'No matter. The little baggage is entirely to be trusted. She even had the impudence to congratulate me on you.'
Roger grinned, 'When she brought me your message this morning about having passed a sleepless night, I felt sure she knew the reason. All, then, is well. And now loath as I am to leave you, sweet, I must beg to be excused. Since we're to start tomorrow, and secretly, I have much to do between now and supper time. Meanwhile, I suggest that you write that letter to your brother, and I'll give it to my sergeant in the morning.'
After a further session of long kisses, he tore himself away and went out into the town. At a military outfitters he bought the shako and sabretache of an officer in a regiment of Curassiers and the rank badges of a Captain. Then, his Colonel's rank badges hidden under the long cloak he was wearing against the cold, he went to a hostelry some distance from that in which he was staying and, as Captain Printemps, hired a comfortable coach to be ready for him at one o'clock the following day, giving his destination as Toulon.
Returning to his own inn he went in search of Aimée and when he found her learned that her mistress had already informed her that they were to set out next day on a secret journey. He told her to pack only the clothes that 'Madame' insisted on taking and have them ready by midday. The rest, and the mass of impedimenta she had brought with her from San Domingo, were to go in the coach to Paris. He then took Aimée up to his room, gave her his spare uniform coat and asked her to change die Colonel's badges on it for the Captain's.
Next, he sat down to write two letters. The first was a brief despatch to Napoleon, reporting Pauline's safe arrival and that, being in a sad state of depression, she desired to spend a few weeks before returning to Paris among people who did not know her, and of her tragic loss, and that, anticipating it to be the wish of the First Consul, he had agreed to remain with her until she felt capable of facing the world again.
His second letter was to the Defours at the chateau, informing them that he had recently married and, soon after the arrival of the letter, would be bringing his wife to St. Maxime. There were to be flowers in every room, and no expense was to be spared on local purchases that would make the house more pleasant as a residence for 'Madame'.
Having finished his letters he had time only to clean himself up before joining Pauline for supper.
Tonight she had cast aside not only her veil but all her black garments and was wearing a blue velvet dress embroidered with gold flowers, that set off to perfection her tanned arms, neck and face. It was another gay meal and afterwards there was no question of his leaving her. Carrying a magnum of champagne he accompanied her into her bedroom and there undressed her. Neither did he creep away in the small hours. When Aimée came in she found them still together in bed sound asleep.
An hour and a half later Pauline gave her orders to Dermid's nurse, and a letter for her mother. Roger gave the two letters for Napoleon to his sergeant and told his servant to return to Paris in the coach with the nurse. The good-byes were said and at eleven o'clock the little cavalcade moved away on the road to the capital.
When paying the bill, Roger told the landlord of the inn that Madame Leclerc had decided to stay for a few days at the little seaside village of Arcachon, but first wished to drive down to the port and thank again the Captain of the frigate that had brought her from San Domingo. He then asked for a coach and a carriage to be summoned.
When they arrived at the door he had the luggage put into the coach and, when Aimée had settled herself in it, told the coachman to drive her to Arcachon. Returning upstairs he escorted Pauline, now again draped in black from top to toe, down to the carriage and handed her in.
Outside the dock gates he called on the driver to halt, told him that Madame wished to take a little exercise by walking along the quay to the ship, and paid him off. After half an hour's stroll round the docks they came out, picked up another carriage and drove to the inn at which Roger, in the name of Captain Printemps, had ordered a travelling coach to be ready for him. Leaving the carriage for the coach, they drove the forty miles to Arcachon, arriving there soon after dark. Aimee had reached the village half an hour earlier and had taken the best rooms at the only inn for Captain and Madame Printemps. Hungry from having missed their dinner they made an excellent early supper off freshly caught lobsters and the local cheese, then went happily to bed as man and wife.
Next morning, with Roger wearing his Curassier shako and uniform with a Captain's badges, they took the road south to Dax, Madame Leclerc and le brave Breuc having disappeared into the blue.
By way of Pau and Tabres they drove through the lovely scenery of Navarre, then on through Toulouse, Beziers and Montpellicr to Nimes with its fascinating Roman ruins, Avignon with the Palace of the Popes, and charming Aix-en-Provence, to Toulon. They travelled by easy stages because, owing to her early pregnancy, Pauline was afflicted with an internal trouble that plagued her if she rode for too long over bumpy roads. But, like many women who suffer from ill health, when she was happy minor ailments never seemed to bother her.
At Toulon Roger paid off the coach and, next day, hired another at an inn some way from that in which they had passed the night. With him once more a Colonel wearing his A.D.C. sash, they covered the last stage of their journey to St. Maxime.
On the morning after their arrival, touched by the compliment but considerably perturbed, he learned that the villagers intended that afternoon to present an address of welcome to Madame, his wife. He had brought this on himself owing to his generosity to local charities and there was no escaping it. With considerable anxiety he and Pauline awaited the ceremony.
To their relief it passed off without incident. The Mayor and the Cure both made fulsome speeches, there were cheers and everyone was given plenty of wine in which to drink the health of the newly-weds. To account for Pauline's golden-bronze skin, Roger had given out that she was the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner in Guadeloupe and had only recently arrived in France. No one recognized her and she enjoyed enormously assuming her new role as the lady of the manor.
The last days of December and the first week in January
1803 had been occupied by their journey from Bordeaux. For a month they revelled in being alone together in the winter sunshine by the sea.
Roger found that Pauline had only a very small knowledge of great affairs and little interest in them. She was extremely self-centred, concerning herself only with love, her personal appearance and frivolous amusements. But she was straightforward, generous, easily pleased and spontaneously gay.
At times he still thought with bitterness of the terrible ending to his life-long bond with Georgina, but Pauline's ardent passion for him and his delight in her loveliness had restored his zest for life, just as his unflagging desire for her had restored hers. With no single duty or commitment to observe they lived entirely as they pleased, sometimes lying in bed until well on in the afternoon, at others getting up at dawn to go fishing. On some nights they went on moonlight rambles and made love in the woods or on the beach. They never saw a journal and cared nothing for what might be happening in the world outside their own little Paradise. Like Venus and Adonis, they thought only of their love and of pleasing one another.
Yet, as with all mortals, there had to come an end to this dispensation from all care that the kind gods had granted them. One night towards the middle of February Roger said to the radiant goddess who faced him across the supper table:
'Beloved, my heart is heavy with the thought, but soon now we must return to Paris. It is more than seven weeks since we disappeared from Bordeaux. However great the preoccupations of your brilliant brother, he must at times wonder what has become of his favourite sister. If he has not already done so it cannot be long now before he sets his police on to discover your whereabouts. Should they find you here, living as Madame Breuc, that would be disastrous. It would mean for me at least several years' imprisonment for having abused his confidence, and for you, with your husband only four months dead, a scandal that would besmirch your name through France.'