry," he said shortly. "Give me my dinner." She rocked with laughter. "Hoighty-toighty !" she screamed. "Is he jealous? Poor little puss in boots !" He took her pleasantry in good part, and the proffered bag of chestnuts. She had given him more than her con- science afforded. Bah ! you did not every day come across a pair of eyes of such exceptional fascination. He saluted and thanked her, and was off like an arrow from the bow. She considered half a second. Then she clutched at her bosom and drew out a bundle of notes. Quickly she selected a dozen or so. "Citoyen, your change!" she yelled. Half Paris could have heard her. "Keep it," called the lordly sub-lieutenant, continuing his way. The cab-driver, pulling his dejected horse after him, drew near the chestnut brazier. "Thou idiot," he said in the lady's ear, "he was a gen- eral. His name is Bonaparte, and he distinguished him- self at Toulon, and nearly lost his head when Robespierre fell." (He scratched his own.) "Don't care a button about politics and don't understand them. Anyhow he's out of prison now and on the look-out for a job." A sudden flash of sunlight lit up the wintry sky. Straining her eyes, the chestnut-seller caught a glimpse of her recent customer, tearing along at express speed. LOVE 47 Almost instinctively people made way for him. They looked back at him in wonder. There was no hurry in Paris, New Year, 1795. General Bonaparte wasn't in luck's way that day. Hardly had he reached his miserable attic, tired and despondent after another futile morning, spent in tramp- ing from one influential man's ante-room to another (always with the same half-ironic, half-patronizing dis- missal and a vague promise that his petition would be "looked into" at some future date), before his privacy was disturbed by his laundress. She came in unannounced and stood upright by the door and stared at her patron with no mild eye. She meant business. It seemed that the general owed her a bill as long as her arm. At first he hardly seemed to grasp what she said. "What is it?" he asked. In the fading light of the day she could hardly discern his features. He was lying on his bed, covered by his military coat. The thermometer at zero in that fireless room. She tried to pierce the secret of the place. There was no secret, only blatant, cruel poverty. She had mounted those interminable stone stairs he lodged in an ancient house in the neighborhood of Notre Dame fully determined, at the expense of a pair of strong, though exhausted, lungs, to give him a piece of her mind. In all the quartier she was the loudest-tongued female. She had a vocabulary to match her voice ; besides a good, strong temper, and, in this case, some excuse for it. However, here she stood, curiously at a loss for an answer. "Times are bad," she declared, almost humbly. "I must have ten francs on account." He sat up on the bed, and kicked off his great-coat. He had removed his boots. She noticed that his stockings were in holes. "Five," she said, looking at his heel. 48 LOVE "Add twenty to the bill. Surely you can't doubt my word ? When I am a rich man, you'll be a proud woman." "I'm a hungry one now," she said. "I can sympathize with you." He rose, searched his pockets, and offered her two chest- nuts. In his stockinged feet he slipped across the floor (uncarpeted) and looked out of the window. Here and there oil lamps gleamed in the street below. For the most part he had an uninterrupted view of con- gested roofs and chimney-pots. From a neighboring house a thick cloud of smoke a vertical column in the still, frosty air spoke of warmth and food. A fresh fall of snow had given a miraculously clean look to the city. "Three francs on account," she repeated, greedily biting her chestnuts and squaring her elbows. He sighed ; flung himself down on a cane chair, standing by the window, in front of a deal table, covered with maps and books. "In ten years, my good woman, you will tremble at the mere thought of your present impertinence." "Oh, lord!" she said, flinging the skins on the floor, "I have no patience with visionary heroes." "As to that " He looked her straight in the face, and smiled. From under her shawl she brought out a parcel and, stepping gently, meekly placed it on his camp bedstead. She straightened the coverlet and stood thinking a moment. "M. le general," she said, "at Toulon you saved my Loulou's life and incidentally the honor of France. I don't care a scrap about France say what you will, there you saved a tattered rag. But Loulou is my good husband, except when he drinks and when I do the best I can for your inexpressible linen, I always remember the service you did me. Good evening, M. le general." She made for the door in subdued silence, as it were, resigned to a fate stronger than herself. He rose impulsively, his thin hand resting on the table. "Madam," he said in a low voice, vibrating with emo- LOVE 49 tion, "it is not always sufficient, especially under trying circumstances, to believe in oneself. ... I tell you " (he clenched his fist until the knuckles shone blue in the fading light) "it is hell to tramp the streets of Paris, dreaming, thinking, knowing! Why, woman, I am crammed with knowledge, and opportunity evades me at every turn. In this hurly-burly when shall I have my chance ?" Tears welled in his eyes. His fine, eager face quivered as if from a physical blow. "It is more than I can bear," he said dully, the flame dying from his eyes, leaving to view a pinched, half-starved physiognomy. Woman of the people as she was, Loulou's wife, she was yet impressed by her poor customer's earnestness. He believed in himself that he did! And, par exemple, why should not she credit him with unforeseen good luck? Things happened. Strange things. La-la! She shrugged her broad shoulders and flashed an honest smile at him. She admired personal courage. "What do you take me for?" she asked indignantly. "Would I trust you for two hundred francs paid in coin if I did not believe in your ultimate good fortune? Am I a wicked woman?" {crescendo) "Am I a fool? Would I defraud my family at the expense of an empty sentiment The last word she hurled at him with the full force of her outraged dignity. It was good to speak one's mind! "Thank you," he said. "To hear such an opinion is worth an actual slice of mutton. Will you permit me to look at my account?" "Certainly, sir." Briskly she handed him a blue roll. "Thank you." He waved his hand. "Be so good as to be seated." She stood up against the wall. "By the light of future events it would be a liberty," she said. 50 LOVE He unrolled the bill and docketed the iten:s with a lead pencil. Once he glanced towards the bed. "You have brought me back my best shirt?" he asked. "I have but three in the world, as you know, and to-morrow night I dine at the BourriennesV "It is there," she said; "washed, ironed, mended." "You are a good woman," he said, "but you have over- charged me in two places. You have also accounted for garments which I have never possessed. I will take the liberty of correcting these mistakes " There is a limit to human endurance. "Consider- ing >5 she began. "Wait a moment, if you please. 'Bill' (he wrote) 'to be paid five years hence, from date above, at compound interest, plus one thousand francs in gold. Signed, Napoleon Bonaparte.' Does that satisfy you, madame?" He looked up at her gravely. She wandered heavily to the table and took up the document. "It will have to," she said. Then she shook her head. "I'll wager my money that your shirts won't last five years." He laughed joyously. "T'ja!" he said. "I'll have a dozen new ones before the year is out. And two pairs of boots and a grand new uniform, and a nice warm cloak and a pocketful of money." She looked at him from her high estate as a sensible woman. "Good-night, my brave child," she said, and tramped down the bare staircase, leaving the general engrossed in his happy thoughts. The night came on windy and cold. By dawn Paris glittered under a fall of driven snow. A great light hung in the eastern sky pale, luminous, clear. And the city looked as if washed from all her sins. CHAPTER VI THEY were playing billiards at the Bourriennes', when General Bonaparte arrived, rather breathless and very late. He could distinctly hear the click of the ivory balls from an adjoining saloon. From early morning until half-an-hour ago, he had sat at his writing-table, by the draughty window, engrossed in his work, entirely forgetful of everything else, his hunger, the numb condition of his hands and feet even of his dinner-party, until the lengthening shadows inter- fered with his reading. When he realized the hour he made the best of time. It vexed him to be late for an appointment. "Bon soir, M. le general." "How are you, Peter? Am I very late?" Bourrienne's confidential servant an old soldier shook his head. "No, monsieur. Madame la Vicomtesse de Beau- harnais has not arrived. She is always the last." "My luck this time," said Bonaparte, flinging his cloak into the arms of a footman and stamping his wet boots on the door-mat. "It is snowing hard again." "Shut the door," said Peter to the footman. "Why do you always leave it open? Seasonable weather, citizen." Bonaparte smoothed his long-cut ragged hair, and, taking out of his pocket a clean linen handkerchief, he care- fully wiped his face. "I'll cool down," he said, glancing round the little hall which, in comparison with the freez- ing temperature outside, felt hot as a vapor bath. His eyes fell on a square table a solid piece of work- manship from ancient times, standing to the left of the winding staircase leading to a floor above. (The Bour- 51 52 LOVE riennes inhabited a commodious old house.) He clapped his hands to his pockets in dismay. The table was prac- tically covered with every variety of parcel for the most part of modest dimensions. He stood there, straight and thin as a reed, and his sensitive mouth quivered. "I have brought nothing," he said simply. "I had nothing to bring, but a hungry man's excellent appetite." (He had eaten nothing all day.) From the adjoining saloon, through the murmur of general conversation, came the sound of a woman's light laughter. It rang like a bell, clear and joyous, evidently dominating the situation. M. Bourrienne's guests were amusing themselves. Bonaparte felt himself an interloper. What had he to do with a pack of pleasure-seekers? He drew his brows together moody, silent, miserable. Peter beckoned to the footman. "You are wanted in the dining-room," he said. "Here, take these parcels. Dish them and place them on the table. Scraps!" he muttered beneath his breath. "Be careful, now. Your thumbs won't improve Madame de St. Innocent's jelly, even though it is a thimbleful." "I'll do my best," said the young man, as he vanished through a small door in the panelling. "And that is little enough," said Peter, adjusting the wick of a smoking lamp and staring vindictively at a voluminous plum-colored cloth coat, heavily braided in silver, with an immense roll-collar of orange velvet. It hung on the same peg as a charming wrap, mounted and lined with black fox-skins and further ornamented with knots of cherry satin ribbons. Beneath these two garments stood a tiny pair of ladies' over-boots laced with gold cord and a mammoth pair of galoshes. They formed an amusing study in contrasts. The little hall square and low-pitched, with a massive oak central beam, from which swung two oil lamps was overcrowded with a varied collection of outdoor apparel. On the polished oak floor, just as they had been kicked off, lay the guests' overshoes, still wet with snow-slush; LOVE 53 indeed, here and there shining pools of water had collected on the uneven surface of the dented boards. So few of the guests could afford driving. "M. le general is more than welcome to everything the house affords," said Peter respectfully. "There are others who can pay double, treble, a hundredfold !" He snapped his fingers with a disdainful gesture. Bonaparte continued his toilet. He was busy with a clumsy-looking steel file, cleaning his nails. "My friend," he said, "where does dirt come from?" The old soldier deliberately kicked one of the monstrous galoshes. "They can afford to buy up Paris," he said. "They can eat ortolans and oysters out of season, and raisin porridge when winter comes along as a snarling wolf." "T'jaT returned Bonaparte, "leaving raisin porridge aside, we are well out of his shoes." "Maybe, sir. But there is a mighty consolation in food." Peter nodded his head towards the table. "How- ever, to-day, I am sorry to say, most of 'em have brought bread, and stale bread at that. We had a grand feast last week. Why were you not here, M. le general?" "I was not invited." "Madame de Beauharnais sent a whole bucketful of soup such soup meaty, strong, with forcemeat-balls, toma- toes and peas ! I filled the four soup-tureens belonging to our small dinner-service the East India one. It was heated to a turn it came steaming hot to table. Only twenty covers, and each person had a generous plateful. There was amply sufficient over for us. Even servants have stomachs, M. le general empty stomachs. Then I heard my master's genial voice: 'Who will take a second helping?' Eighteen responded." "Who was the abstemious one?" laughed Bonaparte. "Sir," said Peter solemnly, "there wasn't sufficient for the last guest. He had to go without." Bonaparte smoothed the lapel of his coat, a gleam of fun in his eyes. He bent over the table until his nose 54 LOVE almost touched a parcel. "It is either wild duck or partridge," he said. Peter discreetly tore open a corner of it and disclosed a game-pie. "M. Barras," he said, "whenever M. Barras dines here, or elsewhere, for the matter of that, he always brings six handsome meat-pies. He is generosity itself. Not only meat, m'sieu' meat at eighty francs a pound but fre- quently he will send us, with his compliments, wine wine at the Lord knows what figure ! Without doubt M. Barras is the most popular guest of the day in Paris." The general, with extreme difficulty, was manoeuvring his hands into a pair of old, white kid gloves. He worked his fingers automatically. "Confound it !" he said, holding out his right hand. "The glove has split." "Never mind," consoled the old servant. "Hands were made before gloves, and an honest man is worth ten fops any day. Besides, nothing will make M. le general elegant. Bonaparte drew himself up to his full height, a slight, virile, well-knit figure. "Don't be too sure," he said gravely. "Appearances are often deceptive." As if in answer to his statement, that clear, metallic laugh, from the next room, rang out a trifle shriller than before, followed by a chorus of approving male voices. "Some woman playing to the gallery." "Yes, M. le general. She is never contented until the last man falls." "I'll have to avoid her!" "Why not capitulate at once?" said Peter, allowing him- self this little pleasantry. "Never ! while I have an ounce of shot left in my barrel," said Bonaparte, taking a step forward. "I suppose I ought to be going in?" "Just as you please, sir. There is no hurry. The lady " "On second thoughts, I'll wait here for the unknown. I have never met Madame de Beauharnais." He seated himself in the big hall chair, smiling gaily. "Heigh, Peter ! LOVE 55 after all, there is no woman's laugh to ( ampare with a good round of musketry, or, for the matter of that, any woman's eye equal to the enemy's fire, for putting the right man on his true mettle." He sat there silent for a minute, for all the world as if defrauded of some precious privilege. "Peter!" "Yes, sir?" "I am going to leave women out of my life." "Love plays a winning game with the best of us," said Peter with a prodigious sigh. "My brother Joseph, who, between ourselves, is a bit of a fool, made a brilliant marriage. I know all that. Money, youth, love yet I don't envy him. I am glad for my mother's sake that he can provide for her. They, my people, have had an awful struggle to make the two ends meet. One day I will relieve Joseph of his responsibilities. After all, Mademoiselle Clerie is not our equal in birth. Her father is a rich grocer in Marseilles." "It sounds comfortable," said Peter, seeing in his imag- ination a vast selection of smoked hams, bags of sugar and rice, and flagons of purest oil. "Mademoiselle Desiree his sister-in-law is a charming young lady. But neither of the sisters are to be compared with mine. Pauline is a beauty and Caroline is as lively as a kitten. They deserve good fortune." "Yes, sir." "I have a pair of strong hands. And more than that, brains to fit out a regiment, and imagination to go round a well-populated town. . . . Why, I am the wealthiest man in Paris ! What do I care about Tallien and his ill- gotten gold and his well-furnished table and his downy bed hard enough, I swear, when he lies awake thinking thinking? His future is pretty sure, and his past written in ink. We cannot evade our own actions, but we can guard against possible alarms." He spoke extremely fast hardly addressing his words to Peter, who, anyhow, understood but vaguely their purport. "You are too much alone, general." 