11

      Paris—the new side of Paris that she was seeing now was everything she had once dreamed it would be. Escorted by magnificently uniformed hussars, the entourage of carriages with gold-crested doors swept through the broad avenues, while people thronged the streets to stare and cheer.

      Marisa became aware of the power that Napoleon Bonaparte wielded, and his tremendous popularity with the people. She almost felt herself part of a royal party, and her feeling was heightened when she noticed the obsequious ceremony with which they were greeted when they arrived at the palace.

      Uniformed footmen took care of everything, and rooms had already been prepared with fires burning and fresh-cut flowers to perfume them. There was nothing to do except rest and recover from the effects of their journey here, and Marisa did so obediently for that very evening they were to visit the theater—the famous Comédie Française. And after that there was to be a late supper at the hotel of the Russian ambassador. She would just have to get used to late nights, that was all! She fell unexpectedly asleep then, while thinking blissfully of the crowded days and nights that lay so excitingly ahead.

      “Tomorrow, we’ll have Leroy, the great couturier, come by and measure you for all the new gowns you’ll be needing,” the Countess Landrey announced when she swept into Marisa’s room later that evening. She added, with a twinkle, “And there’s no need to look so worried, love! You are my niece—and Landrey gives me an enormous allowance that I may do with as I wish. Later on, after we have written to your papa and he has forgiven you, and I am positive he will when he understands everything—don’t look afraid—well, then you will have your own pin money. But for tonight, you will wear one of my gowns. See. It is what they call here à l’anglais, very plain but cut by an expert, and it is the color that is everything. It was always a trifle too tight on me, but I have had Arlene alter it for you. Do put it on quickly; I feel sure it will suit you.”

      Still protesting weakly, Marisa allowed herself to be dressed and turned this way and that as if she were a doll. She was still drowsy and far too dazed to do more than gasp when she saw herself reflected in the mirror.

      Cut very low, and tightly banded beneath her breasts, the shimmering thin silk seemed to cling like a second skin as it fell in artful folds to her ankles. She looked like a golden statue, from her flat-heeled gold slippers to the crown of her high-piled hair.

      Crimson rose petals, ruthlessly rubbed on her cheekbones and lips gave her pointed face the color it needed; and at last her aunt stepped back with a sigh of satisfaction.

      “There! And now you will catch all the eyes tonight. They will all be asking who you are, and there will be many handsome young men begging for the honor of an introduction. And you must try and remember, petite, not to show a decided preference for any one of them. All men like the excitement of the chase—la poursuit, tu comprends?”

      She was talking of Philip, of course. Had he thought her too forward, her feelings far too transparent?

      ‘But I don’t care—and Philip is not at all like that!’ Marisa thought mutinously. And once they had arrived at the theater and were seated in their magnificent box, she could not help letting her eyes wander over the throng in search of him.

      She sat back almost immediately, realizing with an uncomfortable feeling that she was being stared at. Ever since the first consul had made his entrance, seating himself to the front of the box next to a magnificently attired Josephine, there had been more eyes on them than on the stage.

      The play was an ancient Greek comedy by Aristophanes, one of those she had dutifully read during the past few weeks, but Marisa found it hard to concentrate. Wait until the intermission, she told herself. Surely if he’s here he’s seen us and will come to our box then. She noticed almost absently that her aunt, too, seemed restless, playing with her fan and letting her attention wander from the stage far too often. So she, too, was looking for someone. A new lover? Marisa’s mind went back to the teasing conversation she had overheard the night of the ball at Malmaison, and she wondered casually who her aunt’s latest lover was. Poor, lovely, gay Aunt Edmée—married so young to a man so much older than she was! In an age where marriages were arranged with no thought for the feelings of the woman involved, Marisa suddenly realized how lucky she was to have escaped such a fate. No matter what it had cost….

      She had been dreaming, paying scarcely any attention to the play they had come to watch. Suddenly the lights seemed to have become brighter. She realized with a start that the heavy velvet and damask curtains had closed for the end of the first act.

      The slight buzz of talk which had been going on all through the performance now seemed to intensify in volume. Heads were turned and lorgnettes raised as the occupants of the various boxes scanned each other. Now was the time for visiting back and forth, but if Philip were here would he dare, with Bonaparte himself present? Bonaparte was scowling in the direction of his sister Pauline, who, as usual, did not lack for male attention. But unlike Josephine, who had begun to chew at her lip nervously, Pauline paid no attention whatsoever to her brother’s displeasure.

      Seated towards the rear of the box, Marisa began to look around again, trying not to make herself conspicuous. Perhaps Philip was