One day, as he was walking in the Tuileries garden with Josephine and had just dealt with yet another group of well-wishers, overawed to meet the soldier who had saved the government from the mob, he turned to her and said sadly, ‘Your children, I think, would rather you did not marry me.’

‘They are children.’ Josephine shrugged. ‘Their hearts will change, given time.They will come to know you well enough to appreciate your qualities.’ She slipped her hand under his arm and squeezed it. ‘Be patient, my dear.’

‘I would be patient, if I could only control my heart. I want you so much that I would marry you this day if I could. But I am afraid that if your children bear me any ill will it will act as a wedge in your affections. Perhaps we should delay our wedding for a while.’

She stopped and turned on him quickly. ‘Delay? Why?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘What is it, Napoleon? Do you no longer love me?’

‘Yes! Yes, of course I do.’ He cupped her cheek in his hand. ‘Never doubt that. I just want to be sure that nothing stands between us when we become man and wife. I swear that’s all I meant. I should like to have the chance to achieve something that Eugène and Hortense could be proud of, so that they would be pleased that you married me.’

Josephine smiled briefly.

‘What is it?’

‘Oh, just something I heard the other day. A rumour,’ she added quickly.‘You might get that chance sooner than you think.’

‘Why?’

‘I will not say. I am sworn to secrecy.’

‘Tell me.’

‘No.’ She pressed a finger to his lips.‘You’ll see. I won’t say any more for now. But we must not worry about the children.When they see how happy I am I promise you they will be happy for me, and accept you.’

‘I hope so,’ Napoleon replied, but his mind had already moved on to other things. What was this rumour that Josephine had mentioned?

Early in the new year they settled on a June date for their wedding. Napoleon would be busy until then co-ordinating the military effort in Italy. After that he would take leave and they would honeymoon in Normandy. Or so they thought, until Napoleon was summoned to the Tuileries for an interview with Paul Barras. It was late in January and cold rain swept the streets of the capital. As his coach drew up in the courtyard Napoleon pulled up his collar and dived out, trotting quickly up the steps into the entrance hall. Barras was alone in his office when the young general was ushered inside. He dispensed with formalities and waved Napoleon to the chair opposite his desk.

‘How are the preparations coming for the new campaign?’