Marianne

Marianne flinched instinctively at the sight of the bed but Charles stopped her mouth with such a burning kiss that she almost fainted in his arms. Leading her gently to the fire, he sat on a low chair and took her on his knees like a child. He unfastened the beautiful pink dress, murmuring to her all the while in Italian, charming, tender words of love and covering with kisses first her neck and shoulders and then, as his caressing hands softly put aside the lace shift, her breasts. There was such gentleness in his touch and in his words that Marianne very soon forgot all modesty or shame in the sheer pleasure of hearing his voice telling her she was beautiful.

At last, he carried her, naked and trembling, to the bed and laid her tenderly between the scented sheets where, in a moment or two, he came to join her. When, two hours later, she fell asleep in Charles's arms, relaxed and happy, Marianne thought with a contented sigh how little comparison there was between what had just happened to her and her unpleasant experience in the barn at Kerivoas. It was more than simply that she loved Charles while Jean Le Dru had meant almost nothing to her apart from her need of him. This man, to whom she had given herself so spontaneously, had really become her lover in every sense of the word. It was tonight that she had really ceased to be a girl. Charles's love and not the sailor's clumsy haste had made her blossom into a woman. She knew now what it meant to belong to someone. Nothing and no one could ever divide her now from the man who had given her true knowledge of love and of herself.

'I love you, Charles,' she had murmured sleepily into his neck as her eyelids dropped shut. 'I belong to you for always. Wherever you go, whatever may happen to you, I will follow, I will love you—'

He raised himself on his elbow and made her look at him.

'One should not say such things, carissima mia – we never know what may be hidden behind the closed door to the future. I could die tomorrow.'

'Then I should die also – and we should still be together. You cannot know how much you have given me tonight – there's no help for it now. I belong to you – and you alone, kiss me, Charles, kiss me hard—'

Then he had caught her to him once more, so violently that she half cried out, and had made love to her again.

'It is you who have given all and you who gives thanks – mio dolce amore,' he murmured afterwards. 'You are right. Nothing and no one can undo this night. Sleep now, it is late.'

She settled obediently into the crook of his arm and closed her eyes. It was all right, everything was simple now. She loved him. He loved her. Who could prevent them being together always? He was a widower and, for the first time since that night at Selton Hall, Marianne remembered that she too was widowed.

Whether that blissful sleep was long or short, Marianne never knew but it seemed only a moment later when she woke suddenly. Charles was already sitting up in bed and in the dim light she could see Duroc murmuring something in his ear.

'What is it?' she asked sleepily. 'Is it already so late?'

'No. Be quiet. It is only three o'clock but I must go. Have the horses put to, Duroc. I'm coming.'

He was already leaping out of bed. Marianne clung to him with the feeling that her heart was being torn out.

'Why are you leaving me? Why must you go so soon? What is happening?'

Gently, patiently, he took her in his arms and kissed her eyes.

'Nothing is the matter. But I have a busy life, my heart, and not an easy one. Urgent business summons me to Paris and you must let me go.'

But still she did not let him go. This sudden departure in the middle of the night terrified her. It seemed to her she understood the reason all too well.

'Charles, I beg you – tell me the truth! You are a conspirator, aren't you?'

He stared at her in astonishment and then began to laugh, gently unfastening the arms linked round his neck.

'Since you have guessed, it is hopeless to deny it – it's true, I do conspire. But there is nothing you can do about it, so now, be a good girl—'

Kneeling among the ravaged bedclothes with the silky mass of her hair tumbled about her, she watched him with a feeling of desperation as he dressed quickly. She had not been wrong. Charles led a dangerous, fugitive life, and she could only accept it. Their love might not be easy in this land ruled by a tyrant but she would wait for him and if he had to flee, then she would fly with him.

'Promise me,' she said in a soft, loving voice, 'that if you are in danger, you will tell me. I will come to you in hell, if need be.'

He was tying his neckcloth in front of the tall cheval glass which stood in one corner but he turned and gave her a penetrating glance. Kneeling like that on the crumpled silken sheets, her skin gleaming like soft gold in the rich night of her hair, she was as bewitchingly beautiful as any pagan statuette.

'I promise,' he said gravely. Then, with sudden harshness: 'Get back into bed.'

Instead of obeying him, she stretched sensuously, like a cat.

'Why? It's too hot—'

The drowsy fire had begun to burn up brightly once more. In an instant, Charles was on Marianne.

'Because I have to go – and because you tempt me still, she-devil! Quick! Into bed with you!'

Half angry, half in fun, he began bundling her up in the sheets, wrapping her firmly in the blue covers until only her face peeped out, deaf to her cries of protest. Then, laughing, he kissed her.

'There! Now, be good. You can go home whenever you like. A carriage will be waiting.'

'But, when shall I see you again—'

'Soon, I promise you.'

'You don't even know—'

'What? Who you are? Or where you live? It does not matter. Duroc found you. He will find you again. Goodbye mio dolce amore. Don't catch cold, because of your voice – I love you.'

He got up and went quickly to the door and opened it. Marianne called after him.

'Charles!'

'Yes?'

'Take care of yourself, please—'

He only smiled at her, blew her a kiss and then he was gone. And not until then did it occur to Marianne that she did not know the first thing about him.

She waited, listening for the sound of carriage wheels, then after they had disappeared into the night, she sighed deeply. Now, she was truly alone.

She fought her way out of the cocoon of sheets into which he had bundled her and got up. She was no longer sleepy and felt no desire to remain longer in the house which, now that Charles had gone, seemed unfamiliar, almost hostile. The pink dress lay like a crumpled dawn cloud on the carpet. Marianne picked it up and hugged it to her with a surge of gratitude. She could never forget now, that it was in this dress he had loved her.

She saw her reflection in the tall mirror and could not repress a start of surprise. She saw herself from head to foot, but did not recognize what she saw. That woman with the dark-ringed eyes, the mouth still swollen from kisses, the provocative limbs, was that herself? She ran her hand slowly, experimentally over the thighs which Charles had caressed, realizing in some obscure fashion that the still innocent girl she had been when she came there was gone forever. She was a woman now, she thought with a sense of triumph, a woman in full possession of her powers and the thought made her glad because the change had come about through him and for him.

A light scratching at the door cut short her meditations and sent her scuttling for the reassuring shelter of the bedclothes.