Margont tried to work out what he would do if he were Varencourt. Would he wait in Paris? Would he try to profit from the general chaos to get close to Napoleon? Where would Napoleon be, and had he been warned about the proposed attempt on his life?
He followed Lefine without noticing where they were going. Other people seemed to be going in the same direction. They reached the Champs-Elysees and found it lined with an astonishing number of Parisians. Some were wearing white cockades or armbands;
others were simply waving white handkerchiefs and shouting, ‘Long live Louis XVI11!’ So this was the grand procession of the Allies. At the head came the Cossacks of the Guard, in scarlet. Next the Tsar, Generalissimo. Schwarzenberg, the King of Prussia and the Prince of Wurtemberg, all accompanied by their sumptously attired general staff. Two regiments of Austrian grenadiers followed them, all dressed in white and wearing bearskins, then Russian grenadiers with shakos topped by long black plumes, and thousands of soldiers of the Prussian Guard and the Russian Guard. Then there was a mass of Russian curassiers, and more and more and more of them. The Chevalier Guard brought up the rear in their white uniforms and black cuirasses. It was these elite cavalrymen who had wounded Piquebois at the Battle of Austerlitz. Lucky that he wasn’t here, because the sight of them always reduced him to wild rage.
Margont still couldn’t take in what he was seeing. He kept looking from the part-built Arc de Triomphe to the streams of Allied soldiers marching rhythmically past, and back again to the
monument.
Lefine muttered to himself, ‘So it really is all over...’
The Allies were each wearing a white armband or a white scarf, and the Parisians thought they were demonstrating their support for Louis XVIII. In reality, however, the white was merely meant to distinguish them from French soldiers, since the diversity of uniforms on both sides made it hard to distinguish one side from the other.
Margont tried to think about something else. In fact he had something else very important to consider. The Roman lady in the mosaic came back to him. He decided to go through all the clues he had, but starting with the two that did not fit his original hypothesis, namely that Count Kevlokine’s face had not been burnt, and that the murderer had left the emblem of the Swords of the King on his corpse.
The crowd was yelling, ‘Long live Louis XVI11! Long live the Bourbons!’ and some were even falling in behind the Allied procession in the footsteps of the last Chevalier Guards. But Margont neither saw nor heard them.
Varencourt had not been able to resist burning the second victim. But he had spared his victim’s face, contenting himself with burning his arms. What would have happened if he had mutilated his face in the same way as Colonel Berle’s? Count Kevlokine would not have been identified. Nevertheless, Joseph would probably still have sent Margont to the scene of the crime, because of the Swords of the King symbol. So the two elements came together to give the same result: that Margont would investigate the murder. Margont knew that Varencourt wanted to use Margont’s identity but why did he need to become ‘the man investigating Count Kevlokine’s murder’?
Margont finally worked it out. Yes, this time his hypothesis incorporated those two discordant elements that had previously made no sense. But now the pattern the clues made was not the same. Only a few tesserae had changed places but it was no longer Napoleon’s face that the mosaic spelt out. Margont grabbed Le-fine’s arm.
‘Varencourt is going to kill the Tsar. He led the Swords of the King to believe that his plan was to poison Napoleon, because he needed their help. But actually he manipulated them just like he manipulated me. He murdered Count Kevlokine in order to get near Alexander!’
‘But—’
The Tsar knew Count Kevlokine. He will want to know who killed and mutilated his friend so he would probably agree to see anyone who had information about the killing. If Alexander were to be killed by a “French officer”, “Lieutenant-Colonel Margont”, carrying an instruction from Joseph Bonaparte, the Russian soldiers would think that the Tsar had been executed on Napoleon’s orders. They would immediately vent their rage on Paris! They would put everything to fire and the sword! And that’s exactly what Charles de Varencourt wants. He wants the Emperor wandering through a Paris reduced to cinders, amidst the rubble of the monuments he’s had erected, and the incinerated remains of the people he loves. That’s what Varencourt’s vengeance is really about. He’d like Napoleon to go through exactly what he himself went through - an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. Paris for Moscow.’
Lefine tried to find an objection, but Margont added: The Tsar would be dead and Paris razed to the ground, because the Russians would burn everything. That would be vengeance indeed against the two people responsible for the burning of Moscow. Because even if that’s not what Alexander wanted, he was the one who set in train the events that led to that catastrophe. Everything began in Moscow, everything was to finish in Paris. Ever since the disaster of the retreat from Moscow, Charles de Varencourt guessed that, sooner or later, the Empire would collapse. So he came here and worked out his plan while little by little the Tsar and the other crowned heads of Europe closed in on France, dreaming of their triumphal entry into Paris, just as we have paraded through Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Moscow ... He progressively adapted his plan to events and opportunities ... Since his life had been destroyed he was obsessed with fire. Fire and gambling.
Gambling was the only thing that could distract him from fire. Thanks to gambling he was able to experience vivid emotions, he told me as much. Gambling temporarily filled the void in his life and kept fire at bay for a few hours ... Only Catherine de Saltonges might have been able to prevent all this. With her Varencourt almost succeeded in rebuilding his life one more time. One day she found the damaged button and eventually he told her the whole story. But unfortunately she did not succeed in laying the ghost of her lover’s past.’
Lefine was speechless.
‘Where is the Tsar?’ Margont asked him.
‘Well, he passed in front of us more than three hours ago ...’
‘If I’m right, Charles de Varencourt will try to put his plan into action now. It’s exactly the right moment. All the Allies will still be reeling from yesterday’s fighting ... We have to warn the Tsar!’
CHAPTER 45
VARENCOURT left his cramped living quarters. He had expected the streets to be empty but, on the contary, there were masses of people around. The Parisians wanted to see the Allied soldiers up close. People looked at him in alarm and civilians gave him a wide berth as though his face were ravaged by leprosy. It was because he was wearing the uniform of a lieutenant-colonel in the National Guard and that made him a target. He had obtained the uniform by brazenly bursting into a military outfitter’s and showing them the letter from Joseph. He had received what he needed in less than two hours.
He walked with the calm assurance of someone who has nothing left to lose since he would be dead in a short while. He was putting into action the last stage of the plan he had been hatching for months; he was showing his final hand.
He could hear the marching of many boots, and the pounding of hoofs. Obviously a large troop. The Allies were deploying all over Paris.
Varencourt drew attention to himself, raising his arms high, with Joseph’s letter in one hand and, in the other, a piece of white material. He was unarmed. In the avenue an impeccable column of Prussian and Russian infantry filed past, and also passing at that moment were some Russian riflemen in their black gaiters, dark-green coats and breeches and black-plumed shakos. The demonstration by the ‘French officer’ caused incredible confusion. Some of the infantry turned their heads but continued to march, as if they could not believe what they were seeing; others broke ranks to encircle Charles de Varencourt, their weapons trained on him; two captains came over with sabres drawn; their riflemen fanned out into the streets, causing passing Parisians to scatter like pigeons taking flight.