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"You never went to bed?" she asked.

"What time is it?" I said groggily.

"It's six-fifteen. The brandy bottle is almost empty, Marietta."

"It couldn't be. I don't drink."

"Apparently you
did,
" she replied.

"Do you have to be so bloody chipper?"

"I-oh, Marietta, I'm so happy I could dance!"

"Do and I'll kill you," I promised.

I got up, feeling stiff and sore and slightly dazed. I would have committed any number of crimes for a cup of coffee.

As though reading my mind, Lucie skipped blithely over to the tray she had brought and poured me a cup, and I muttered a sullen thank you as she explained, interminably and in a disgustingly cheerful voice, that she had gone down to the kitchen and found the chef already up and squabbling with an assistant and told him she'd awakened early and charmed him into making coffee for her and brought the tray up herself because she simply
had
to talk to me.

"Not until I've had at least two cups," I warned.

She moved over to a window and held the drape back and more light spilled into the room and I blinked and drank the coffee which was wonderfully hot and strong but really didn't help all that much. Impatient, unable to contain herself, Lucie let the drape fall back into place and started chattering again in that bright, joyous voice and I shook my head and held my hand out in front of me, swallowing the rest of the coffee. She refilled my cup.

"Feeling better?"

"Not really."

"He wants to marry me, Marietta."

"I assumed he would."

"We talked and talked and he looked so engaging in that brown silk robe I just wanted to hug him. I didn't. I was very dignified and proper even though he was naked under the robe. His hair started drying and got all feathery and soft and his clothes dried and started steaming and-and he's writing another play, it's almost finished; he's been working on it at the hostel and it's going to be wonderful, Marietta, a huge success. It was almost five o'clock before he finally put his clothes back on and left."

"Did he-" .

"I showed him the way myself. No one saw us. We were very careful. I took him to the back door in the west wing and he left without even kissing me good-bye. He's coming back tonight but we've decided it would be much easier if!

slipped down to one of the empty rooms in the west wing and met him there."

The clock struck six-thirty. I cringed and took another gulp of coffee.

"We-we'll have to run away, Marietta," she said, her voice solemn now. "We'll have to leave Russia and get married in London. My uncle would-there is no other way. Bryan is going to book passage for two on the next ship that can get us to England. He's going to drive out to Kronstadt this afternoon to take care of it."

"I see."

"It's the only way. It-it's going to be tricky, but once we're on that ship there's nothing my uncle can do. I'm a little frightened, but we'll work it out. I-I love him,

. Marietta."

"I know you do, darling."

"He loves me, too."

"Of course he does."

Lucie perched on the arm of a chair, spreading her muslin skirts out, and in the softly diffused light she looked so young, so radiant and lovely, it made my heart ache.

"In the past I-I've done a lot of things I'm not proud of,"

she said in a quiet voice, "but-when I'm with Bryan none of that matters. When I'm with him I'm a different person.

I-I
feel pure again. That sounds crazy, I know, but when I'm with him I'm the person I was
meant
to be."

"I understand, Lucie."

"T'm not a dewy-eyed girl, Marietta, I haven't been for a long, long time. I know it won't all be sunshine. I know there'll be difficult times. Bryan is temperamental and moody and often childish-he's an artist, you see. He needs me, and-it's glorious to be needed."

I nodded, wanting to cry. Lucie brushed a golden brown wave from her temple and' stood up.

"Will-will you help us, Marietta?"

"You know I will, darling."

Lucie gave me a hug and smiled and left the room. My dream had evaporated and Jeremy was gone for good, but I vowed Lucie's dream was going to come true. I would do anything I had to do to see that it did, no matter what the risk. It was too late for me now, my chance had come and gone, but one of us was going to have that happy ending.

GREGORY WAS GROWING MORE AND MORE

impatient as day after day passed and Empress Catherine failed to summon him. After their night of cozy intimacy at the Winter Palace, he had been prepared to move into his old quarters at once, certain the evening had been a complete success. Now, ten days later, ugly doubts were beginning to crack his confident facade. His mood grew progressively more sullen, with frequent outbursts oftemper.

