Ramage wanted to change the subject to cheer up the Count, whose grandfather had begun the family friendship with the Blazeys, but there was a difficult question to ask, and now was obviously the time to get the answer.

'Héloïse - have you seen her?'

'The Countess of Rennes, in the eyes of my Church still my wife, though no doubt divorced by some new law of the Revolution? No, I last saw her here nearly ten years ago, when she refused to escape with me.'

Sarah knew only that the Count had spent his exile in England alone while his wife stayed in France, and could not resist asking: 'Why did the Countess stay?' A moment later she could have bitten her tongue.

The skin of Jean-Jacques' face suddenly seemed too tight for the bone structure, but he struggled to present an unconcerned smile. 'She agreed with the aims of the Revolution, or at least she said she did. She was very young then. It goes back a long time: she hated her father, who was of course one of the King's favourites, and she imagined the King once snubbed her at Versailles. Hardly the stuff of revolution, one might think, but she brooded so that when the mob from Brest and Nantes and Angers came yelling through the gate, crying death to the King (and the Count of Rennes) she met them in old clothes and invited them in and served them my best wine. Meanwhile I escaped with my valet and my life. She was very beautiful. Still is, I expect. She is the mistress of one of Bonaparte's generals, I believe: a former corporal, who is not too proud to bed a citizeness who has an old title in her own right and another by miarriage.'

He signalled to one of the servants, indicating that the glasses were empty. 'The candles are getting low, too,' he said, and apologized to his guests. 'Before long we'll be reduced to using rush dips.'

Sarah said: 'You know, all that riding has made me so tired... Perhaps Nicholas will give you your game of backgammon.'

The Count stood at once, apologetic. 'Of course, both of you must be worn out: how thoughtless of me to keep you up talking of sad yesterdays. Yesteryears, rather. But tomorrow perhaps weshall dine at a more suitable table - I must be the first Count of Rennes to entertain in his own dining room with his guests seated round a scrubbed kitchen table.'

Ramage laughed and turned to Sarah. 'In Jean-Jacques' defence, I should explain that the house he bought in England was furnished with the finest English furniture he could find!'

'Ah, the house in Ruckinge. You know Kent, my dear? Not Ruckinge? I was fortunate enough to be able to carry jewellery with me when I left here for England and by selling some I could buy a house in Kent. Although I love that house, my heart is really here, even though the château is almost empty. I spent my childhood here. My father's father's father - so many forebears - grew up here and died of old age. The vaults in the chapel an nearly full. There'll be just enough room for me. Perhaps the original builder saw into the future and knew how many of us he would need to accommodate!'

'You seem to be full of gloomy thoughts tonight,' Ramage said as he helped Sarah from her chair.

'Yes, and as your host I am appalled that I have to put you in a suite over in the east wing furnished only with a bed, two chairs, commode and a single armoire. And no curtains at the windows.'

'You should see the great cabin of a frigate,' Ramage said dryly.

The Count led them to the door and once out of earshot of the two servants said: 'I met an old friend today. He lives at La Rochelle but travelled to Rennes by way of L'Orient to arrange some business. He was an officer in the old Navy and like me escaped to England. He says that five ships of the line and six frigates are being prepared at La Rochelle, and seven and eleven of each in L'Orient. How does that compare with Brest?'

'Eleven and sixteen,' Ramage said grimly. 'So twenty-three ships of the line and thirty-three frigates are being commissioned along the Atlantic coast. I wonder what's going on at Toulon?'

'I must admit that's a large fleet for peacetime,' Jean-Jacques said, and then added, as if to reassure himself that there was a future: 'But I am sure Bonaparte wants peace now. At least, he wants to - how do you say, to "consolidate". You've seen how he has sent most of his soldiers home to reap the harvest. There are many hundreds of miles of roads still to be repaired - thousands in fact. Today France is a whole country where reaping, ploughing and sowing will take every available man this year if the people are not to starve. Already he is gambling on a good harvest - a bad one would topple him. People will go short in time of war, but with peace they want full bellies.'

Ramage shook his head. 'Ten bad harvests won't topple a man who controls the biggest army and the most powerful police force the world has ever seen.'

'Still,' the Count persisted, hope overcoming reason, 'Bonaparte has concluded a peace with the Russians, and Britain is isolated. The world is at peace. I have no need to remind you that bythe Peace of Amiens England has surrendered most of her colonial conquests - and in return Bonaparte has given up the deserts of Egypt. He has all he wants. You don't suppose he needs Spain, Portugal, the Low Countries, Scandinavia ...?'

'I do, but I'm probably in a minority,' Ramage said, 'Bonaparte has kept control of the Italian states and Switzerland.'

'But he knows he can't beat the British at sea. Think of the Battle of Aboukir Bay - what a disaster for France! He is a soldier; he has created a great army. But he can't use it to attack England because the Channel is in the way. He realizes this. And that is why he sends his soldiers home.'

'But why does he prepare his Navy - the Navy you say he knows cannot defeat the Royal Navy?'

Jean-Jacques held out his hands, palms uppermost. 'Perhaps tomake sure they are in good condition before he stores them away - or whatever you sailors call it.'

'Perhaps,' Sarah said, taking Ramage's arm. 'You must excuse the bride for dragging her groom off to bed, but she is going to sleep standing on her feet!'

She was lying on her side with her back to him, and for a moment hemarvelled that the female body had been so shaped that in this position it fitted the male so perfectly. But sleeping alone in a swinging cot at sea - for him that would from now on be an almost unbearable loneliness. Quite why horses should now be galloping with harness jingling he did not know, and he opened his eyes to find the first hint of dawn had turned the room a faint grey.

Horses? Harness? Now, as he shook the sleep cobwebbing his head, he heard shouted commands coming from the centre of the château; from the wide steps leading up to the front door.

He slid out of bed and walked to the window, cursing the coldness of the marble floor although too impatient to find slippers.

A dozen men on horseback, blurred figures in the first light. Perhaps more. Now he could just distinguish that they were dismounting. Some were hurrying up the steps, sword scabbards clinking on the stone, while a single man held all the reins.

One man was making violent gestures at the great double door - presumably pounding on it with his fist. Then he heard more horses and another five or six men cantered past the window towards the others. Soldiers. Even in the faint light it was possible to distinguish them - and only cavalry would have so many horses.

She was standing behind him now; he could feel her breasts pressing into his shoulder blades. 'What is it?' she whispered. 'It's so cold. Why aren't you wearing a robe? You'll get a chill.'

'French cavalry,' he said briefly. 'Quickly, dress in riding clothes. Don't try and light a lamp.'