56 LOVE "Alone! I am never alone. I have unlimited resources and unlimited friends. A bare room is never empty. Are you a reader, Peter?'* "At times, sir." "To-night, clear off these pegs, usher out the guests, turn down the lights, take this chair and let all the heroes and all the villains in your favorite romances march in. I tell you, your blood will beat in your veins. The villains you can cheerfully hang on the pegs fancy them there all in a row. The heroes you will stand round the hos- pitable board, each with a loaf in his hand a flagon of wine by his side. You will be pleased and delighted. And you will hear wonders. All the little details which, for want of space, the best writer has to leave out of his books. You have only got to sit there and listen until the cock crows, or the sun looks in at the window, crying, 'Wake up, old Peter; no 'time for dreaming. Set the breakfast and see that your master's boots are cleaned.' . . . That is the worst of it. A hermit is the only man who is really to be envied. The wind and sun and birds never really interfere with his proud leisure. He can eat his nuts in peace and let his beard grow ." "Yes, sir," said Peter very respectfully, observing the extraordinary brilliancy of the general's eyes and feeling anxious about his health. A loud knock on the door disturbed his reflection. "There we have her at last!" he exclaimed, glancing up at the grandfather clock and opening the hall-door with a flourish. The general rose to his feet, and the light died out of his eyes. He looked nervous and tired. On the doorstep, powdered with snow, stood a small errand-boy, holding in one hand a big basket and in the other a card. "Madame de Beauharnais' compliments. She can't come," he said, thrusting the card into the old retainer's hand and placing the basket on the floor. Then he ran. At a safe distance he turned and made a face at Peter, who hadn't clearly grasped the situation, or why LOVE 57 he had let that young rascal escape without at least one sounding rap on his weather-beaten ear. The wind blew into the stuffy hall. The oil lamps began smoking, and the general coughed. "I beg your pardon, sir." Peter lifted the basket on to the table, and undid the wrappings. After a moment's silence he said, "I have always respected Madame de Beauharnais." Both the men stared in admiration at a big and ornate cake, shaped like a pyramid and covered with whipped cream. "Inside we have layers of sponge-cake, almond icing and chopped pieces of burnt sugar," observed Peter reveren- tially. "Exactly," said the general. "I have eaten the same thing at M. Barras'." "Indeed, sir?" Peter's eyes fell on the card. Being written, as it were, for the whole world to see, he did not scruple to read it aloud. Peter was proud of his learning. "I am desolated (it ran) and at the same time delighted ! My daughter, Hortense, has just arrived from school to pay me a surprise visit. The dear child has only permis- sion to stay a few days. I have not the heart to leave her. Pray accept my sincere excuses and this little cake, which I am sending round to console you for my absence. Josephine." The general laughed boyishly. "You are an old sinner, my friend," he said. "I'll see you again later. Hist, Peter, I am devilish hungry." Peter made a sudden dart and, grabbing a meat-pie, he pointed to the window niche. "An appetizer," he said, slipping the dainty into the general's hand. Bonaparte, in spite of his gloves, whose ultimate ruin he was preparing, clutched the pastry and, in comparative seclusion, with his back turned to any possible observer, he devoured the luscious morsel. As he had said, he was desperately hungry. 58 LOVE Peter stooped and put the guests' over-boots in orderly array. Only when, the general's j aws ceased working did he look up. A shade of color had crept into the young officer's face. His brilliant, deep-set eyes sparkled with renewed fire. He was now quite ready to face any odds. Even a woman's laugh. CHAPTER VII GENERAL BONAPARTE!" jje marched into the room, head erect, though his hands felt cold and clammy. He was conscious of his own insignificance. His pov- erty struck him as so ludicrously real. He had practically stolen his courage (what there was of it) at the expense of one of Barras' immaculate pies. Food is man's salvation. Out of the throng his kindly hostess detached herself; a plump, soft-eyed woman, modestly attired. "Late comer!" she chided. "Welcome! I think you know our little party?" General Bonaparte bowed awkwardly and murmured an utterly inaudible reply. He was the prey of intense nervousness. Why had he ever come? Why ? He scowled, and backed into a corner of the room. As a lady afterwards confided to her friend who had not the advantage of the "new" general's acquaintance he frowned so wickedly that he absolutely froze her blood. And then something or other made him smile, and she forgot everything else in her admiration for his appear- ance. "He's wonderfully handsome," she added. Evidently from the above the new lion, underfed and practically unknown was a creature of moods. Terezia Tallien, from her place at the top of the room, considered him gravely. Was he worth cultivating? As a possible lover, would he satisfy her taste? He was thin, uncouth, sprung from, comparatively speaking, humble stock. Were not all Corsicans more or less savages ? The general had come to Paris if not covered with glory at least with an exceptional military record. There was no ques- 59 60 LOVE tion as to his bravery. M. Barras said he was clever . . . later on he might do. He might amuse her. The little man did not look at her. Her eyes swept his person and rested on his boots. Evidently the boots were not worthy the man ! He looked extraordinarily boyish. Terezia turned to her hostess. "I want to know our vaudeville general," she said. "A man who scowls like that must be interesting. Does he eat babies, dearest?" And she laughed and leaned sideways in her high-backed gilt chair, letting her beautiful bare arms fall downwards. The general recognized the laugh. He had heard of Madame Tallien and he hadn't approved of her. Her character did not bear scrutiny. A woman who could deliberately marry Tallien couldn't be worth many soldi. She was beautiful yes, beautiful as a glowing, soulless picture. He despised her airs and graces. His keen blue eyes flashed across the circle of men drawn around her, apparently all desperately anxious to serve their queen. All the service she demanded What fools ! M. Bourrienne hurried up to him a genial, pleasant, disturbed man. He had lived through so much that he was continually doubting the next step. To-day his eye- brows looked as if they were permanently fixed at their present high level. His little round blue eyes looked guile- less as an infant's. He appeared a young-old man of forty. "General, Madame Tallien wants to know you. Take care, my good fellow ; she is invincible." The general, who, feeling himself lost in the crowd, was smiling happily at some joke of Captain Junot's, who had found him out, and who was standing staunchly by his superior officer's side, was now obliged to face the music. The introduction completed, he immediately retired to his corner, looking blacker than ever. M. Barras, who noticed most things, was ridiculously pleased at this little incident. LOVE 61 He nipped a fellow-legislator in his collar and whispered in his ear: "There is a man for you, worth his weight twice in gold! La Cabarus has had her first actual de- feat. Now it is her turn to frown. Poor darling! a beautiful woman never can understand a personal af- front. Look at her eyes, sick with wonder." "Console her, Barras." Barras shrugged his broad shoulders., "Later on," he remarked cynically, as he turned to offer his arm to his hostess and led the way into the adjoining dining-room. A poorly-lit apartment, with a long table down the centre of the room, covered with a curious selection of eatables. Here stood a flagon of thin ale beside a spidery bottle of old wine. Flat hardbake and crisp currant loaves ; dishes of fried fish and forcemeat balls ; slices of cold ham and some kind of hot vegetables dished with parsley-sauce; red-currant jellies; a big round dish of stewed apples ; in an old Nankeen bowl a meagre supply of fancy biscuits; on a Sevres plate a couple of small cream meringues ; on the sideboard a dozen or so of large meat-pies. There were no flowers on the table. Four ancient and massive silver candlesticks each with its lighted taper and two solid silver sugar-basins, gave, as it were, all the decoration needed to Madame Bourrienne's dinner-table. Tallien and Barras occupied the seats of honor, one on each side of their hostess. Tallien was in great form to-day. Across the whole length of the table one could hear his loud, piercing voice laying down the law. It was quite necessary to insist on his point of view, as no one felt in the least inclined to contradict him. Socially speaking, all argument had died a natural death. Madame Bourrienne listened to his remarks with her head on one side, occasionally wiping her nose, and let- ting her eyes wander up and down the table, taking in the different contributions. . . . On the whole they would not do badly. They had dear Josephine's cake in reserve. So generous, on her poor little widow's pension. . 62 LOVE Terezia had run to a whole shoulder of veal a dish to set before a king. It was well when riches came into right hands. . . . "I tell you," screamed Tallien, tucking his big napkin under his chin, "no one could have settled the affair in any other manner. Anything less dramatic would have failed in its purpose. We require a picturesque action. Nothing appeals more to our imagination than a great splash of color. A man's personality is his most attrac- tive weapon. I tell you " "Yes, indeed," murmured Madame Bourrienne, wonder- ing who amongst the party was responsible for the two cream meringues and, incidentally, who would have the honor of eating them. In 1795 a hostess's anxieties were, relatively speaking, small. Out of a penurious situation this excellent plan had been contrived that each guest should provide some- thing towards the feast host and guest mutually ignor- ing the contribution. Poverty is no hard master if ge- nially met. On the contrary: no one questioned your poverty, but riches were looked upon with distinct cold- ness. Even M. Tallien had recently been questioned by the Convention from what source he happened to draw his wealth. He had answered with much promptness, and some anger, that he had married a rich man's daugh- ter. Surely the honorable members recalled to mind his excellency M. le comte de Cabarus, ex-financier to His Majesty of Spain? He had worthily provided for his only daughter. The honorable members did not in the least credit the wealth or generosity of the ex-financier (a notorious swindler), but they had to accept the state- ment in default of a better one. As yet M. Tallien's star though somewhat dimmed shone in public. Even M. B arras had unconditionally accepted his colleague's explanation. Yet it had not prevented him from smiling. The joke was really rather above the average. Was he, Tallien, a clever rogue? No; M. Barras, even to himself, couldn't allow that point. . . . LOVE 63 "... I would have given my last drop of blood to clear the situation! I tell you!" "How very interesting!" murmured Madame Bourri- enne, startled out of her reflections by the increasing loudness of her distinguished guest, who was speaking and eating with equal voracity. In breathless silence both men and women hung on the oracle's utterance. He was a noble patriot, Tallien. He had a way, Tallien, of choking over his own words, much as a greedy boy chokes over his food. To gain time he would suck in his breath, and suddenly open his mouth to its widest capacity. It was a deplorably ugly trick. His mouth at such a moment looked like some hideous, blood-red cavern. He would throw back his head and close his eyes until they appeared as narrow slits beneath his sloping forehead, and puff out his pasty cheeks re- peating the performance several times. . . . Somehow, his loud dress harmonized with his loud voice his loud ges- tures were, as it were, reflected in his outrageous tie and in the color of his high-waisted, high-collared coat. . . . M. Barras, from the complacent position of a really well-turned-out man, would sometimes pity "patriot Tal- lien's" taste in dress. Poor fellow what a vulgar devil the lovely Terezia had in tow! Why did she not lick him into shape? . . . Why couldn't somebody gag the tiresome brute? Ugh! The clothes he wore to-night were a positive outrage to decency. . . . Barras, as a relief to his sorely-tried eyes, looked at Madame Tallien. She was in great beauty guileless, simple, quiet. She was playing with a little teaspoon and lending an atten- tive ear to her host. In the obscure light of the dining- room her face bloomed like some exotic flower, under a crown of matchless gold. . . . Was there ever such hair? Yes, and he liked her flesh-pink gown, which fitted her figure closely, only relieved by a diamond brooch, flashing 64 LOVE 'at her high waist-line. . . . She had taste enough for two. . . . Looking up, Madame Tallien happened to perceive M. Barras' approving glance. She smiled and modestly looked away. At his leisure he studied her profile, and came to the conclusion that in spite of his affection for Madame Beauharnais he would like to know her friend rather better than hitherto. Madame Tallien's regard might be worth cultivating on purely platonic lines. Tallien pushed his plate aside with a violent gesture. "I tell you !" he bellowed. Barras gave him a withering glance. There he was again at his old tricks, gaping like a whale! Bah! the man's capacity for big talk sickened him. What an unmitigated bore is a conceited ass! At the extreme bottom of the table he happened to notice his young friend, General Bonaparte, seated be- tween Junot and Madame de Beauharnais. He could not help smiling both at the gravity of Bonaparte and at the vivacity of Madame Fanny. The general observed M. Barras' glance. He blushed furiously, and then turned deadly pale. M. Barras nodded kindly. He didn't actually dislike the young man. He had under his, Barras', orders done very well in Toulon. There was grit in him. At a pinch he might again serve his masters. He would keep his eye on him. Where Tallien brayed, talent was ob- viously at an advantage. In sheer self-preservation, Bar- ras turned to his hostess with a witty reminiscence from his seafaring days. The atmosphere cleared as if by magic, conversation became general, and Tallien yawn- ing once relapsed into