Tales of Passion, Tales of Woe by Sandra Gulland Page B

turned to me, his eyes gleaming. “For my wife, of course. You know how women are?”
    May 5.
    Confined to bed still. Thérèse was just here with herbals and good cheer. She showed me an account in the journal Ami des Lois. Apparently, someone had sent in verses written in my honour—unsigned, however.
    “But I think I know who wrote them,” she said. “Wide-Awake.”
    Captain Charles? (Thérèse has dubbed the amusing trickster Wide-Awake because he’s always so bright.) “Don’t be silly, Thérèse,” I said, pulling the coverlet under my chin. “He’s a decade my junior.” And in any case, I suspected that the pretty captain might be the type of man who only coquetted with women—nothing more.
    “Young men adore you. Look at Bonaparte—he’s six years younger than you. And what about Lazare? How many years younger is he?”
    “Five,” I said, blushing.
    [Undated]
    Slowly, I begin to get better. I detest being sick.
    May 6.
    It was late morning—I’d just had a bath—when I was informed that there were two men downstairs wishing to see me. I considered telling them I wasn’t receiving, for I’m not yet fully recovered. “I think one might be your husband’s brother,” Lisette told me.
    Bonaparte’s older brother Giuseppe tipped his bicorne hat and bowed from the waist. “I’m called Joseph now,” he informed me, displaying the tips of his even teeth. “Charmed to meet you at last.” He is both taller and older than Bonaparte, a soft-spoken man with an indolent look. He was expensively if curiously turned out in a yellow tailcoat and matching knee breeches, a little cut-and-thrust sabre covered with gems dangling from his hip. Colonel Junot, one of Bonaparte’s aides, stood beside him, cracking his knuckles.
    “What a surprise!” I greeted my brother-in-law. “I can’t tell you the pleasure this gives me,” I said again, aware that I was exclaiming too much. Should I address Bonaparte’s brother by his Christian name? Should I offer my condolences on his wife’s being delivered of a stillborn? What were the customs in Corsica?
    Joseph pulled my hand to his lips and kissed it theatrically with his eyes closed, as if overwhelmed with feeling. I waited for him to finish. “My brother desires me to tell you of his overwhelming love,” he said.
    “Bonaparte has often told me of his love for you,” I answered, wondering how I might dry his spittle from my hand. I motioned to Lisette to serve cordials, swiping my hand against my skirt and through the air as I did so, as if I were an exuberant sort of woman. “When did you arrive in Paris? I long for news of Bonaparte. Four victories in four days—it is impossible to imagine!”
    “General Bonaparte rode five horses to death,” Colonel Junot said, cracking his knuckles again.
    Mon Dieu, I thought. “Your journey, how was it?” I asked, my voice thin.
    “We came the long way, by sea,” Joseph said. “But you will be happy to know, kind sister, that the return shouldn’t take longer than one week now that the passage over the Alps has been secured by treaty. Comfortable lodgings have been prepared for you.”
    Lodgings? I closed my fan. I didn’t understand.
    “You are to join my brother in Italy, kind sister.”
    I pulled my train to one side and sat down on the chair next to the harp. “Forgive me, but I’m not sure if I am able to—” Would it be improper to inform him of my interesting condition?
    “You do not understand, kind sister,” Joseph said softly, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “My brother, the General, he—”
    “The General must not be disobeyed,” Junot said, twisting his fingers but failing, this time, to crack them.
    They left soon after. I’ve ordered my coach-man to harness the horses—I must talk to Barras.
    5:00 P.M., or shortly after.
    Barras frowned. “But that’s impossible. The Directors must first give their consent.”
    “They seem to be unaware of this.”
    “The fact is, the