War Zone

Chapter 12

Chapter 12

After years of living among peasants, of having neither money nor belongings of any value, she was at first overcome by the magnificence and luxury of the Palace-the green and gold livery of the servants, the pages with their gold chains and medals, the gor geously be-gilt peace officers, were all as dazzling as the illustration to a fairy story.

There were, too, the furnishings of the different sa lons in one the hangings were of blue lilac lustring embroidered with a honeysuckle pattern with maroon. In another yellow satin and brown had been selected with fringes of sang de boeuf and the looking-glasses were all draped instead of framed, while beneath them stood beautiful porphyry and other fine marble tables holding vases of exquisite Sèvres china and of granite mounted in ormolu.

Treasures beyond price graced the walls for with Napoleon's endless increasing conquests it was little wonder that all his Palaces began to look like Alad din's Cave.

There were Rembrandts and Van Dycks taken from the Dutch, antique armour from the Vienna collection, the sword of Frederick the Great from the Prussians -only from England were there as yet no spoils.

It was all very bewildering to a girl who for so many years of her life had only known ragged clothes and a straw mattress, who had often been hungry for the crusts of coarse black bread, who had thought of a cup of milk as a luxury, of a new-laid egg as a feast.

The contrast was bitter, too, not only for herself but for those who befriended her, knowing as she did the struggle they had to scrape a living from the soil and to pay the many taxes which were imposed upon them.

For a moment she had a wild desire to denounce this Corsican adventurer, who had risen to power by the ladder of the Revolution and who now surrounded himself with those very extravagances which had orig inally caused the flame of revolt.

But something cynical, or perhaps it was something sensible, made her choke back the feelings within her. She had come to get something and only by being calm and intelligent could she hope to gain it. She waited three weeks before finally her opportunity

came.

The Emperor, his audience at an end, was passing through the ante-chamber, and while the others stood back respectfully, Rêve rushed forward and flung her self on her knees before him.

Before the officials could remove her from his path, she had looked up into his face and said softly: "I crave a favour, Sire."

He looked down at her and his cold, steel-gray eyes noted both her youth and her beauty. Napoleon never could resist a beautiful woman.

"Who are you?" His voice was sharp and there was almost a military command about it.

"I am the Comtesse Rêve de Valmont," she replied, "and I have come to beg that my estates at St. Benis may be returned to me." An official moved forward. He was a pompous,

middle-aged man with a hard supercilious expression.

"This claim, Your Majesty, can be dealt with in or derly fashion by the commissioners you have appointed to investigate such matters. There is no reason for this young woman to trouble you personally." Napoleon ignored the interruption.

His eyes were on Rêve's heart-shaped face and the appeal in the big eyes raised to his. "De Valmont!" he said slowly. "Was your father Count Maxime de Valmont?"

"No, Sire. He died by the guillotine."

"If he had lived, how old would he have been?" Rêve considered for a moment. "He was born in 1761." Napoleon nodded his head.

"I thought so! He was at the military school at Brienne with me. I remember him! He was kind to me once. He invited me to sup with him when I was hun gry. Your estates shall be restored to you. See to it!" The order was to the official who had tried to inter vene, and then almost before Rêve had recovered from her surprise or could know the relief of having ob tained that which she sought, the great man had passed on and the ante-chamber was emptying behind him.

Her first elation at coming back to the Château was short-lived. There was a great deal to be done to the place before it was even habitable, and there was very little money with which to do it.

Through her cousins she got in touch with her Great Aunt, the Duchess of Malessene; but while the old lady was prepared to act as a chaperon to Rêve and to bring a great deal of her own furniture to the Château, like all the rest of the aristocracy whose position and power

"Yes, Sire."

"He is alive?"

had been swept away by the flood tide of the Revolution she had pathetically little money to spend. However, they managed; and it would not have

been as easy as it was had there not been many guilty consciences in the village of St. Benis. Carpenters and bricklayers came to the Château and put in an abnor mal amount of work for just a few sous in payment. Painters and stone-masons seemed willing to work while the hours of daylight lasted, yet their accounts were equally as small. Gradually the holes in the roof were mended, the windows glazed, the doors rehung.

In fact it was possible to live in the Château even if it was but a shabby ghost of its former glory. And when the Duchess's furniture arrived from the south it began to recapture a little of its lost elegance.

Even so there was no point in unpacking too much, for the indoor staff consisted only of old Jacques and his wife, who had served the Count, Antoinette and two or three village girls who were too half-witted to find any other more lucrative form of employment.

Jacques was getting very old. He had been about to retire when the Revolution swept away his chance of a comfortable pension. But how thankful they were to have him there!

He knew how things ought to be done, and though he grumbled incessantly, mourning the loss of the old days and deprecating the improvisations and make-shifts which had to be used for everything they found that under his experienced jurisdiction there was at least some semblance of formality in the attentions they re ceived from the indoor staff.

Sometimes Rêve would feel the whole thing was a farce, that the life she was trying to re-create among the ruins of the past was empty and meaningless. At such times it was only the Duchess's magnifi cent sense of humour which kept her from seeming

near to despair. Gradually, as an ordered existence came out of chaos, other complications arose which made her ap prehensive and not a little afraid. Yes, afraid; and lying now in her bed, Rêve admitted to herself that she was terribly afraid of the future. Impulsively, as if galvanised by her own thoughts,

she sprang from the bed and drew back her curtains. She looked out over the clear water of the lake which lay directly beneath her bedroom window.

It was then that the full realisation of what had occurred last night came flooding back to her mind, and she raised her hand to her cheeks as if she would hide the crimson tide of colour which swept into them. How wonderful, how unexpectedly miraculous it had been! She had not known it was possible to feel so

happy, to know such an ecstasy within herself.