I had been appalled to see him strike a footman, knocking the poor man to the ground when he failed to per-

"Torm some minor duty promptly enough to suit the testy Orlov. The relationship between the two of us had deteriorated considerably since my refusal to let him sleep with me again, and I suspected that he was beginning to blame me for Catherine's continuing neglect.

He was puzzled, resentful and, finally, optimistic when a messenger arrived with a royal summons-for me, not Gregory. I was to appear at the Hermitage at four o'clock the next afternoon for "English tea with the Empress." A carriage would be sent for me. After ranting and railing, Orlov was finally able to convince himself that this was a very good omen, that Catherine wanted to break the bad news to me herself and send me packing with, no doubt, a most generous gift. She was very diplomatic about these matters, he informed me, and would naturally want me out of the way before restoring him to his position of glory.

I was not to be nervous. She was no dragon. She would be very tactful, very polite, and if I handled myself properly I would probably embark for America an even wealthier woman.

I was extremely nervous as I left in the royal carriage the next afternoon, but not because I was to take tea with the Empress. Lucie had come to my room in the morning, tense and apprehensive. She and Bryan had been meeting in the west wing almost every night and both had been extremely

careful and were certain no one had seen themuntil last night. As she was slipping down to meet Bryan well after midnight, Lucie had run into Vladimir in the back hall. Flustered, she finally managed to stammer that she had awakened to find herself hungry and was on her way to the kitchen to see if she could get something to eat.

"He-he wanted to know why I had used the servants'

stairs, why I carried no candle," she said. "I told him I-I didn't want to disturb anyone. He was very suspicious, Marietta. I-there was nothing I could do but go on into the kitchen and order a light snack sent up to my room on a tray."

Vladimir had escorted her back up to her bedroom and had brought the tray up himself a short while later. It had been two in the morning before she had dared leave her room again, and although she had seen no one she had had a peculiar feeling that someone was watching her, following her to the room in the west wing where Bryan was waiting. It was probably her imagination, she admitted, and there had certainly been no one around when Bryan slipped out at five and she returned to her room, but the encounter with Vladimir had completely unnerved her.

She couldn't help but worry. Had he believed her story?

Would he report the incident to her uncle? If it had been a footman or one of the other servants she could have carried it off with aplomb, but Vladimir-Vladimir was like a watchdog, savagely suspicious and always on guard.

Vladimir hadn't said anything to Orlov yet, I was sure of that, and I tried to convince myself that he had accepted the girl's story, but I was every bit as worried as Lucie and found it hard to shake the nervous apprehension as the carriage moved smartly along. It was a brilliant day. I

. gazed out at the elegant parks and majestic marble buildings.

Put it out of your mind, Marietta, I told myself. No use worrying about something that hasn't happened yet.

Take each thing as it comes. Concentrate on seeing Catherine now. God knows that's going to be strain enough.

I seriously doubted that she intended to send me away with a generous gift to soothe any hard feelings, just as I doubted she had the slightest intention of taking Gregory back. I suspected, instead, that it was pure feminine curiosity that had prompted her to send for me. Catherine was Empress of All the Russias, yes, but she was also very much a woman, and it was only natural that she should be curious about me. I kept remembering that silent message I seemed to have read in her eyes, that sense offemale conspiracy

against the male, and instinct told me that Catherine saw me not as a rival but as a sister conspirator.

As we drove past the Winter Palace, I smoothed down my skirts and arranged the glossy sable cloak about my shoulders. I had selected a simple light brown silk gown ribbed with deeper brown stripes for the occasion, feeling tea was no time for opulent attire. My hair, just washed, fell to my shoulders in natural coppery red waves, no sculpted coiffure, no diamond ornaments. Catherine would be meeting Marietta Danver today, not Count Orlov's artificial doll.