silence, furtively glancing round the company. "Are you feeling ill, general?" asked Madame de Beau- harnais. "I thank you, madame, I am perfectly well." Bona- parte's voice was icy-cold. "Lucie Bourrienne will never see that her rooms are LOVE 65 properly ventilated. Don't you feel the heat? The con- sequence is, she is always suffering from colds. There now! she is blowing her nose again." The general accepted the statement in silence. Madame de Beauharnais twisted her multitudinous rings round her thin fingers, complacently conscious of her own invincible charms. She turned a languishing eye on the sulky young man. He wanted cheering up, poor boy. "I take a great interest in you, general. You must forgive an old lady's plain-speaking." "Madam?" "Not at all, sir. When I have occasion to dislike a person, I am just as frank." (Junot stared entranced at her wonderful face. He had never seen anything like it before. For the matter of that, he was a raw recruit in polite society.) "Very few young men are as well-read as you, general." Bonaparte gave her a glance. "I have been told that you appreciate Ossian. What a poet! As you know, I am myself, in a small way, an authoress. We have a fellow-feeling, yet I envy as much as I admire my master's flawless composition. What liquid lines! What easy expression! And, above all, how uncommonly true to life! A book must live to endure. Alas, I have not Ossian's noble gift of expres- sion." (A sigh. Another stare from Junot. Bonaparte immovable as a stone image.) "I read him last night, and I am afraid I sat up unreasonably late. I admit my weakness. Sir, I am a great admirer of genius." She fluttered her tiny fan and glanced at the tall cap- tain. What extremely odd people one met nowadays! Junot's frank stare disturbed her. "Kindly pass me that flask of wine," she said with haughty condescension. Evidently poor Junot was not an admirer of Ossian, and therefore incapable of interesting Madame de Beauharnais. Junot bowed gallantly and, stretching out his great 66 LOVE arm, he managed to reach the bottle. He shook it, with a face of comical dismay it was empty. As it happened, the brave captain caught the eye of Peter, and im- mediately he came to the conclusion that he had spotted the thief. There was no doubt about the old man's guilt. He was nodding behind Bonaparte's chair like an old baboon. As a matter of fact, the wine had gone into a new bottle, and into the pocket of his favorite's weather- worn overcoat. He only hoped the saints would in due course inform the general of his good luck. "He is not a popular guest," thought the old servant sadly. "Not by the look of him. Between feasts there are long days of lean privation." "Madam, it is empty." Junot's tone of utter dejection roused Bonaparte like the snap of a timely pistol. He shouted with laughter. From that moment Madame Fanny had no cause to complain of the general's inaittention. He talked on every conceivable subject and was hilariously gay. Junot egged Napoleon on to new efforts, and kept assiduously passing him food. Not a dish came that way without being sampled. As to Madame de Beauharnais, under cover of the young officer's lively banter, she managed to slip many a toothsome morsel into her famous reticule. She did it so openly that Junot could not help wondering how on her return home she managed, as it were, to separate the goats from the sheep, and anyhow, if she did not find them in a sticky condition. It was a monstrous difficult prob- lem. "Yes, madam," said Bonaparte, "I have every intention of leaving the army and settling down in Paris as a house proprietor. I shall have much pleasure in letting you a flat at a purely nominal rental. A lady who appreciates Ossian must be allowed some advantage. Junot will have to pay through his nose. He will also fit him out with a wife." "I have found her " said Junot. LOVE 67 Captain Junot's love-affairs did not interest Madame Fanny. She turned to the general. "I am disappointed in you," she said archly. "You ought to do better." Junot laughed. "So that is your little idea, my gen- eral?" "One of the smallest." "And the greatest? We'll wring his secrets from him, madam." "Sultan of Turkey. Wouldn't I make an excellent em- peror, Junot?" "First-rate!" "You may laugh, my friend, but I am speaking in perfect good faith. I am not easily satisfied, madam." "He is the greatest martinet alive," murmured Junot. "And he has got the energy of ten devils. General, I salute my future Emperor." Madame de Beauharnais blinked her eyes and ate toasted cheese and bread with excellent appetite. "Noth- ing in this world ever surprises me," she announced calmly. They all three nodded their heads in time. Once or twice M. Tallien's uneasy glance fell covertly on the little Corsican officer, who seemed to be amusing himself at the far end of the table. He never liked the general, but in any case he preferred him sulky. Tallien pinched his upper lip reflectively and resolved that he would take the very first opportunity which of- fered to promote General Bonaparte to some post abroad. It might do him good to see some other branch of the service. It was said he was passionately devoted to his guns well, he would sever his connection with the artil- lery. General Bonaparte was lost in Paris. Again he smoothed his upper lip and looked at Barras (Barras was not looking at him, but at his wife) .... Barras thought a great deal too much of Bonaparte's capabilities. He'd been lucky that's all. At the present moment Tallien shunned all competition. The pulses beat painfully in M. Tallien's temples before the lengthy meal drew towards its close. Many of the 68 LOVE guests had changed their seats. Terezia had made room for M. Barras at her right hand. They were whisper- ing together, and Terezia was smiling . . . damn the shameless harlot! Tallien's thoughts swung backwards and forwards like a pendulum of a clock. He recalled Terezia's smiles in the old days, directed exclusively to- wards himself, those vanished days of glory when he ruled Bordeaux. . . . The chatter of Bourrienne's guests seemed to break into the clamor of an excited crowd . . . he struck his fist on the table and shattered a wine-glass. "It does not matter in the least," said Madame Bourrienne politely, glancing up with an involuntary shiver at Tallien's face. Madame TaUien laughed. She was feeling so happy so sure of herself (she glanced full into Barras' rather misty eyes) so sure of him. . . . "Have you seen anything lately of the Widow Beau- harnais?" she asked sweetly. M. Barras relaxed his hold on Terezia's little hand, which he had but a moment before longed passionately to press to his lips. He drew back from her as you would from something evil. "Yes," he answered softly, "I had the pleasure of meet- ing her last night." With a pang at his heart he remembered Josephine's gentle grace, her dove-like softness, her implicit trust in himself. He pulled himself upright, staring at a picture on the opposite wall. Terezia laughed her silvery, musical laugh. (As if dearest Josephine could ever compete with herself! The mere idea was preposterous.) "The next time you meet, give her my love," she said. "I thank you, madam," said Barras coldly, still con- templating the portrait of Bourrienne's grandmother. Terezia leaned forward, until her breath fanned Barras' averted cheek. "Oh," she murmured, "what have I done to offend you?" She laid a light finger on his arm. "Tell me." LOVE 69 It was useless; he could not resist her. She was irre- sistible with that quiver in her voice and her flushed face and her warm, loving glances. Besides, he had never in all his life resisted either pleasure or temptation. It was not in his line. . . . For all that, he stoutly declared to himself, as he relaxed his guard, Madame Josephine was infinitely Madame Terezia's superior. He turned and faced her boldly. "You glorious woman!" he breathed rather than spoke. His eyes seemed to expand and grow darker, and he held himself proudly. Desire gives us strength. Opposite them, Tallien with difficulty controlled his indignation. He knew the preliminaries of the game so well. . . . Then Terezia's iniquities faded. . . . He seemed to hear above the gay company the single note of a mournful bell. The bell was ringing, slowly, relentlessly sounding his own downfall. He covered his eyes with his hand. Terezia smiled. CHAPTER VIII TT was Tuesday evening, and already the great suite of reception-saloons of which the little white music-room formed the last were in order to receive the fashionable world of Paris. Many a light gleamed from the massive chandeliers. Here and there groups of hothouse plants gave a festive note to the decorations. In the card- rooms tables had been set out for those who did not ap- preciate dancing. In the green gallery furnished all its length with comfortable settees M. Barras' servants had arranged a well-provided buffet. Nothing lacked in this rich man's house. The enormous ballroom was brilliantly lighted. Already the musicians had taken up their places in the music gallery, and at least two indis- creet maids giving a last ecstatic look at the prepara- tions had slipped ignominously on the highly-polished parquet floor. The music-room a corner apartment with two tall windows, one on each side of the panelled walls painted by Boucher had a peculiarly intimate air. The fur- niture was of the lightest description, the coloring of the daintiest. Against the white-panelled walls the slender chairs, upholstered in palest blue silk with gilt woodwork, looked charming. From the domed ceiling hung an ancient crystal chandelier, at present fitted with twelve lighted candles. There was something mysterious in the little room. Something which spoke of long-dead days. The Luxembourg is full of memories and mem- ories are as often as not tinged with sadness. For is not the joy linked by sorrow? M. Barras fully dressed for the evening's festivities was playing a ronda by Mozart. A little fantasia with 70 LOVE 71 a light melodious melody, composed for the wedding cele- brations of Elizabeth Haifner, in 1776. It seemed to wake the echoes of the past. So much had happened in less than two decades. His fingers flew over the ivory keys and his thought's took another direction. . . . He was tired of the Con- vention, dog-tired of the ceaseless wrangles and disputes. What would be the upshot of all this noise? He was too much of an artist to underrate discord. It worried him intensely, when he chose to listen. As a rule, he found it easier to turn a deaf ear to difficulties which he could not avert. . . . He had behaved as an arrant fool the other night at the Bourriennes'. (The music grew stormier.) "Notre Dame de Thermidor" had had every reason to smile hap- pily as he had folded her soft fox-skin coat around her warm shoulders . . . the scent of her hair had intoxicated him. . . . She had whispered a few words and given him a few extremely intelligible glances . . . the old, old wiles of every unscrupulous woman (he gave a bitter laugh). And he had immediately responded with less dignity than any mealy-mouthed boy. Looking back on the incident, he hated her . . . yes, he hated her! (Which only shows us that, for all his muscular strength, M. Barras was a weak man.) A pretty maid-servant, with a pan and brush in her hand, stopped to listen to the music through the cur- tained doorway. (There had been an accident in the card-room; a clumsy footman in removing his step-ladder had knocked down a bunch of crystal drops from the chandelier. . . .) She peeped at M. Barras, holding her breath at her audacity. How handsome he looked in his grand new evening clothes ! She noticed the blue veins on his massive forehead. . . . How beautifully he played ! . . . Lord forgive her impudence ! And away she fluttered, light as an evening moth. The music grew fiercer than ever. With a final tre- mendous chord M. Barras rose rather stiffly shut up 72 LOVE the piano, and raising himself on tiptoe, he blew out the candles in the little chandelier a gem of sixteenth-cen- tury workmanship. It had hung in the same place for two hundred years. In his present humor, darkness suited him best. He yawned, and stretched out a pair of strong arms. Life, even under its worst aspect, had its compensations. He smiled. As long as he had the heart to enjoy him- self, what did the rest matter? . . . He would explain the situation to Josephine . . . she would understand and forgive him and all that ... he would never look at Madame Tallien again. . . . Was she not a bit over- blown, in spite of her youth ... a bruised flower eh? M. Barras, tired of his own society, strode through the long file of reception-rooms in search of his secretary. Even at that hour he would be sure to find him with his nose at his desk. An incredible man for work was M. Joseph. He whistled the latest popular melody from the music- halls as he swaggered along, giving a glance to right and left. Everything was in order. The rooms had been discreetly warmed and even a window opened to air them. Must have been Joseph's doing. Joseph was not only M. Barras' private secretary but also his housekeeper. He kept the bills and he saw to the coals. Which is merely one way of saying he managed everything. In the green drawing-room M. Barras paused to ar- range his neck-tie in front of a cheval glass. The glass was put there (by Joseph) for the use of the ladies. Men were permitted to take advantage of it. In those days men often had the advantage of ladies in dress. Heigh-day ! Mine host was fine. Look at his immacu- lately fitting coat of fuchsia-red satin his skin-tight white satin knee-breeches his black silk stockings his diamond-buckled shoes the feathered hat he carried under his arm. (Presently he'd put it down; couldn't be bored to carry it; the feathered hat which would empha- size his compliments.) Can't you see him, bowing, scrap- LOVE 73 ing his heels, to his guests, and pressing his hat to his heart? He'd do it very well, too. An elegant gentleman, with a great opinion of himself. The combination al- ways does well in society. Here he was at home. In the Orleans' old palace he was uncrowned king of the day. Listen! The music is tuning up. Servants are run- ning about with lighted tapers. In some rooms the soft radiance of countless wax candles gives the finishing touch to M. Joseph's preparations for the proper entertain- ment of M. Barras' guests. By the way, at the bottom of the list amongst the young men always asked to parties in batches stood the name of General Napoleon Bonaparte. He had accepted. But, of course. No doubt he was very excited and impressed by the com- pliment paid him. So many young men, and women too, hungered for invitations to the Luxembourg parties. M. Joseph could not fit them all in. There he was, scribbling away as fast as he could go, barely glancing up at M. Barras' interruption. M. Barras had put a good-natured hand on his shoulder. "Sir," he said, "in ten minutes we'll have them here.'* "I know. Your friends are punctual." Barras seated himself in a great leather chair. The library was all furnished in embossed leather. A very handsome apartment. "That's a pretty plant," he said, looking at a group of flowers by the window. "I wonder how they grow those things." "Attention and money." "Then give it to me. Am I not worth more than a Christmas rose? Ha-ha!" Joseph put down his pen and looked at his employer. "Sir," he said, "we'll have to reduce our budget. The pay of an army corps will have to come down to three lows d'ors a month." "I hate business " "So do I, in moderation. There's bound to be trouble." 