War Zone

Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"Yes, it is the same everywhere. Napoleon is insa tiable for men-men, and more men, more blood to be shed, more lives to be lost."

the last words vehemently, and Rêve gave her a startled glance before putting her hand on her arm. "Be careful, Madame," she said in a low voice, then

looking at Armand she said: "Her Grace is very frank in expressing her opinions, Monsieur." "And why not?" Armand asked. "I am not an in

former, Mademoiselle."

"Of course you are not," the Duchess said quickly before Rêve could speak. "You don't look like one! Be sides, you are a gentleman, one can see that with half an eye. You are not like those common jumped-up parvenus who strut about the Tuileries being invested with ridiculous titles to cloak their inbred vulgarity." "Madame! Madame!" Rêve admonished anxiously;

But Armand threw back his head and laughed. The

Duchess joined in. "A perfect description, Madame," he said, "but one which will hardly commend itself to the Emperor's sense of humour."

"Pshaw!" the Duchess snorted. "He hasn't got one.

No soldier ever had, and certainly no Corsican."

"Yet France pays him homage and offers him abso

lute adoration," Armand said. "Rightly so, for he has saved France from herself," replied the Duchess. "But will he be content with what he has already achieved?"

Armand did not reply and after a moment she

continued: "No-for such as he can never stand still, he must always press onward-onward-and to what?"

"He is ambitious, Madame!"

"Ambitious!" the Duchess snorted. "There are three things, boy, which turn a man from a human being into a god-or a devil; three things which make a man's spirit soar like the flight of an eagle-ambi tion, religion-and love."

"So love is an eagle," Armand said softly, his eyes on Rêve. "Indeed it is," the Duchess retorted. "And who cares

a fig for your cooing doves? But remember, an eagle ave

may be beautiful in the sky, but he can be terrible and fierce and treacherous at close quarters." "And the crest of Napoleon Bonaparte is an eagle

soaring," Armand smiled. "Exactly-but one day his wings will tire."

The Duchess laughed her high cackle as at a proph ecy of ill omen. Rêve walked to the window and looked out over the

lake. "You forget, Ma'am," she said, "the the Emperor has returned to me the home of my ancestors and has honoured me with his friendship. Laughing at him is hardly a becoming way of showing our gratitude." The Duchess smiled at her and held out her hand

with an impulsive gesture.

"All right, child," she said. "I am a garrulous old woman! I will strive to keep my tongue in check, but I have lived too long to try to pick and choose my words like a hen looking for a grain of wheat. For eighty-five years I have said what has come into my head and I shall continue to do so whatever the con sequences.'

There was something pathetic rather than defiant in the Duchess's words, and Rêve, turning towards her, took her outstretched hand and laid it against her cheek.

The gesture was exquisite, and the white blue-veined fingers glittering with rings were in startling contrast to the ivory smoothness of the magnolia cheek.

The moment of sentiment passed quickly. The Duchess withdrew her hand and said sharply:

"We are forgetting our manners. Wine for our visitor.

You will join me in a glass of Madeira, Sir?" "I should be honoured," Armand said.

Rêve crossed the room. She moved so swiftly that Armand had to hurry to open the door for her before she reached it. As he did so their eyes met and for a moment she was still, arrested in the very movement of departure. Then she drew in a deep breath and went from the room.

Armand was aware that the Duchess was watching

him closely. He moved back to her side.

Maurice de Ségury," she said reflectively. "I wish I could remember him. Are you like your father, boy?" "No, I resemble my mother," Armand answered truthfully.

"She must have been a very pretty woman," the Duchess said, and again in all truthfulness Armand re plied: "She was!"

He was expecting further questions regarding his fam

ily when the Duchess said unexpectedly:

"You admire my grand-niece?"

"But of course, Your Grace. Who could fail to ad mire anyone so exquisite."

"She is a sweet child," the Duchess said, "and by no means as simple as she appears. She has suffered and experienced many strange things during the years when she was in hiding. You have perhaps heard about her adventuring?"

"A little," Armand admitted. "There were many such stories, I believe, of the children of aristocratic fam ilies wandering the country-side in fear of their lives, attended only by some loyal servant who eventually smuggled them away to safety."

"Yes, there were many tales like that," the Duchess said, "but, as always in life, one is concerned with a particular instance, the one which concerns oneself. I was in Italy when the Revolution broke out, and I sup pose that prevented me from embracing Madame Guil lotine, but I heard that my nephew had been taken to Paris and executed. It was ten years before I finally learned what had happened to my great-niece. Ten years, Monsieur! It is a long time!"

"But she was safe!" Armand said. The Duchess nodded.

"Yes, safe, thanks to the devotion of a maidservant. But who knows what the future will be! She has missed the sheltered, disciplined life which every French girl of decent family should enjoy. Sometimes I worry about her; sometimes, when she is chiding me for being frank and impetuous, I think there is no reason for me to worry." 40

The Duchess's voice sank almost to a whisper, and then with a sudden cackling laugh, which was startling

as it echoed round the room, she said: "But why should I bore a handsome young man with this? Tell me about yourself, Sir. There is no sub

ject more interesting to a man." "But I would far rather talk about you, Madame," Armand said. "I find my own history often insufferably

boring, but yours should be stimulating." The Duchess was laughing when Rêve came back into the room, carrying a silver tray on which reposed two glasses and a decanter of wine.

Armand and the Duchess drank together and when his glass was finished Armand rose to say good-bye. The few sentences he exchanged with Rêve were con ventional, and yet he read much from the expression in her eyes, from the touch of her fingers as he raised them to his lips.

The Duchess dismissed him jokingly, teasing him about the gay time he would have in Paris; and when at length he was riding down the drive away from the Château, he was not certain what he had gained or lost by the boldness of his visit.

The rest of the day passed slowly, and an impatience which in itself was a novel sensation was with that Armand watched the hours tick by until darkness

would fall.

He dined early and allowed himself far too long for the walk through the village and down the lane which led to the gap in the wall. Indeed, he found his feet carrying him more swiftly than he had walked for some time.

He tried to laugh at himself, saying that the French air and the French wine must have gone to his head, but he knew that in truth his urgency was deep-rooted in his heart and would not be denied.

The little lake among the trees, which he knew now was the last of a long chain of lakes reaching from the Château to the wood, was as still and silver as on the night before.

Only the moon on the Temple was brighter, seeming almost dazzling in its brilliance and making the con trast of the dark trees even more mystical.

Armand found the Temple deserted as he had ex pected, and sitting down on the steps, he prepared to wait. He tried to think, to analyse the feelings and emotions of the last twenty-four hours, but he found it impossible to do so.

He could only wait, every muscle in his body tense until the moment when Rêve would appear. For some agonising moments he began to think she would not come and to wonder what he would do, when suddenly he heard a movement behind him. He turned to see her standing above him, between

the pillars of the Temple. He had not expected her to come that way. For a moment he did not rise but just sat motionless looking at her. She was wearing an evening gown of satin em broidered with tiny pearls and her hair was dressed high on her head and bound with a ribbon.

She stood there waiting for him to speak, and when finally he rose to his feet and went towards her, there was nothing left to say. He could only put out his arms and hold her close to him.

She could not resist him. It was as if she could no longer fight something more powerful and more insis tent than convention. Her head went back against his shoulder, he saw her eyes looking up into his, her lips waiting.

He kissed her then, his mouth seeking hers, first tenderly and gently as one might caress a child, and then growing fiercer, more passionate, more demanding, until at length he felt the flame within himself igniting a response within her.

They clung together, drawing closer and closer until it seemed as if they were united one with the other, indivisible and for all time.