The sound of that name, coming so unexpectedly, when it had figured for so long in her dreams, cut her to the quick. She closed her eyes, her face as white as her dress. Her fingers curled and the nails dug into the silk upholstery, fighting off incipient panic.
'You're so hard…' she moaned.
'No. I only want to make you happy, in spite of yourself, if need be.'
Marianne gave a sad little flicker of a smile. The egotism of men! She could see it even in this man she adored, just as she had seen it in Francis, Fouché, Talleyrand, Napoleon, and even in the monster Damiani. All of them had this curious urge to make decisions about the happiness of the women in their lives, convinced that in this, as in so much else, they alone possessed the key to real wisdom and truth. They had both suffered so much from all that had come between them. Were the obstacles now going to come from Jason himself? Couldn't he subdue his overbearing pride for the sake of his love?
Once again there came the temptation, so powerful as to be almost irresistible, the temptation to give in, to cast herself into his arms and allow herself to be carried away, without further thought. She needed him so much, his strength and his man's warmth. Despite the mildness of the evening, she felt chilled to the heart. Yet, perhaps just because she had suffered so much to win this love, her pride restrained her on the very verge of yielding.
The worst of it was that she could not really blame him. From his man's point of view, he was right. But neither could she retract, or not without telling him the whole. And even then? Jason's feelings towards Napoleon had grown so very bitter!
Miserably unhappy, Marianne chose, none the less, the course that came most naturally: to fight.
She put up her head and met her lover's gaze squarely.
'I have given my word,' she said. 'It is my duty to go. If I abandoned my mission now, you might still love me as much – but you would have less respect for me. In my world, and in yours too, I think, we have always placed duty before happiness. My parents died for that belief. I will not disgrace it.'
It was said quite simply, not boasting. Merely a statement of fact.
It was Jason's turn to pale. He made as if to go to her but checked himself and bowed slightly, without a word. Then, crossing the room in a few swift strides, he opened the door and called:
'Lieutenant Benielli.'
The lieutenant appeared promptly, accompanied by Jolival, whose eyes went straight to Marianne. She avoided his anxious glance. Signor Dal Niel's grappa had evidently been to the lieutenant's taste. His face was noticeably more flushed than on his previous appearance, although he had lost none of his rigidity.
Jason studied him from his superior height with a cold and barely contained anger.
'You may return to the Duke of Padua with a quiet mind, Lieutenant. I sail at dawn tomorrow for the Bosphorus where I shall have the honour to convey the Princess Sant'Anna.'
'I have your word on that?' the other said, without emotion.
Jason's fists clenched in a visible effort not to drive them into the little Corsican's arrogant face, which must have recalled, all too clearly, another that was out of reach.
'Yes, Lieutenant,' he ground between his teeth. 'You have. And you can have something else, as well. A piece of advice. Get out of here before I give way to my inclinations.'
'Which are?'
'To throw you out of the window. It would not be good for your uniform, your fellows or your own comfort on the journey. You've won. Don't try my patience too far.'
'Oh, please, go!' Marianne breathed, terrified that the two men would come to blows.
Jolival was already laying a discreet hand on Benielli's arm. The lieutenant, while clearly dying to hurl himself at the American, had the sense to look closely at the faces of the other three. He saw that Marianne was on the verge of tears, Jason tense and Jolival anxious, and he realized that something was seriously amiss. His stiffness showed the faintest relaxation as he bowed to the young woman.
'I shall be privileged to report to the Duke that the Emperor's trust was not misplaced. May I wish your serene highness a successful voyage.'
'Accept my good wishes for your own journey. Good-bye, monsieur.'
In a moment she had turned back, imploringly, to Jason but even before Benielli had quitted the room, Jason too was bowing coldly.
'Your servant, madam. My ship will weigh anchor at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, if that suits you. It will be ample time if you are on board half an hour before that. Allow me to wish you a good night.'
'Jason! Have pity…'
She held out her hand to him, begging for him to take it, but he was encased in his anger and resentment and either did not or would not see it. Without a glance, he strode to the door and went out, letting it swing shut behind him with a bang that echoed in the very depths of Marianne's heart.
Slowly her hand fell and she threw herself sobbing on the sofa.
There, a moment or two later, Jolival found her, half-choked with tears, as he came hurrying back, sensing disaster.
'Good God!' he cried. 'Has it come to this? Whatever happened?'
With much difficulty, a good many tears and hesitations, she told him while he busied himself with a handkerchief and some cold water in trying to calm her sobs and restore her face to something like the appearance of a human being.
'An ultimatum!' Marianne hiccupped at last. 'A – a beastly b-bargain! He told m-me – told me I m-must choose… And he said it was… for my own good!'
She turned suddenly and clung to Arcadius's lapels, saying beseechingly:
'I can't… I can't bear it! Oh, my friend, for pity's sake, go and find him. Tell him…'
'What? That you've given in?'
'Yes! I l-love him… I love him s-so very much… I c-can't…' Marianne was beyond knowing or caring what she was saying now.
Jolival gripped her shaking shoulders with both hands and forced her to look at him.
'Yes, you can. I am telling you that you can, because you are right. Jason is abusing his power by offering you such a choice, because he knows how much you love him. Not that, from his point of view, he isn't right. He has little enough cause to love the Emperor.'
'He – he doesn't love me!'
'Of course he loves you. Only, what he hasn't understood is that the woman he loves is you, as you are, with all your inconsistencies and follies, all your enthusiasms and revolts. Change, make yourself into the cool, submissive person he seems to want and I wouldn't give him six months to stop loving you.'
'Truly?'
Gradually, by dint of much persuasion, Jolival was beginning to penetrate to the slough of despond where Marianne was floundering, letting in a little air and daylight to which, unconsciously, she was already turning.
'Yes, truly, Marianne,' he said seriously.
'But, Arcadius, think what will happen at Constantinople! He'll leave me. He'll go away and I shall never see him again, never!'
'It's possible… but before that you will have lived with him, almost on top of him, in the confined space of a ship's quarters for quite a long time. If you aren't able to drive him out of his mind in that time, then you're not Marianne. Play his game for him. Let him enjoy his bad temper and the blow to his masculine pride. If anyone goes through hell, it won't be you, I promise you.'
As he talked, the light came back, little by little, to Marianne's eyes, while that other light of hope was reborn within. Meekly she drank the glass of water with a little cordial in it which he held to her lips, then, leaning on his arm, she managed to walk as far as the window.