74 LOVE "They'll get their arrears later on." "Except a miracle happens they'll have to eat their boots." "We have got to make money." "Or save it." "I'm bound to entertain, if you mean that, Joseph." He waved his hand. "Touch the bell, will you? I am thirsty as a crocodile." His secretary rose from his seat by the small bureau. He was very nearly as finely dressed as M. Barras. No one would have recognized him as the turnkey of Les Cannes. Joseph was carefully shaved; his finger-nails were polished; his swallow^tailed coat fitted him to per- fection in a word, he .was the type of an .elegant young gentleman of 1795. He came across the room. "I would not advise it," he said. "Better start sober, sir. You have a good long evening before you. M. Barras* Tuesdays invari- ably encroach on Madame Tallien's Wednesdays." He turned away, looking down the long vista of illuminated rooms. "Let us dance and forget, for to-morrow we die. It is a fine principle and poor doctrine." "I am sick of authority " "Give it up " "To that mendacious fool, Tallien?" "He would not keep it for long." "Long enough to raise hell. He would love to whip 'em all back into prison. By the way, Joseph, it is rather gratifying to see how the old order is returning. We have got a lot of 'em here to-night." "Yes, sir." "I don't care a dewer if they consider it merely an unpleasant duty I They save the situation. The young bloods are rather inclined to go the pace " "Yes, sir." "They are only fools." "Fools can be as destructive as clever people." "I can see Tallien licking his mouth." LOVE 75 "He is better out of Paris. We'll find him a lucrative post in the provinces." "They are just as badly off as we are " "At Quiberon our pig might scent some truffles. He is a greedy fellow, who suffers from nerves." (Joseph smiled.) "As a matter of fact he is very nearly harmless. His marriage has pretty well done for him " "On the contrary " "Tallien can never obliterate the past." "Madame Tallien " "I saw the lady daily for six months." B arras laughed. "Anyhow, she is a beauty." "You can make love to her, sir." "I have no intention " "She has all the more. Terezia takes everything she likes under cover of charity." "Confound it! Why can't women learn to leave me alone?" "You are a poor teacher, Citizen Barras." A bell rang. . . . Footsteps sounded in the hall. . . . Several bells ... a murmur of voices. From the great courtyard below a link-boy shouted. His shrill voice penetrated the double windows. "Sir," said Joseph, with a catch in his breath, "the little general will slay the pig, and not only Tallien but all that he stands for riot, misery, starvation. That is to say, if he is given his chance. At the present moment he is handicapped for want of employment. The man who saved Toulon is capable of saving France." Barras pulled himself upright. "France will have to wait," he said coldly. He was already growing very jealous of Bonaparte's prestige. Away in the ballroom the music struck up a popular melody. "That is more our tune," he added, slipping on his gloves. "Joseph, a word in your ear. Look after Madame Tallien." > "You are the best man " "I insist on her being kept out of my way." 76 LOVE "And Madame de Beauharnais kept in ignorance ?" "Pshaw! there is nothing to hide. Pass her on to the valiant Bonaparte." "Who? Madame Josephine?" "She wouldn't look at him. Terezia will fit him into her crowd." A group of elegant people were passing into the ball- room, staring around them with frank interest. Society was of exquisite freshness. The ballroom was the same in which la Grande Mademoiselle had danced with her ill-favored cousin, Charles the Martyr's fugitive son keeping an eye on the anointed Louis, twelve years her junior and not yet in his teens, but still the best match in Europe. . . . And away strode M. Barras to do the honors of his house. CHAPTER IX HE music was vibrating gently from the great ball- room. In the green drawing-room for the moment deserted Josephine was standing in front of the swing mirror, adjusting a dance-blown curl. She was fashionably attired in a short, pure-white satin gown, with touches of silver and rose-colored tulle. Her little white satin sandals (an extravagantly new idea copied from the ancients) were laced across her slender ankles with blue ribbons. Her face was liberally sprinkled with powder, and her cheeks and lips were rouged with careful attention to a natural effect. Josephine twisted the curl carefully round her little finger and smiled at her charming reflection. She was conscious of looking her best. Yet so perverse is human nature, that she turned, with a little anxious pucker between her curved brows, to her friend, lazily watching her from the depths of a com- fortable chair. "How do I look?" she asked. "I feel disgracefully untidy. You are simply marvellous to-night, Terezia. Some of the ladies are dreadlfully shocked. Turn round. Yes, exactly. You leave very little to the imagination." Madame Tallien stretched her long limbs and laughed good-naturedly. "Someone must set the fashion," she said. "After to-night everyone will turn Incroyable." Josephine made a delightful little grimace at the mir- ror. "God spare us," she said piously. "Fancy the horrid sights we'll see! If a woman has a decent shape she can do what she likes but think of the unwieldy mammas or their skinny daughters appearing in the dress you are launching to-night!" 77 78 LOVE "What is the matter with it?" "It is indecent, for one thing." "Nonsense! I have the most beautiful figure in Paris Josephine turned round with raised hands. "And the most beautiful feet and the most beautiful garters," she mimicked. "You are practically naked, darling." "Am I?" sighed "Our Lady of Charity." (There was no end to her titles they cropped up like mushrooms in the daily press.) "I have received charming compli- ments from everyone. Oh, I assure you " Josephine slipped into a chair opposite her friend. "You little goosie-goose," she said. "And what do you think they say behind your back?" "Do tell me!" (Here was a subject of absorbing in- terest !) "No, I won't," snapped Josephine, almost severely. "Gossip is always horrid and nearly always false. I heard, par exemple, that M. B arras, the other day, at the Bourriennes' dinner, paid you extravagant atten- tion " "What a story!" "That your two heads were continually together "The idea!" "That when he ceased staring at you, you looked him out of countenance " "My dearest!" "Once he so far forgot himself yes, in front of every- one he kissed your cheek; and that, instead of box- ing his ears, you appeared celestially happy. There! Terezia, you are not nearly careful enough." Terezia balanced one foot on the other and shifted her position so that her narrow draperies of some corn- colored silk muslin fell apart, disclosing the clou of her costume, a broad, plain gold circlet worn above her left knee, matching a similar band in her hair. Beneath the corn-colored muslin she wore flesh-colored tights. "What silly stories people invent ! My dearest Joseph- LOVE 79 ine, do you really think it would amuse me to flirt with your avowed admirer?" "I am only joking, darling," said Josephine gaily. She did not wish to quarrel with Terezia. She was also sure she had heard an exaggerated version of what had happened at the Bourriennes' . . . Paul Barras was her devoted lover . . . only to-night he had looked at her so tenderly half-reproachful, half-sorrowful. He had been so taken up with his duties as host that, so far, they had had no opportunity for private conversation. . . . "How many times have you danced this evening with M. Barras?" she asked gently. Terezia shut her eyes. "Twice, I believe, but I can't remember. You still have your doubts?" (She opened her eyes.) "Time will prove my innocence," she said very virtuously. "No doubt," said Josephine, placidly. Terezia rose excitedly and stared at her face in the mirror. She gave a long-drawn sigh of pure content. "Ah, ah!" she said, raising her arms above her head. "What it is to be alive again really alive, after all we have gone through ! I enjoy every minute. It is ex- quisite ! I don't mind how many lovers I have." "And you'll never love anyone but yourself." "You are the right person to speak!" She flashed round. "Get up, darling; this is my favorite dance, and Pve promised it to that little stiff-necked piece of decorum, General Bonaparte. Don't we both like having a good time?" They kissed each other. "The general? I caught a glimpse of hkn in the refreshment-room." "They say he has nothing but debts, and that he keeps his people on his miserable pay." "That is nice of him." "He is a paragon. Come; I will introduce him." She looked critically at Josephine. "My dearest, you want a new distraction. I would in your place give M. Barras 80 LOVE his conge and take on the little general. You can't af- ford to lose flesh." Josephine shrugged her shoulders. "Take care you don't get too fat," she retorted. "Keep him yourself." "He is not my style," said Terezia, candidly. She drew herself up to her full height, and leaned backwards, hold- ing her hands beneath her splendid bust, letting her eyes slowly sink to the level of her bare feet as if admir- ing the antique ring ornamenting her left big toe. Her pink satin sandals were extremely low-cut a very apol- ogy for a shoe. In truth she had every cause to love her feet they were flawless. "You ought to marry him yourself. Widows are out of it. A husband is such an enormous protection." Terezia yawned. "I feel so excited. Come along, sweet pet." She put her arm around Madame Beauharnais' supple waist. "You are soft as a kitten," she said. "I am so glad you are out of mourning." Josephine murmured something, which Terezia didn't catch. In the doorway the ladies paused, looking down the long picture-gallery. Every seat was occupied. They got all the attention they wanted. Terezia smiled. "They don't love me," she murmured. She must have meant the elderly ladies. At sight of her half a dozen men rushed forward. She waved them aside still keep- ing her arm round Josephine. "I'm engaged for this dance. I am waiting for my partner." "He seems a bad young man," said Josephine. They walked down the gallery arm-in-arm, we may be sure with every eye upon them. Terezia's favorite waltz had crowded the ballroom. The ladies stood (in an atti- tude), watching the dancers, one of them at least in a towering passion. "He's the rudest little man on earth!" said Terezia. LOVE 81 "Fancy not looking out for me ! No doubt he's hiding in some corner." Josephine sighed. "It's only shyness, darling. You are such a great person and he's a nobody. Oh, of course, I know all about Toulon. M. Barras says he behaved very well and understood his instructions at once. The others floundered. It was such a relief for dear Paul. He had all the responsibility, of course. There's no knowing wJiat the English might have done. M. Barras told me-" Terezia stopped to tie her shoe-lace. One or two men sprang forward to help her. She waved them aside. "You treat women as if they were helpless dolls," she said, balancing herself on one foot and adroitly raising the other. The attitude was extremely graceful and flattering to her figure. Josephine standing by remembered that dear Terezia was always coming to grief over her san- dals. . . . She dug her little heelless slipper into M. B arras's handsome pile carpet, annoyed at dear Terezia's idiotic methods of gaining attention. So unnecessary as if people did not stare enough at her! "Madame Tallien !" "Chere Madame Tallien!" "Keep back! I don't want any of you," commanded Terezia, putting down her foot and kissing her fingers to her admirers. "Except my dearest Josephine." At that moment the music stopped. The little gen- eral had forever lost the good opinion of Madame Tallien. The decorative youths gaped open-mouthed after the "fleeing Venus." The wittiest young man in the group christened her thus instantly. Her draperies were as foam, he said, and she herself the incomparable Goddess. ... If Terezia had heard such a distinguished compliment, who knows, she might have forgiven an ill-bred soldier. CHAPTER X A S they passed through the great rooms they formed ** a very pretty picture these two young women linked together by youth and inclination, smiling, whispering, apparently utterly unaware of the interest they created in reality conscious of each shade of expression in each dowager's steely glance. There, on a gilded settee, sat the authoress, Madame de Beauharnais, talking to her friend Madame de St. Innocent both representing a vanished world. Madame Fanny was magnificent in her flowing, purple silk skirts and her stiffest corset. She held herself as straight as a poker her immense powdered wig not a hair's-breadth out of place. So she had sat in that very same costume in the royal halls of Versailles. She breathed dignity and past grandeur. She weighed her words and guarded her glances. She knew her own place when the world looks on. . . . Alas ! except for one or two of her own friends, no one noticed her. And if they did they only laughed at her antediluvian appearance. Madame St. Innocent was, comparatively speaking, a young woman. She would also have entirely escaped toublic attention except for her history. She belonged to the old ndblesse she held herself as proudly as Madame Fanny her voice was soft and melodious, and her big grey eyes, under their delicate arched brows, looked sad and wandering one might also say vacant at times. Was she a ghost, this slight lady with her regular features and well-bred air? . . . No, she was only a woman who had suffered. Madame St. Innocent had re- cently lost all her nearest and dearest under peculiarly tragic circumstances. Even the lightest-tongued woman 82 LOVE 83 in Paris unconsciously lowered her voice in her presence: "Why does she persist in showing herself? She makes me shiver " "Don't look at her " so they said, these giddy young representatives of a New Order. In many cases the surviving members of the old aris- tocracy considered it prudent to appear in Society this wonderful, hideous mockery of society, where good manners went for naught and where the newcomers (wit- ness the Talliens) carried all before them by sheer audacity. The New People instituted new fashions, new gestures, a new language and a code of morals almost prehistor- ically savage. There was no limit to their extravagance. They obeyed no laws except the laws of pleasure. They aped the dress of the Greeks without understanding their culture. No one grasped anything beyond the glorious fact that they were at liberty . . . each hour was a jewel, a brilliant jewel, shining in the crown of Time. They worshipped the Present as sun-worshippers wor- ship the heat. Even Madame Fanny de Beauharnais, though she was fond of Madame Tallien, who had always treated her with distinguished consideration, had to allow that dear Terezia's costume to-night was, if nothing else, a liberal education. "Disgraceful!" she said, her eyes following the two ladies of fashion, much as she would have looked at the vulgar exit of a third-rate actress. Mrs. Fanny was genuinely shocked. She clutched her immense reticule her best, gold-framed bag of white satin, brocaded with roses so tightly in her mittened hands and pressed her lips so severely together, that Madame de St. Innocent looked at her in alarm, half fearing for her old friend's health. In spite of her wonderful make-up, her best party wig and her new wreath of pink roses, Mrs. Fanny looked her age beneath the radiance of many candles. 