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shadows, at achieving their purposes along the tortuous winding paths of secrecy and intrigue, diplomatic in the one case, mercilessly pragmatic in the other.
    After Napoleon, they were the two most influential and powerful men in France and, by extension, Napoleonic Europe. In general, they rarely collaborated, each leaving the other his sphere of operations, each courting the ear of Napoleon in his own way. But on this cold January night in Paris, with Napoleon preparing to face the Russian army in Eastern Prussia, they had come together to discuss the progress of a plan where both their interests meshed.
    “She was making contact this weekend at the Vanbrugh house in Kent.” Talleyrand sipped cognac, gesturing to his guest that he should refill his own glass.
    Fouché’s fingers around the delicate crystal decanter were thick and coarse, the nails ragged, tufts of hair sprouting on the red knuckles. Talleyrand tapped the tapering white soft-skinned fingers of a pampered aristocrat on the polished wooden arm of his chair.
    “What does she know of Praed?” Fouché asked before taking a deep swallow from his liberally recharged glass.
    “That he’s the cleverest spymaster the English have yet produced … that so far we haven’t been able to get close to him … that it’s her assignment to do so.”
    “And provide us with the means to remove him permanently,” Fouché declared, smacking his lips as he savored his cognac.
    Talleyrand winced slightly. Fouché was so unsubtle. As it happened, removing Nathaniel Praed was the last thing the Minister for Foreign Affairs wanted, but Fouché didn’t need to know that. It suited both of them to have Gabrielle infiltrating the English secret service, and they had combined their resources to achieve it. Fouché wanted a double agent in England to enable him to wreak havoc with that nation’s secret service, and Talleyrand, much more devious, wanted a line of communication directly into the ear of the English government. Nathaniel Praed via Gabrielle was to be that ear.
    For the moment the two men could work together toward their differing goals. If Fouché’s goal interfered with Talleyrand’s at some future point, then the Minister for Foreign Affairs would deal with it.
    “You believe the woman will succeed in infiltrating their system?” Fouché regarded his host with shrewd eyes as he posed the question.
    Talleyrand nodded. “Gabrielle’s been one of our most resourceful and intrepid couriers for the last five years, throughout her liaison with
le lièvre noir
. This mission requires different skills, of course, but she’s a woman of passionate convictions and determination,intent on avenging her lover’s murder. She will succeed.”
    “I wish to God I knew who’d betrayed him,” Fouché declared with a savage twist to his mouth, “To lose our top agent in such fashion!
Mon dieu
, it makes me want to spit!”
    His mouth pursed and Talleyrand grimaced, thinking he was about to suit action to words, but Fouché restrained himself, draining the contents of his brandy goblet in one gulp.
    There was a moment’s silence. The fire spurted and a candle flared as a needle of frigid air found its way under the door.
    “However,” Talleyrand said finally, “as we agreed, there’s a way to pull the chestnuts out of this fire. Gabrielle will turn disadvantage to advantage. Once she’s gained Praed’s trust, she will bring us, among other information, a list of the English agents presently working in France. If Guillaume was betrayed by an English double agent in our own ranks, we’ll discover it.”
    “You’re sure there’s nothing to connect Gabrielle de Beaucaire with
le lièvre?”
    “Nothing,” Talleyrand said firmly. “Their love affair was known only to myself. Gabrielle, as you know, is my goddaughter. Her father was one of my dearest boyhood friends. It was natural that I should offer her my protection when she returned from England after the