Through the trees ahead I could see the Hermitage, its columned portico a statement of elegant simplicity. Completed in 1767, it was actually more like a large house than a palace, a small architectural gem that reflected the personality of the woman who had had it built-dignified and majestic but completely unassuming, displaying the European influence far more than the baroque heaviness of the Russian taste. Though perhaps a bit larger, the Hermitage was not unlike any number of fashionable town houses to be found in Paris and other affiuent European cities. It was to the Hermitage that Catherine repaired when she wanted to temporarily forget the pressures of her position.

A footman helped me out of the carriage. Another escorted me up the steps, and yet another showed me into the spacious foyer with its high ceiling and very broad staircase rising to the second floor and main rooms. White marble gleamed and lovely works of art vied for one's attention. I gave up my sable cloak and was ushered up the stairs and down a hall to a set of white double doors gilded with gold leaf patterns. .

The doors were opened. I was announced. Catherine put down her quill and greeted me with a welcoming smile.

"Miss Danver! I'm so glad you could come."

She was wearing a pink silk gown with rows of pink ruffles on the skirt. The gown was a bit rumpled, the ruffles limp. Her powdered hair was decidedly untidy, the chignon at her nape coming undone, stray wisps touching her temples and brow. There was a smudge of dust on her cheek, and the fingers of her left hand were ink-stained.

Her desk was covered with a hodgepodge litter of books and papers and rolled-up documents, and at the moment Catherine of Russia resembled nothing so much as a plump, rather flustered German hausfrau fretting over the household accounts. .

I made a deep, formal curtsey. She waved her hand to one side, indicating that we would dispense with formality.

"Give me just a moment," she begged. "I must add a tiny postscript to my letter to Voltaire. Terribly rude of me, but if I don't finish it now-" She smiled apologetically, picked up the quill, and scribbled furiously.

I watched, ill at ease. Sunlight streamed radiantly through half a dozen windows, filling the room with light.

It wasn't a large room, but the ceiling was painted a pale salmon pink and lavishly patterned with gold leaf. Magnificent ivory wainscoting, also patterned with gilt, covered half of the walls, the portion above the same shade of salmon as the ceiling. The furniture was elegant, white and gold, with chairs and sofa upholstered in silvery gray velvet. Several lovely vases were abrim with cut flowers, their scent filling the air, and books and papers were scattered everywhere, even stacked haphazardly on the floor.

A fire burned pleasantly in the white marble fireplace.

Catherine finished her postscript, stuck the quill in a silver ink pot and stood up, wiping ink from her fingers with a lace handkerchief. Catching sight of herself in the mirror over the fireplace, she hastily dabbed away the smudge of dust on her cheek, then turned to me with another smile.

"You must forgive me, my dear. I'm afraid I lost all track of time-documents to read and sign, letters to answer, reports! Paperwork! I'm perpetually awash in a sea of paper! Being an Empress isn't all roses, I can assure you. There aren't enough hours in the day to take care of all my responsibilities. I should
delegate,
my ministers tell me-meaning I should turn everything over to them-but I prefer to do it myself. That way I can be sure it will be done and done
properly.
" .

"I'm sure it must be quite taxing," I said.

My voice was rather stiff. Even rumpled and untidy, she was still Empress, exuding power and authority, and I wasn't certain how to react to her warmth and effusiveness.

Aware of this, Catherine smiled, her deep blue eyes both friendly and amused.

"I'm not wearing my crown now, my dear. Relax. This afternoon we are just two women planning to enjoy a nice, long gossip."

"It-it won't be easy," I admitted.

"I intimidate you?"

"A bit."

She smiled again. "I promise not to say 'Off with her head!' Do relax, my dear. Tea will be here in a few minutes.

Very English, it shall be. My cook almost went mad learning to make English scones and clotted cream, finding the proper strawberry jam. And watercress! You've no idea how difficult it was to find watercress for sandwiches.

All in your honor. I wanted you to feel at home."

"I'm very flattered, Your Majesty." .

" 'Ma'am' if you must, 'Catherine' if you will,
but
for a couple of hours I really would prefer not to be 'Your Majesty.'

I'll have to put the crown back on soon enough-a meeting with my ministers this evening. I shall be terribly majestic and intimidating then, I promise, and have them all trembling.