84 LOVE The music from the adjoining ball-room beat in merry time. The dancers were shouting, romping in an endless chain the women clutching their partners' coat-tails, the men circling the women's necks with their arms. . . . Here a girl shook down her hair her action meeting with a shout of applause. The chain broke up the couples dancing back to back and, swinging round, they pranced forward improvising unique steps to fall into each other's arms. A mad stampede followed the best to the strongest. Women were literally torn from their part- ners, shrieking half in joy, half in terror. The music pealed and clashed with the whoops of the victors kisses and favors were flung broadcast ; a cloud of dust from the floor; smoke from the guttering candles where the grease fell into ready-prepared pans a flutter of drap- eries and hot, clinging scent, and the air like lead. From painted faces the perspiration ran in uneven patches. . . . The pale women looked the best, as exhausted, with half- closed eyes, they leaned against their partners. Madame de St. Innocent never once glanced towards the ballroom where, through the great arched doorways, a good view of the proceedings could be had. She sat immovable, erect, her hands folded in her lap looking strangely out of place in her old-fashioned, wide-hooped petticoats and her high-heeled shoes. Her well-bred face only indicated slight weariness. It was close on midnight. "The weather is sad for the poor," she remarked in her gentle voice. "I have never known such an icy winter, nor such an expensive one. Last week I had to pay five thousand francs for a load of wood." "Paper," snapped Mrs. Fanny, looking into her reti- cule. "I don't think it is fair to have supper so late. I am very hungry." "So am I, dear. Yet we must allow that M. Barras does everything very well." "He is an excellent host. I have particularly remarked to-night that he is always talking to different people. LOVE 85 Now, at the Bourriennes, he and Terezia never left each other's side. Everyone was remarking upon it." "Indeed?" said Madame de St. Innocent indifferently. "Come with me to church to-morrow. I am so glad we are allowed that privilege." Madame de St. Innocent deliberately changed the conversation. She did not like Madame Tallien. "Sorry, my dear, but I have promised to join a theatre party to see Talma," returned Mrs. Fanny with equal coldness. She very much disliked being interrupted in her remarks. "I make a point of never going to mass and to the play on the same day." "Quite right. None of us can afford to give up our principles." Madame de Beauharnais sighed. "It is a mad, bad world," she said. "If it were not for my religion and my work I would at times feel very disheartened." She made a gesture towards the ball-room. "That is sufficient to sicken us. What a display of vanity and vulgarity!" (She held herself with immense dignity and spoke very clearly.) "At present I am writing a tragedy," she said, "a noble theme and elevating to the human mind. At times my spirit soars on happy wings." (Madame de St. Innocent looked up at her.) "It is a laborious task and difficult of achievement, yet I believe in perseverance, sus- tained by that inward glow which is in itself a sufficient reward for an artist, however humble." Mrs. Fanny spoke with elegant conviction. Her voice was regulated by her gestures. The mittened fingers made passes in the air Mrs. Fanny was conscious of an audience. Two young girls stood in front of the ladies, respect- fully waiting for a pause in Madame de Beauharnais' oration. They were enchanting young creatures: black-haired, pale-skinned, dark-eyed, dressed alike in purest white satin, each with a red camellia fastened in their high blue sashes. Both the young ladies curtsied low. The prettiest one, 86 LOVE and probably the elder of the two sisters, kissed Madame de St. Innocent's outstretched hand. "Pray excuse us, madame," she began. "We have a great favor to ask you. My mother is getting up a subscription ball "To buy bread for the poor," supplemented the second girl. "It is going to be simply lovely * "A perfect dream ! We are all to wear red dresses, and each lady is to have a black crepe bow tied round her throat, and each man a similar band round his arm "Mamma says no one is to be admitted to the Ball of the Victims who has not lost a relative " "All the lights are to be shaded. Only serious dances on the programme polonaises, gavottes, minuets " "Dear madam, you must be our President? Ah, no! It is no good refusing. You are by far the greatest victim of us all!" The young girl lowered her voice to an awestruck whisper: checking her fingers, she spoke. "You have lost your husband, father, mother, brothers, not to mention several cousins " "You forget madam's sister," prompted the other young lady, with her round childish eyes fixed on Madame de St. Innocent's startled face. (Madame de Beauhar- nais, after one glance at the girls, studied the lace edge 'on her immense handkerchief she gave the matter her undivided attention.) "Oh, how stupid of me! Of course, madam's sister was murdered in the September massacres. My God, how terrible and how interesting ! Madam, I assure you your position is unrivalled. There is no one to ap- proach you, except perhaps Madame de Tremoille." She spoke very rapidly, with charming little imploring ges- tures. Tears shone in her sweet brown eyes. "Madeleine, you know very well," corrected the pretti- est girl, almost angrily, "that the duchess is quite mad. Let me speak. Indeed, madam, the doctors say she will never recover. She insists on sleeping on the bare boards as she says there are others who require the bed more LOVE 87 than she does. She is always secreting little pieces of soap and washing out her handkerchiefs and stockings. Sometimes she will sit without saying a word all day long ; at other times she laughs, or she cries not often; she is really very brave. She imagines she is in prison. She won't listen to reason " "How can she when she is mad?" said her sister re- provingly. "Dear madam " began Madeleine. During this lively dialogue Madame de St. Innocent had time to collect her bewildered thoughts. She smiled kindly at the young girls. "I thank you very much for your kind suggestion," she said gently. "I hope the ball will be very successM, but you must excuse me if I am obliged to refuse." (Just for one second her voice faltered.) "I I do not feel I could be present." The young ladies expressed their deepest regret, curt- sied charmingly to both ladies (Madame de Beauharnais folded her handkerchief and inclined her head), and ran lightly down the long gallery in search of fresh "victims." The band was playing a delicate air, a soft berceuse, probably to give the heated dancers time to cool before supper. In the doorway of the ballroom stood a group of men amongst them M. Tallien, visible as a gaudy dragon-fly. He was pleasantly conscious of the undeniable effect he was creating. His clothes were "immense" both as to cut and color. His white satin breeches fitted like a skin ; his orange satin coat boasted no less than forty- two silk lapels of different sizes and different shades ; his lace cravat would have robed twenty infants; his rings would have furnished a jeweller's shop in short, after Madame Tal- lien, he was easily the biggest sensation of the evening. As one wit had declared in an open circle, "Dress was less than nothing to the beautiful Te*rezia and everything to her husband." M. Tallien was Drawing on his white kid gloves human 88 LOVE skins were out of fashion and talking volubly to a young aristocrat. The young aristocrat, intoxicated by the night's rev- elry, had quite forgotten that once not so long ago he and M. Tallien had been avowed enemies. He was clap- ping the dreaded man of Bordeaux on his shoulder. "Bravo!" he said. "Bravo!" And M. Tallien always encouraged by admiration opened his enormous mouth and laughed loudly. "Hug your luck, my young man "I will!" "Take the pick of the basket! I am your friend! I'll stand by you! " The great man winked. He did not trouble to lower his voice, but he came a step nearer to the infatuated youth, very well aware that they were overheard. He stroked his marvellous shirt-front, decorated with bil- lows of antique Mechlin. "My heart to-night," he cooed, "is as a kidney stewed in milk, tender, you know, soft and tender." The circle roared. "Bravo ! Bravo !" On the gilded settee sat Madame de St. Innocent and Madame de Beauharnais, the one looking a little weary, the other with a dull red flush under her paint. Madame de St. Innocent's face was, if anything, a little whiter than before. She glanced round the thinning room the guests were going in to supper as if she was barely conscious of her surroundings. Maybe the softly executed berceuse recalled to her happier days or a voice that was dead? She was smiling as she had not smiled all that evening. Mrs. Fanny, looking at her, felt an unaccountable lump in her throat, and was unreasonably annoyed at her weak- ness. A lady in society controls her feelings. . . . Were these monstrous individuals (ah, that man's voice!) actu- ally pulling down all their cherished ideals? Could none escape contamination? . . . M. Barras, accompanied by a young gentleman, bowed profoundly to the ladies. LOVE 89 "May I have the honor, citoyenne" said he, offering his arm to Madame la marquise de St. Innocent. She swayed a little as she rose. "I thank you, citoyen" Her voice was perfectly level. As to Mrs. Fanny, she briskly regained her composure and her most bewitching expression. She was very par- tial to a young man. She dangled her reticule and leaned lightly on the arm of her acquaintance, giving him a roguish smile. "I am quite hungry," she confided to him in a whisper. "Yet I must not be selfish. In case I should forget, I must rely on monsieur's good memory to remind me to take home something nice for my neighbor's little boy. I am afraid I spoil him sadly." (A sigih.) "Agree, monsieur, that I have got a kind heart?" "I'll swear to it, madam." "You flatterer !" said Madame de Beauharnais,' tripping elegantly after her friend, CHAPTER XI A/TADAME TALLIEN, long before supper was an- *** nounced, had completely forgotten her quarrel with General Bonaparte. She and Josephine had given up their fruitless search for the "little monster," after having looked in all likely and unlikely corners. Evidently he had gone home, or he had locked himself into a cupboard, for greater security against danger. Terezia supposed that even Bonaparte's conscience had awoken to the enormity of his offence. Madame Tallien was severely strict on all lapses of etiquette (however allowing herself a wide margin but then she, Terezia, stood above the whole world. . .). Her memory was as shortlived as her anger. She was an April child, so she said which seldom comforted her re- jected lovers when caught in the teeth of the storm. She was extraordinarily unreliable, the beautiful Madame Tal- lien. If she loved you to-day, very probably she would not look at you to-morrow. When directly attacked on the subject she would smile: "My friends, make hay while the sun shines," she would say with her charmingly direct confidence. . . . They worked feverishly, but to- night, as it were, the sun was always shining on some new point. Joseph had kept Terezia amused. It rather amused him to watch her methods they were so frankly pagan. In the ball-room partners flocked round her as sensitive moths round a particularly attractive flame. She rather loved the familiar atmosphere. She rather liked to watch a young man's "hopeless passion" (she was quite con- vinced of its depth). To alleviate his hurt Madame Tal- lien invariably out of her boundless "goodness" treated 90 LOVE 91 him gently. When she danced with the poor singed moth she took good care that he burnt himself thoroughly. As the dance proceeded she would cling closer to her partner, allowing his warm embrace, inviting, as it were, the can- dor of his warm glance, listening to the beating of his foolish young heart. . . . More often than not, directly the dance was over she would coolly leave him to collect his scattered senses, vanishing (on the arm of someone else) from his bewildered sight. Someone has once uttered the profound truth, that the loneliness of a crowd is more oppressive to a single in- dividual, who for the moment lacks companionship, than the wastes of a limitless desert. Without anchorage, the unpopular hero, General Bona- parte, kept wandering by himself through the great rooms bf the Luxembourg, pondering on many things yet sel- dom giving a thought to his immediate vicinity. His admirable features were marred by his half-sullen, half-sarcastic expression, and his eyes, gazing into space did not invite any friendly advance. He was left rigorously alone, yet not escaping some flattering com- ments from the women and from the men some rather ill-natured chaff. Behind his back they laughed at the little general his youth was so pertinently real, even so his thinness and his habitual and famous scowl. His straight-cut hair and his ungainly boots all came in for their share of raillery. Truth to tell, in this hyper-elegant assembly, where the right tone was set by M. Tallien's yellow satin coat, Gen- eral Bonaparte cut a poor enough figure. Yet, strange to say, the crowd did not swallow him up. His person- ality in spite of his deplorably shabby appearance was too insistent. Under the brilliant light shed by M. Barras' many cut-glass chandeliers (by the way, all "appropri- ated") he merely looked out of focus, a fit target for universal mirth. It is so easy to be witty at another person's expense. His heavy field boots (very provi- 92 LOVE sionallj cleaned) excited, if anything, the greatest fun of all. One man approached him on the subject with rather an insolent swagger. "A thousand pardons, citizen gen- eral, but what might you have paid for them?" he asked in all gravity. With equal gravity the general replied, looking stead- ily at his interlocutor (he never forgot a face), "Time will show." And without another word he had walked off, leaving the elegant individual rather nonplussed. What the devil did he mean? And what the devil did Barras mean by inviting such a savage to his house? For the most part, as we have said, Bonaparte was left strictly alone. All dared at a discreet distance to laugh at him, but few cared to question him. At the beginning of the evening, or rather when the proceedings were well under way, he stood in a doorway watching the crowded ballroom. There was something rather melancholy in the attitude of this lonely student of human nature, as, with his arms crossed on his chest, he leaned against the doorpost looking at the different couples as they swung past him. Once he nodded and smiled affectionately at his friend, Captain Junot, who this evening had disgracefully deserted him for an attractive young lady. The gallant captain was so obviously head over ears in love with Mademoiselle Permont that Bonaparte could only resign himself to the inevitable. And here he fell to musing on the strange fellowship of love. Would he ever fall a victim to honest Junot's complaint? ... At least Junot looked extremely happy. A shadow effaced his smile. He watched the celebrated Madame Tallien and here his expression of contempt deepened. Her provocative dress, her eternal smile, her everlasting airs of Venus Vic- trix only irritated him. She happened to catch sight of him, and before he could realize her intention on the arm of her reluctant part- LOVE 93 ner she swayed up to him and presented him with her hand and her dance-programme. "Choose," she said. "They are all taken, of course, but that does not matter." "It would be unfair " "No, general; all is fair in love and war." He bowed. "May I have number seven?" "Is that your lucky number?" "I have no luck, madam." "What monstrous ingratitude!" She turned to the young man by her side a rather breathless young man "Would you not say that General Bonaparte had his fair share of good fortune?" "It is staggering," he said. "A bientot, mon general." And away she fluttered, giving the taciturn officer a parting smile. . . . After all, in spite of his atrocious manners, he was only a man. He was bound sooner or later to worship her. . . . Such an obstinate case was really rather interesting. "What are you thinking about, beloved?" She looked up dreamily, pressing herself closer to her happy partner's breast. "Of love," she whispered. "I would like to dance for ever, just