Marianne laughed lightly. 'Oh, nothing very much. I came here on foot, that is all. Take me upstairs, quickly. I should die of shame if anyone were to see me.'
'Yes, mademoiselle. Come this way, quick.'
Jonas led her through a doorway and up a set of back stairs to his mistress's room where he left her to go in search of Fortunée. With a sigh of relief, Marianne sank down on to a soft stool, cushioned in apple green silk, that stood before a tall mahogany pier glass inlaid with bronze. The image reflected back at her from the mirror was pitiable indeed. Her dress was ruined, her hair in a tangled mass of unruly dark curls, and the rouge which she had used on her lips smeared all over her face by the stranger's greedy kisses.
Angrily rubbing her cheeks with a handkerchief which she found lying on the floor, Marianne scolded herself for a fool. A fool to have jumped out into the crowd in her passion for haste, and still more a fool for listening to Arcadius in the first place. It would have been far better to have gone to bed and waited until the morning to visit Fortunée, rather than embarking on this crazy journey across a city full of revellers. How could she hope to find thirty thousand livres tonight of all nights! The only result was that she was tired to death, her head ached and she looked a fright.
Madame Hamelin came hurrying in to find her friend on the verge of tears, scowling at herself in the mirror. Fortunée promptly burst out laughing.
'Marianne! Have you been in a fight? Was it the Austrian, perhaps? If so, she must be in a fine state, and you are heading for the Vincennes prison!'
'I've been fighting his majesty's worthy subjects,' Marianne retorted, 'and with some maniac who tried to rape me behind a garden door!'
'My dear, what fun!' Fortunée clapped her hands delightedly. 'Tell me all.'
Marianne glared at her friend. Fortunée was looking more than usually radiant tonight. Her dress of yellow muslin trimmed with gold embroidery set off the warm colour of her skin and her rather full lips to admiration. Her dark eyes were shining like coal-black stars beneath her long, sweeping lashes. Her whole being radiated warmth and happiness.
'There is nothing to laugh at,' Marianne said bitterly. 'Apart from my wedding day, this has been the worst day of my life! I – I am half-dead with worry and so dreadfully unhappy —'
Her voice broke and great tears rolled from her eyes. Fortunée stopped laughing instantly and put her arms around her friend, enveloping her in a powerful scent of roses.
'You are crying? And I was laughing at you! Oh, my poor pet, I am sorry. Quickly, tell me what has happened. But first, you must take off that rag and let me find you another dress.'
She was unfastening the ruined dress as she spoke when all at once she paused with a cry, pointing to a dark stain on the crumpled fabric.
'Blood! You are hurt?'
'Good heavens, no,' Marianne said in surprise. 'I don't know where it can have come from. Unless —'
Suddenly, she recalled the exclamations of pain which she had drawn from her attacker, and the disorder of his dress, with his coat flung over his half-open shirt. He could have been wounded.
'Unless what?'
'Nothing. It does not matter. Oh, Fortunée, you must help me or I am lost.'
In quick, broken sentences, but growing calmer as she talked, Marianne described her terrible day, Francis's threats and demands, the abduction of Adelaide and, finally, the impossibility of laying hands on thirty thousand livres in the next forty-eight hours, short of selling her jewels.
'I can lend you ten thousand,' Madame Hamelin said soothingly. 'As for the remainder…' She paused for a moment, regarding Marianne's reflection in the mirror through half-closed eyes. While Marianne had been talking, Fortunée had stripped off the rest of her friend's clothes and, fetching a sponge and a flask of Cologne from her dressing-room, had busied herself wiping away the dust of the streets and rubbing her friend down comfortingly.
'What of the remainder?' Marianne asked, when Fortunée still said nothing.
Madame Hamelin gave a slow smile and, picking up a huge swan's-down puff began gently powdering her friend's breast and shoulders.
'With a fine body like yours,' she said coolly, 'that should not be difficult to come by. I know a dozen men who would give that much for a single night with you.'
Marianne gasped. 'Fortunée!' She had recoiled instinctively and was scarlet to the roots of her hair. Her indignation had no effect on the Creole's smiling calm. She only laughed.
'I keep forgetting your obsession with the idea of a single love and your regrettable faithfulness to a man who, for the present, is doing all he can to get another woman with child. Little fool, when will you learn that your body is a wonderful instrument of pleasure and that it is a crime against nature to neglect it so tragically? It is senseless!'
'Senseless or not, I will not sell myself!' Marianne declared hotly. Fortunée shrugged her beautifully-rounded shoulders.
'The trouble with you aristocratic people is that you feel obliged to use grand words for the simplest things. Well, I will see what I can do for you.'
She went to the wardrobe and brought out a charming white silk dress adorned with huge appliquéd tropical flowers.
'Put this on, you chaste little guardian of the sacred flame of love, while I go and see whether I can sacrifice myself in your place.'
'What are you going to do?' Marianne inquired uneasily.
'Don't worry, I shan't sell myself to the highest bidder. I am merely going to ask my friend Ouvrard to be so obliging as to lend us the twenty thousand that we need. He is shockingly wealthy and I dare say he will deny me nothing. He is downstairs. Moreover, since he has not been in high favour with the Emperor, he will probably be delighted to serve one as close to his majesty as yourself. Sit down and rest. I will tell Jonas to bring you up some champagne.'
'You are a darling!' Marianne said, and meant it.
She kissed her hand to the disappearing cloud of yellow muslin, then turned her attention to the dress which Fortunée had bestowed on her. She slipped it on hastily, in case Jonas should come in and catch her unawares, then, finding a silver brush and ivory comb upon the dressing-table, she proceeded to untangle her dark hair. A sense of peace stole over her, divinely restful after the miseries of the preceding hours. Fortunée's morals might leave a good deal to be desired, but her whole personality breathed a vitality and a warm humanity that could cheer the chilliest soul. The beautiful Creole was one of those simple, uncomplicated people endowed by nature with the power of giving without asking for anything in return. She would give of her help, her time, her affection, money and sympathy all with the same generosity and saw not the slightest reason why she should not give as freely of something as natural as her body. She was not one of those women who use their virtue as an excuse for treating men with a coldness and cruelty that could drive them to despair. No one had ever killed themselves for Fortunée. She could not bear to see anyone suffer, especially when that suffering could be eased by a few hours of love. Moreover, she had the rare talent of being able, once love was past, to make faithful friends of her often inconstant lovers. Certainly, in the present instance, Marianne had no doubt that she would use all her charms to extract from her rich lover the huge sum of money needed by her friend.
Smiling inwardly at the thought of this friendship, Marianne was busy winding her newly-plaited hair in a crown about her head when she heard the door click shut behind her. Thinking it was Jonas bringing the promised champagne, she did not turn but went on with her task.
'I don't know who you are – ' a voice spoke gaspingly from the other side of the room – 'but for pity's sake – fetch Madame Hamelin.'