you and I together. Isn't it divine?" And he believed her. And his eyes grew a shade more misty, and his breath came a shade faster, and he forgot to envy General Bonaparte. The general wandered away presently. He walked through the long gallery and bowed to Mrs. Fanny. He followed the throng into the refreshment-room and mod- estly asked the attendant for a glass of lemonade and a biscuit. He drank the lemonade and ate the biscuit with slow enjoyment. All around him people were laughing and talking. There was an overpowering sense of ease and opulence in the crowded room. The long white tables were elegantly spread with all kinds of fanciful dishes. The immense 94 LOVE floor was covered with a thick-pile carpet. The walls were richly decorated. The ceiling frescoed, finished with a heavy white cornice incrusted in gilding. In different cor- ners of the room stood groups of plants and here and there seats were at the disposal of the guests. On the buffet shone some rare pieces of plate, including two solid gold urns. The table service was of purest china embossed with B arras' coronet and monogram in relief. How quickly the tide turns! Last year that service would have been quite superfluous. General Bonaparte turned his back on the room, slipped into a window embrasure and looked down on the street below. The snow gave a certain elusive fairness to the city. In the dark sky a lew pale stars were visible, also the silver crescent of a new moon. He looked quickly down again our general was highly superstitious. The new moon led his thoughts some leagues from Paris yet still in the homeland; he gazed, as it were, along its frozen frontier. The bitter frost had gripped the whole countryside. In Marseilles, and further along the coast, towards Italy, the soldiers of France were fighting a hard-pitched battle against cold, privation and inaction. . . . The cursed unfairness of it all! Here was he, and a handful of his fellow-beings, roundly feasting while good men and true men had to make the best of a fireless, often enough a breadless camp singing their favorite songs, and repeat- ing their favorite jests just to keep up their courage staring at their frostbitten toes, and hoping that the regu- lation supply of boots would soon arrive. It was awkward exercising barefooted. . . . Through the tall iron gratings surrounding the palace yard, and more especially at the very imposing entrance gates surmounted on either side by two flaring lamps set high and forming pools of light on the snow, a number of the poorer citizens of Paris had gathered, watching the brilliant windows of the palace, and forming their own ideas of the rich man enjoying himself. Some of LOVE 95 these pictures were, no doubt, very fantastic, and others merely pathetic. Joy is such a very personal thing. Shiv- ering, hungry, ragged, these wretched outcasts kept mov- ing about, yet always returning to the best point of vantage. General Bonaparte could not discern their faces. In that shadow world below, the cold night hid her secrets (and her limitless forces). . . . He could not distinguish these shivering creatures. But he could imagine them. He did not lack imagination. A smiling woman, sitting on a sofa, looked up at him. (In after days she remembered the incident.) She was a pretty, graceful creature dressed in purest white satin her little white satin sandals laced with pale-blue rib- bons, across lier slender ankles. "He has got a good nose," she observed. "Not a bad mouth, either," returned her companion languidly. "But isn't he thin!" General Bonaparte, also without giving the matter the least attention, met the sympathetic glance of the lady in white. They looked at each other just as people do glance at each other in a crowd without observation. For the fraction of a second he stood still. His big, mournful eyes, with their restless, dissatisfied expression, searched her face. She was sitting in partial shadow the light was very becoming. She looked charming, the slender lady in white. With the ghost of a smile on his thin face he passed on. Madame Josephine de Beauharnais leaned forward, look- ing after his retreating figure. "He has got fascinating eyes," she said. "Has he? I did not notice," answered her companion, helping herself to a coffee eclair. In the outer room General Bonaparte paused irresolute. Should he go to the left or to the right? It really did not matter two straws. He smiled very bitterly. It was a 96 LOVE queer world. Why should he be superfluous? There was Junot dear, foolish Junot having the time of his life, only eyes and ears for a tolerably pretty girl. General Bonaparte stood still to speculate on love. Almost as if in answer to his thoughts, M. Barras accosted him with rousing good cheer. "How are you, general? Having a good time?" Barras happened to be alone and evidently in an exceed- ingly pleasant frame of mind. His face was flushed; his eyes glittered; and he held himself with easy distinction. Maybe the music, the wine and the -women, each or col- lectively were responsible for his breezy optimism. He tapped the general in an affectionate manner on his thin shoulder and gave him a friendly piece of advice. "Get married," he said. Bonaparte looked at his host a little vaguely. M. Bar- ras was uncomfortably struck by the young man's extreme pallor. And just now any discomfort was excessively unpleasant to him. "You ought to strengthen your position," he said. "A sensible match makes all the difference to a young man's prospects an ambitious young man, bien entend/u*. I honor you, general, for your determined purpose." He waved his hand. "There is choice enough here to-night to suit any taste." (He came a step nearer.) "What do you say to Madame Tallien?" (He laughed.) "7"ja, I am not proposing her at least, not as a wife! Isn't she simply a wonder? What convincing beauty!" Barras had (with slight variations) made the same remark countless times that evening. You see, it was his little scheme of salvation. He thought by soundly admir- ing Madame Tallien he could keep out of her toils. You don't for some unknown reason sing the praises of the woman (or the man) you happen to be seriously interested in. That is your little secret your precious little secret. . . . Barras was greatly comforted by his cunning. . . . Anyone was at liberty to express his opinion on Madame Tallien. He looked over Bonaparte's shoulder and fidgeted LOVE 97 with his handsome watch-chain. He was feeling bewildered, attracted. Yet, considering him as a sensitive moth (we must allow), he was a superlatively precautious one. "Ah, I see her! Good-bye, so long!" M. Barras' sharp eyes had noticed in his immediate vicinity (nothing what- soever to do with the vision beyond) two charming young girls dressed alike in purest white satin, each with a red camellia tucked into their high blue sashes. "Let me introduce you," said M. Barras, genially, sweep- ing, as it were, the trio with his pleasant, almost fatherly smile. The general acknowledged the introduction with a deep bow. And away went M. Barras alas, steadily nearing the perilous zone. The music, the wine, the women (we have said it before) had clearly mounted to his head. He made a straight bee-line for a lady dressed in corn- colored chiffon, sitting, to all intents and purposes, quite alone. The miserable youth at her side was no hindrance whatever to their desire. "Our dance?" said M. Barras. (The youth shivered.) "Yes," said Madame Tallien, with her unmistakable glance. And they went away together, leaving the miserable youth to his own reflections. "Citizen general," said the prettiest girl, "do you like dancing?" "Citoyenne, I am a very bad dancer, but if I might have the honor of this waltz I shall be very grateful." She giggled. "Oh, I didn't mean that!" "I am sorry." And he meant it. He was struck by her freshness, her innocence, her simplicity. Without doubt mademoiselle found life very attractive. He looked around at the other young lady. How exactly alike they were! "And you, mademoiselle, will you take pity on a poor soldier?" She curtsied. "I shall be charmed," she said demurely. 98 LOVE "M. le general, do let me explain." And off they went in a perfectly practiced duet, until the general almost swore he was a "victim." "Don't you think it is a grand idea?" "I cannot conceive a better one." "M. Tallien has promised to make the first speech of the evening " "In honor of the dead," said Mademoiselle Madeleine. "I did not know he had lost " "No more he has. You are perfectly right, monsieur. But of course he must be admitted. He is our hero ! He has saved us all!" "What superb courage " said Bonaparte. "Think of it!" said the prettiest girl. "And you have lost no one, monsieur?" asked her sister, sadly. "No one, mademoiselle." "I am so sorry." Then they all three laughed together the absurd side of the question struck them forcibly. It was really a very difficult matter to explain. The prettiest girl tapped a little slip of paper she held in her hands. "We have got such a long list of names," she declared. "The beautiful Madame Tallien is a patroness * "Is she a victim?" asked Bonaparte politely. "Oh, yes!* "And 1 Madame de $eauharnais is coming. Do you know her? She is a widow, and is perfectly charming." "No, mademoiselle. I have not the honor." They looked at him with just a slightly patronizing air. Poor young man, he evidently knew very few people. "The tickets cost five francs each. It is for a good cause, monsieur. . . ." "In silver," seconded the other. "Won't the poor be delighted!" "Won't they be delighted, monsieur !" They echoed each other with absolute unconsciousness. LOVE 99 And their eyes shone in glad anticipation. And the little general's eyes shone in response. For the first time that evening he realized the music and, perhaps, his own youth. "We must not miss this," he said almost pas- sionately. Providentially some one claimed the attention of one young lady. He offered his arm to the remaining one and hurried her rather more quickly than strict decorum per- mitted into the ballroom. He did not pay much attention to the music or to the time, but he danced with tremendous vigor. He kept whirling her up and down the great room, his tall boots clattering, his long coat flying, his long hair interfering perpetually with his eyesight. Nothing interfered with his enjoyment. They both enjoyed themselves even their occasional misdirected efforts. ("It is not my fault," he said, as they bumped into M. Barras, folding the beautiful Madame Tallien in his warm embrace. They were not dancing wildly, those two, but slowly, gently as if each reluctant step was to be their last.) The general did not look at them. They did not interest him in the least. Nor did he notice a pretty little lady in white (with blue ribbons to her sandals) standing up by the wall with a very mutinous expression on her charming face. She was talking to her partner and staring at M. Barras. When the music finished, General Bonaparte led the young girl to a sofa, took hold of her fan and tried to fan her. He did it a little clumsily. "During these last two or three years, where have you been hiding, mademoiselle?" "Safe in the country, monsieur. For the matter of that, we have always lived in the country." "This is your first season?" She nodded. "My first big ball. Don't you think it is all very wonderful?" She looked round her with a half- puzzled expression at the gay scene. 100 LOVE "Yes," he said, looking at her with his shining eyes and his deferential though slightly awkward manner. "Mamma is not quite papa's equal, in birth . . . she is the doctor's daughter, you know. Grandmamma has a lovely old house just outside our village, and grandpapa is quite rich, and we had on the whole a lovely time. It seems rather wicked to say so. But it is a fact. I adore the country. And so does Madeleine." "Is your mother here to-night?" "Oh, yes! She is quite different. She loves society. It is mamma who is getting up the ball, you know. Mamma has so much energy." ,(She laughed gaily.) "She is very determined 5? "I can imagine it, mademoiselle." "I was dancing with M. Tallien. Was it not kind of him to ask me? I was feeling quite proud of myself * and Madeleine was just a tiny bit jealous (he asked her, afterwards). And he said all kinds of flattering things rather silly things on the whole. At least I did not under- stand very much " "I am glad." "Why should you be glad, when I tell you I am stupid?" "You are safer in the country, mademoiselle." "There is no danger, now!" She spoke with utmost assurance. "That is true." Her bright eyes clouded. "It was awful at the time. You can imagine our feelings when we heard one report more terrible than the other. Grandmamma would not let us talk about public affairs. And mamma was away in England. She said we were safer at home. I am so thankful it is all over." He did not answer. She paused. "Yes," she said. "Where was I? I was telling you about M. Tallien. Mamma did not like me dancing with him. 'Come away/ she said sharply. 'Don't do if again.' 'Why not?' I asked. Mamma thought a moment. 'I don't like you LOVF 101 dancing with married men,' she explained. . . . Are you married, monsieur?" "No, mademoiselle." "I am so glad. Then you are all right. I wish I was a little older. At times I feel I know nothing at all. Are you clever?" He shook his head. "I have studied, mademoiselle." "So have I. I got a prize for history at the convent school. Such a pretty walk from grandmamma's hquse through the orchards and then across two fields and down the village street. We were day-boarders." "That is very interesting. . . . What did Mademoiselle Madeleine get?" She moved very slightly. She doubted if the general was attending to her best conversational efforts. He was looking away into the distance . . . looking. She fol- lowed his glance. He was staring at nothing at all ! The room was practically empty. "My sister, monsieur le general, is also interested in history," she explained with cold politeness. Then her native charm took the upper hand of her momentary hauteur. "But I am only talking of my own affairs," she said. She thought a moment. "Have you got any broth- ers and sisters?" "Several." "That is nice. Are they also clever?" "I never said I was clever." "Someone told me " "Never listen to idle gossip." "It was not idle. Besides, you don't look stupid." "It is kind of you to say so." "Have you got a good memory?" "An excellent memory." "That is my weak point " "Otherwise you would have had more prizes. Very true, mademoiselle. Without memory the greatest genius on earth is handicapped if not lost." "Is that so?" 102 LOVE He took up the little fan lying on her lap, and looked at it carefully. "When we look back " "I like looking forward. For weeks my sister and I have talked of nothing else but this ball." "Have you realized your expectations?" He glanced at her, waiting her reply anxiously. "Yes of course." She hesitated. "Not entirely! We hope too much. We mean too much. Sooner or later the crash will come. . . . Made- moiselle, forgive me." "It doesn't matter." (She looked a little woebegone.) They both studied the fragments of the broken fan. "It is my ill-luck," he said. "All I do ends in disaster." "This is such a small matter. I daresay it can be mended," she returned politely. He stared a little vaguely at her, sweeping back his long hair from his forehead. "Yes," he said, "the matter is of no consequence." Then he smiled. "Frankly, made- moiselle, I don't like a patched-up affair. All or nothing. There you have my ambition in a nutshell." "You ask too much," she said timidly. He pocketed the fan. "I am going to keep this and send you another in exchange. You will allow me that privilege? It is the first favor I have asked of a lady.'* "I hardly like " she began, involuntarily looking at his shabby uniform. "I have so few pleasures." "Thank you, thank you ever so much." She looked half shyly into his eyes. "Do you ever consider the fu- ture, monsieur? Your own future, I mean, not history." "Sometimes, mademoiselle, and always together." "I beg your pardon?" "It is quite simple." "I don't quite understand. How" changeable you are! A moment ago you looked as bright and as happy as possible. You have no business to look sad." "On the whole I have not. You are quite right." He leaned eagerly forward. . . . "Look at me, made- LOVE 103 moiselle. Your eyes are as pools of light, shining, clear pools searched by the morning sun. You give me con- fidence." She laughed gaily. "You must not pay me compli- ments," she said. "It is not a compliment, mademoiselle. I know nothing about them." "Very well," she answered, sitting demurely back. "Now tell me all about yourself." She spoke very placidly, with just a tiny, encouraging smile. "I want to help you if I can. Grandmamma says sympathy is of the greatest value. I have nothing else to offer you." "I would like to meet your grandmother." "She is dear, though she is very strict. She is always busy herself. She says work prevents more evil in this world than anything else." "Yes?" "Often on winter evenings just like to-night, only such a difference ! she will sit upright in her own chair by the fire she keeps famous fires. I love a bright fire, don't you?" (He sat immovable.) "speaking of all kinds of things. She has her fancies, grandmamma. She will tell us fairy stories and stories out of life. And she will always end up with a comfortable reflection. Last winter was a very sad one for us. Mamma was in England, and dear papa " "Go on, mademoiselle." His voice was a mere whisper. " 'Out of darkness will come a bright light,' said grand- mamma. 'All this is only God's inscrutable justice. France will clear herself. Someone ' " "Yes, mademoiselle ?" She had drifted away from the main question. Like a little child, tired of its plaything, she leaned her rosy cheek curved just as a baby's on her hand. "Life is difficult to understand," she sighed. "We must all try to do our best. Isn't that it, monsieur?" The band struck up a spirited galop. The music rolled down the long gallery. The dancers flocked back into 104 LOVE the ball-room. And Mademoiselle Madeleine's sister quite forgot to feel sad. "How I love that tune!" she said. "Do look at that lady, she is quite too wonderful for words. No, no, that one to the right. Oh, she has gone! You have lost your chance, monsieur." She shook her curls and laughed at him. He caught her hand. "Listen!" there was a note of , triumph in his voice, and dogged determination. "For one week I have slept exactly four hours all told." She looked very discouragingly. "It is nothing to be proud of," she said severely. "I have been just as busy as your grandmother " "You will ruin your health " "I am very strong." "You don't look it." "That is nothing, mademoiselle. I can prove it." "Prove what?" she spoke impatiently. "That I have not wasted my time. Like you, made- moiselle, I am interested in history. And I study. It is my amusement. Otherwise my life just at present is not very enviable. It is only a passing phase. I can afford to wait " "I am very sorry," she said politely, wondering if her cousin would find her. She was engaged to her cousin for this dance. She was very young, was Mademoiselle Madeleine's sister. And Bonaparte (with a slight gasp) .recognized her youth and bowed before it. He was not angry with her, nor did he envy her, but her indifference filled him with disappointment. He was hungry for human sympathy this taciturn, lonely soldier. Suddenly the thought of an old fairy story comforted him. Any human interference invariably destroyed the picture. All the fairies and all their surroundings beautiful as God's springtide were fashioned of mist. A human breath destroyed the illusion. He looked away and turned the key on his own heart. "There is mamma," she cried excitedly. LOVE 105 Mamma was leaning on M. Tallien's arm, a tall, hand- some woman, with a cold face, ridiculously dressed. She did not in the least resemble her daughters. "I am glad to have seen her," said Napoleon, rising ceremoniously. His little partner's eyes shone like twin stars. She had detected her cousin, coming leisurely forward. She nodded and smiled at him. "And your father, mademoiselle? I hope one day to have the pleasure " For one second her eyes filled with tears. "Don't you know?" she said sadly, rising and facing General Bona- parte. "Papa was a victim. That is why mamma is getting up the ball." CHAPTER XII HE did not even look after her as she disappeared in the crowd. He stood rather awkwardly stock-still in the middle of the gallery, and people jostled him, giving him a half-pitying, half-amused stare. After all, what could you expect? A rough-and-ready soldier may no doubt shine admirably in his own field of activity (horrid things, battles, you know), but it was almost impossible to ask the same individual to successfully grace society. He is out of the social picture. No, really, it was not only in this case a matter of clothes, wrong clothes and an abrupt manner which struck a jarring note, but the fellow's whole personality was at fault. He had the con- summate conceit (a sober fact) to look above the heads of his superiors. He gave himself airs if you please! On the strength of what? His military skill? Possibly. He had managed to turn out the English from Toulon and he was very young his solitary merit his youth gave him a certain status in the public eye. A general at twenty-four and all that, you know, and yet his con- founded insolence! that was no valid excuse for jumping down a fellow's throat! The young bloods, brandishing their gold-headed canes, were very certain on this point. So you see, the general, in spite of his shyness and awkwardness, managed to give offense. What we don't understand as a rule angers us. There is a streak of paltriness in human nature and it is quite indelible. Just as fast a color as human curiosity. Almost more apparent than Bonaparte's studied "inso- lence" was M. Tallien's comical dislike of the little officer. The young bloods noticed the expression in Mr. Yellow Coat's rather protruding eyes and very protruding lips 106 LOVE 107 as he took the measure of a certain uniform and its owner. If ever a man's doom shone certain as taxes, Bonaparte poor little fellow stood in a tight place. Tallien would snuff him out anyhow, he would do his bounden best. There are always two sides to every question. The gen- eral's partisans considered Tallien a spent value. He was of no more account, they said, than last year's hail- storm. He, Tallien, had had his day. He could never retrieve his fortunes. There were black facts look you against him, whereas Bonaparte's slate was clean except for a good mark or two. Why, you could not in any manner compare the two ! The general was so obvi- ously gifted. He was clever as blazes. You need not look further than his eyes to see that. He had the right temperament and a fund of cool calculation, hidden well out of sight. He was born to succeed, they said. The friends of Bonaparte wasted a good many warm words over their man. Yet in spite of this backwater flow of confidence, the odds stood fairly even between the gentlemen. To-night M. Tallien shone in the full effulgence of popu- larity. Never had he socially speaking appeared to greater advantage. Never had he laughed louder or spoken to better purpose. He was the cynosure of admiring eyes the object of rare attention. Wherever he went he was followed by his little special coterie of friends, very consid- erably swollen by chance individuals, people who did not know him intimately, but who none the less- were flattered by his attention. Tallien had a kind word for everyone. He made no distinction of person or, if anything, he may have leaned towards the aristocrats. He wanted to show (dear fellow) that there was no evil blood between them. Man as man blue or red they were just honest friends eh? M. Tallien had but to wink his eye to attract the crowd. Much as a popular comedian has but to cross one foot over the other to raise almost hysterical mirth. 108 LOVE Stay, now, when we think matters over was there not a trifle (and a bit over) of nervous excitement in M. Tal- lien's genial manner? He was not drunk oh, no, he was pretty careful in some things but his jokes were a bit too vivid he laid the paint on with absolutely no taste nor any regard to economy. Also he had a slightly monotonous touch. He either forgot what he had just been saying or he considered his words good enough to bear repetition. In any case he repeated himself to such an extent that his faithful adherents could easily have prompted him, when (as it happens once or twice) his witticisms lacked fire. Of course, being tactful gentle- men speculating on promotion they did nothing of the kind. They only laughed the louder when the story, as it were, lacked its tail. Probably something had dis- tracted M. Tallien's memory. He was easily upset. Maybe a casual glance from a rank outsider had disturbed his imagination. Or some merely superstitious trouble. The jangle of a plate as it fell on the ground; the young moon meekly meeting his rather bloodshot eye through a pane of burnished glass ; the prick of an ancient wound; the sound of a voice remarkedly like a voice which was dead. There is such a thing as heredity. And it is con- fusing, to say the least of it, to unexpectedly meet a man's son who, to all intents and purposes, might stand for his own dead father. Little things like that can waken a chain of recollection and they say a guilty conscience never sleeps. There in a nutshell we can account for Tallien's loud laugh and magnificent peacock strut. He was never at his ease, any more than a person suffering from a pernicious rash. In the dead quiet of the night, away from all this glittering world, unattended by obse- quious time-servers (he never had a friend), the irritation was, if anything, more acutely felt. His whole body fretted. M. Tallien's soul, heart, mind call it what you will was such a small part of his anatomy that it hardly counts. LOVE 109 Yes, he was decidedly a nervous creature. On ordinary occasions his city of refuge in society was the shadow of his wife's brilliancy. If he was anywhere near her he gained self-confidence. Where he failed she would surely pull him through. She had superb impudence, Terezia! Also she was the fashion. Also he was her husband. Glory by reflection is cold comfort, but it is better than nothing at all. In times of doubt he would manoeuvre to be near the light. To save herself Terezia often enough adroitly saved Tallien. Once over a bit of stiff ground why, it may all be as easy going as a rocking-chair! Outwardly he was full of confidence, this big, flashy fellow. And, if beneath his clothes his skin pricked the devil, whose affair was it but his own? To-night he felt he could do without Terezia, and con- sequently he enjoyed himself immensely. The assiduous flattery of the men, and the sight of the women giving, as it were, a free rein to prejudice, warmed his big heart. M. Joseph might be responsible for the supper, the incidental details of a successful party, but he, Tallien, had made the whole a possibility. He stood sponsor for the spirit of the entertainment it was he who had brought about this truly enjoyable evening. Here they were gath- ered together friend and foe as one happy, reunited family, romping and dancing without a care in the world "And was it not sweet and natural?" asked M. Tallien, presiding at his end of the supper-table. All the evening his yellow coat had formed the centre of attraction. He was an indefatigable dancer, and between the dances (as we have seen) he did not disdain friendly conversation with anyone bold enough to con- verse with him. He, figuratively speaking, patted all his fellow-guests on the back by preference the ladies. On occasions he stepped over the narrow bridge of decorum. But what of that? Far more unpleasant than his vul- garity to some sensitive women was M. Tallien's unmis- takable perfume. If you remember, he liberally indulged in carnation scent of quadruple extract. At close quarters 110 LOVE a very delicate person felt faint. Everyone does not like carnation scent. The ball was at its loudest height. Such screaming, such caperings, such ear-piercing yells must surely have annoyed the august ghosts of the royal departed, who, a short hundred years ago, had entertained with solemn dignity within these very halls. General Bonaparte, drifting through the ballroom in search of a quiet corner, evaded M. Barras shadowing Madame Tallien. For one reason, he disliked that thinly- veiled woman, and for another, he did not wish for any further introductions. In his fatherly good-nature Barras would certainly have found him a fresh partner. Barras did not like any of his guests to be worse off than himself. (Strictly speaking, he and Tallien had followed much the same line of policy, at least in the matter of take-what- you-can-get. But no one ever now or hereafter thought of accusing M. Barras of handling other people's property a trifle too roughly. Such a jovial, good-tem- pered, generous fellow could not steal. It went under some other name. Legal gentlemen and kind people are full of finesse. Lucky dog, Barras!) Bonaparte, engrossed by his thoughts he was arrang- ing, very charmingly, the future of his dear little partner we nearly said playmate continued his search for a resting-place. His head ached. During the last fortnight he had rather overtaxed his strength. He has worked prodi- giously, day and night, day and night. . . . And what a study ! That cold, comfortless attic, with a devil's draught wheezing in at the curtainless window. And meals at odd moments. When the general remembered that he was hungry you can understand that he was starving. What it is to possess youth and an iron will! The yellow drawing-room a very ornate and gilded apartment led into the red salon also a place of luxury and cold comfort. At the extreme end of this apartment LOVE 111 hung a curtain of Genoa velvet of indescribable and faded tints wholly artistic. Without observing its truly delightful coloring the gen- eral, engrossed by his reflections, stumbled into its heavy folds. (He had arrived at the young lady's happy mar- riage to some man more worthy than himself.) The curtain swayed forward. And he, without any idle curiosity but merely because the texture felt soft and cool to his heated face (M. Barras kept his rooms at a very high temperature), lifted the curtain and let his fingers glide across the smooth surface. . . . He looked in. Then he dropped the heavy curtain behind him. Chance had befriended him. In this little empty room, with its cool panelled walls and delicate furnishings, almost in darkness, he felt safe from interruption. He could just see the dim outlines of a grand piano, a music cab- inet and two uncurtained windows, through which the stars looked in. If the obscure light had been better or if he had given the matter his attention he might also have noticed on the deep divan (which ran the whole length of one side of the little white music-room) a knot of corn-colored chiffon, very probably torn from some woman's dress. And if he had remembered, or cared sufficiently to note such a small circumstance, it was precisely from this direction a minute or two ago that his genial host had escorted the radiant Madame Tallien. The general walked across the shining parquet floor as it were in the wake of the moonlight towards the piano, and, selecting a chair at random, he sat down, passed his hand across his brow (a favorite gesture of his), and, leaning slightly forward, he stared at a pattern on the floor, without actually seeing it at all. And here he dropped Mademoiselle Madeleine's sister from his romantic reflections. His thoughts swept away to his own future that shrouded, mysterious enthralling 112 LOVE future. He was safe for an hour's enjoyment. He liked to picture the scenes of an oft-told tale . . . one day . . . And in his immediate vicinity a handful of Parisians very mixed showed their enjoyment by loudly telling each other by various, though curiously similar methods how altogether happy they were. The noise floated in through the ancient Genoa velvet curtains the laughter, the stamping, the murmuring, the music yet delightfully mellowed. This outside world two good strides away was of such very small signifi- cance to General Bonaparte. He could afford to treat it with the contempt it deserved. These pleasure-seekers could not interfere with his schemes. They had nothing whatever to do with his plans . . . these capering marion- ettes pulled by no master-hand. He had long ago summed up Barras and with considerable accuracy. He did not signify. Nor M. Tallien Tallien, with the shifty eyes and the immense laugh. Tallien was practically a corpse, swaying on the gallows of contempt. A certain (and unpleasant) wind had set him going. People were very blind when they could accept Tallien as the real thing. The Potter fills his vessels thus In secrecy to each of us In one a flame of lambent fire, To another empty nothingness. Thou Soul, cast in clay, What of thy little day? Be thou at peace or war, Mov'st thou from place to place God's light, through the open door, Falls full upon thy face. Look thou up at the wintry sky, When darkness wanders by; Ten thousand stars alive, alike, Yet none alike. Each life a star, her little trade to ply; To quicken, to twinkle, and to die Alike, yet none alike. LOVE 113 There we have his own blind reasons, his own blind trust, his own supreme faith in some shadowy Being, whose sole divine right was to guard his Bonaparte's interests. He would win through. He saw the victory. As yet but darkly the means. Revolution? No, played out, the revolution of antics and somersaults. It would not pay for instance to set Tallien against Barras and Barras against Carnot and Carnot against Menou ... he pre- ferred to work it out one against all. . . . One against all! He raised his head with an upward j erk and his eyes shone almost uncannily bright. He looked a Csesar every inch of him. . . . (Ah, Bonaparte, what it is to have youth and an iron will!) There he sat in a brown study though actually his mental circle was amazingly clear and wrought sheet after sheet in his mind, of no fantastic will-o'-the-wisp schemings, but scholarly deductions based on sober fact. The clock struck two hours after midnight. In the adjoining rooms complete silence reigned. If General Bonaparte had given the matter a thought (which he did not), he might have realized that M. Barras' extremely contented guests were feeding. The dining-room lay a good long way from the little white music-room, and there Noise had gathered. CHAPTER XIII TF we could only look into the heart of things below * the surface. Anyone given some natural aptitude can describe a man's appearance; ring the accurate note from a dwelling-room or reproduce the coloring of a land- scape. The picture may be crude yet fairly correct. But how much wider the scope of individuality ! They say an idle pipe black from usage the thumbed seam of a woman's needlework, still warm from the imprint of her hand can speak volumes. How much more so a glimpse of a man's soul, seen beneath his unguarded glance? It is quite easy to conceive the outward appearance of the future Emperor in his lean and early stage. We have a good view of his features. We observe his sensitive mouth, his blue-shadowed eyes, the pinched pallor of his face. We note his threadbare uniform (boots and all) in spite of the gloaming. We can see the little white music-room and the hangings of Genoa velvet (of inde- scribable and lovely tints). By craning our necks we can look up at the domed ceiling painted by Boucher. But the man the chrysalis of a great man can we get beneath the surface and share his hunger ? He was close on starva- tion. Understand us. Not for Esau's mess, but for Esau's heritage. He was starving for action. This ball represented to him endless stagnation ... it might go on for years. In the meanwhile he'd die. And no one would be sorry. Except, maybe, his mother. His mother loved him. I tell you he was near to tears. His hands trembled on the hilt of his rapier. He had nothing to do with balls. He hated them. He was an outsider; an interloper, not worthy of Tallien's disused yellow coat. Not in the owner's 114 LOVE 115 eyes eh? Now that was monstrous. If he had it given to him as a present, he would not wear it. He'd stuff it into the mouth of a cannon and shoot it into the sea. He laughed hysterically. He wouldn't trouble to pick the man out of it. He'd shoot Man-Tallien in his yellow coat into the sea. . . . That would be fine. Then he'd go on as if nothing had happened. "Gentlemen of France," he'd say, "I'm ready to help you. You are in a corner; I'll pull you out. Let Tallien sink. We'll go on, march- ing in time. There are thousands behind you, gentlemen, ready to fall into line. We'll conquer the world. We'll attract glory and the attention of the Powers. We'll win, hands down. I'll lead you. Victory awaits us. God's sun is shining on our faces. . . ." He had his speech pat. He conned it over with great relish. He got up and marched round the room. His boots creaked. His rapier tapped his heel. It didn't inconvenience him. Suddenly lie stopped, bewildered. The little room, dim and deserted, was full of ghosts. They mocked him. They danced round him. "How are you going to start eh? Drawing maps no one looks at isn't the best work for your job. You yourself are in a corner, little man. The ladies are dancing in front of you. And Tallien and Barras and the other big men won't look at you." He held up his hands, his thin, nervous hands. "Stop!" he yelled to his unseen tormentors. "One against all ! And absolute victory !" There was a magic light in his face. I tell you he fright- ened the ghosts away. They vanished in a troop down the empty gallery. The guests were at supper. "All alone in the dark? Supper is going on " "It can wait." Bonaparte waved an impatient hand. "Sit down, Joseph. I have wanted a word with you all the evening." M. Joseph shrugged his shoulders, and putting his hand 116 LOVE in his waistcoat pocket he found his tinder-box, struck a light and with careful precision lit six candles set in the little crystal chandelier. He could just manage it. Then he turned and looked critically at the general, "Can you afford it," he said, "or France?" "Beggars can't be choosers." "To-night we are all rich men." "Think so?" M. Joseph sat down on one of M. Barras' charming gilt -fauteuils. He crossed his legs and studied his finger- nails. "You have pretty far to go," he said. "Have I started?" said the other bitterly. "It is the hopeless delay of it all which maddens me. Aren't we superlatively true to ourselves to-night? Not a man in France knows his own mind." "Barring yourself, general." "Think so?" Again that whipcord of a voice. Silence fell between them. The six candles were burn- ing quite steadily. M. Joseph glanced towards the piano and frowned. "I am disappointed in M. Barras," he said presently. "I am not," said Bonaparte. "You can see through the man. He is made of glass." "She is one of those hopelessly selfish creatures who only trade on their beauty. She'll ruin him. Now, the other lady " Bonaparte laughed a little shrilly. "Let us leave women out of it. They never interest me." "Touch wood, general. Frankly, I am in a bad temper. Barras is not clever enough to hide that he is a born fool." "Does it matter? He is the most influential man in France." "So you believe in empty titles?" "It is a fact. Tallien is played out. Menou is not the master of a crisis " "It will be here before we can turn round." The general scowled sardonically. "In the meanwhile let us dance and amuse ourselves " LOVE 117 "And trust the people," supplemented the other, looking towards the window. "Exactly. They'll help us." "I wonder. Nice little room, this," said M. Joseph, irrelevantly. "It is full of ghosts, well-mannered ghosts. Amusing sometimes to hear them talk. They are always whispering, you know." Bonaparte shivered. He'd been thinking just the same thing. "I'll take whatever offers," he said. "Don't. It is a mistake." "Listen!" "I've done nothing else all my life, sir. Frankly, I'm none the wiser." "I've learnt a deal by keeping quiet." "And trusting to luck." "I'm a very lucky man." The general laughed bitterly. "At Toulon I had the benefit of Barras' wisdom." The general coiled himself up as if he were a corkscrew. "He's letting the secret out now it is common property, sir I only act under orders devil an idea of my own! Ha-ha!" "If it amuses him " began Joseph, mildly reproach- ful. "The men who count " "Not one not one !" screamed Bonaparte. "A blunder- ing set of idiots, and I've got to lick their boots hear? I, Bonaparte!" "A passing phase which no one will remember. When you come to think of it, we have uncommonly short memories." Joseph nodded pleasantly towards the recep- tion-rooms. "They are wise to forget," he said. "A turning-point in our history." "At a usurious cost, sir." "It had to be." "Maybe. Yet for the life of me I can't conceive the necessity of a Tallien." "He swept away delusion. A few months ago we wor- shipped Robespierre and Reason." 118 LOVE "To-day it is rather the fashion to cry him down." "He had his good points." M. Joseph stroked the arm of his gilt chair. "He was your friend," he remarked. "I had no reason to dislike him." "He failed." "I have studied history." Like a searchlight a smile lit the general's face. He looked extraordinarily attractive. "Glad it amused you." "Like a little girl " He slipped his hand within his pocket, fingering a broken fan. "There, you see," said Joseph still smoothing the arm of his gilt chair. "I was right and you were wrong." "You are too clever, M. le due, by far." "I beg your pardon, general." Bonaparte rose and came across the room and laid his hand affectionately on M. Joseph's shoulder. He stood a while looking at him. Joseph bore the scrutiny without flinching. His hand (a fine, tapering hand) lay quite still on the ledge of the chair. "Your brother: served under me at Toulon. We were at close quarters. I never pick my friends I find them." "I thank you." "Sooner or later you will have to drop your mask "No," said Joseph tranquilly, "never." "I don't see the reason " "Reason is dead, and M. Robespierre." Bonaparte strode up and down the little room. He crossed his arms behind his back. "Keep your secret," he said savagely. "It is not my secret." "Your brother " "He was of the same mind as myself. A curious case of hereditary obstinacy." Joseph spoke with a flash of family pride. "Even extinction has its privileges." "It is not a matter of death," said Bonaparte, coming to a halt. "No?" LOVE 119 "But of life!" Suddenly, like a peal of castanets through the curtained doorway came Madame Tallien's staccato accents, accom- panied by Madame Tallien's unmistakable laugh, carried on the sound of many voices; the intimacy of the little room was broken by the rustle of petticoats, the creak of shoe-leather, the patter of feet, the clatter of swords and above all the band refreshed. Noise had returned in full force. "Citoyen Joseph, where are you, Citoyen Joseph?" screamed Terezia. "Stay," said Bonaparte. "One moment. Is it worth it?" "Entirely," said M. Joseph, lifting the curtain. "You are mistaken." "Au revoir, general. In the meanwhile, attend to supper." Bonaparte watched M. Barras' secretary disappear, and listened to his polite accents, speaking to Madame Tallien. "You are quite splendid to-night," he was saying. The general couldn't see the lady. But he heard her laugh and could quite well fancy her expressive eyes in full play. "Dear M. Joseph, please tell them to put out all the lights in the ballroom," she pleaded. "Certainly, madam. Anything further?" "Ha! ha!" (How she laughed!) "Old lamps for new. Any fusty old things you have, covered up in red stuff. You know " "I know." "You are so clever, Joseph. Oh, it will be divine ! Tell the band to follow their instructions minutely. Every- thing depends on the music. . . ." Their voices trailed away in the distance. Bonaparte stood still. Only his eyes moved. He glanced around him, as if inviting ghostly confidence. . . . Had the Revolution spun its deadly course simply to cover Madame Tallien's pleasure? . . . The ghosts reserved their opinion. 120 LOVE He took a rapid step to the window, and flung open the casement. The cold night air streamed into the heated room like a sharp electric current. Far down below he saw shadowy figures move across the snow. And up in the clear sky a few stars shone. He stood there a moment utterly unguarded. He stood alone between the world where one is amused and the world where one suffers and to both he was oblivious. Very carefully he shut the window. He had asked for a sign and it had been given him. He almost thanked God, but God was only a relative value in his scheme of existence. And yet is- not all superstition based on religion? It was three or four in the morning and the last remnant of restraint had vanished between M. Barras' enchanted guests. A few had gone home. M. Joseph himself conducted Madame de St. Innocent and Madame de Beauharnais into the roomy depths of M. Barras' rather splendid private coach. At first the ladies had very distinctly refused to accept the proffered courtesy. It was taking an unfair advantage, they said, of their host's kindness. The weather was fine and, attended by their man-servant, the ladies could very well walk until they found a hackney cab. The hackney cab being in this case a prohibited luxury and merely used as an elegant figure of speech, as it were, to counter- balance M. Barras' extremely comfortable carriage. It was drawn up under the portico. The horses stood like "lambs" and the aristocratic coachman looked as if he had been carved in stone and cemented on to his high box-seat, like all well-trained servants, not entering into the discussion as much as by a flutter of his eyelid. Madame de St. Innocent gave an involuntary shiver as she drew her blue fox tippet closer round her delicate throat, and looked across the great courtyard, over the head of her respectful lackey, who was waiting with .1 LOVE 121 lantern in his hand the little candle gleaming as a glow- worm on the snow. Immediately behind her stood Mrs. Fanny clutching her reticule (very well filled) beneath her immense cloak an heirloom, by the way, and made by a dead and gone tailor, purveyor to Louis XIV. (He, the sensitive artist, would doubtless have turned in his grave if he had known that one day in the direct line his carriage-cloak con- templated walking the back streets of Paris, at an unearthly hour 'twixt night and dawn.) "I assure you, citoyenne, the carriage has been waiting here some time." "For someone else," said Mrs. Fanny archly. "You can never deceive me, citoyen." Her ancient furred mantle gave her thin face the look of a tired clown. Around her white wig floated a black lace scarf. The night air had nipped her nose. M. Joseph regarded her with profound respect. "I assure you, ladies, Madame Josephine de Beauharnais would be only too enchanted if you would exercise the horses " "Josephine !" Her aunt's voice rang very sharply. She turned and whispered to her friend. "In that case we can very well do as M. Joseph suggests. She won't be ready for hours. Though she seemed tired. When a woman looks tired at a ball you can depend upon it that she is having a disappointin' time. You can't deceive me. On the whole I am very glad. Get in, my dear." "Thank you, sir," said Madame de St. Innocent. "At your service, madam." "Good-night, sir," called Madame