The Magician's Wife by Brian Moore

Deniau turned to her and winked. And at that moment she sensed that in a strange exotic country she would face a new dilemma. For, in that momentary covert closing of an eye, was proposed the ultimate betrayal.
     
     
     
     
    Next morning the valet who brought to their rooms, as usual, coffee and the programme for the day handed Emmeline an envelope containing a note from Vicomte Walsh, one of the Emperor’s chamberlains. It informed her that today’s programme, the last of the série , would include the stag hunt and, in the evening, the curée or celebration of the day’s sport. The Vicomte’s note added that a place had been reserved for her in the carriage of Madame de Fernan Nunez so that she could have a good view of the chase. No mention was made of her husband. She passed the letter over to Lambert.
    ‘I don’t to want to go,’ she said. ‘And why didn’t they ask you?’
    ‘It’s a carriage for the ladies,’ he said. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’ll be looked after.’
    ‘I still don’t want to go. Remember, I was ill after the shooting party. You promised you’d make my excuses.’
    ‘But don’t you see, when they’ve made these special arrangements for you it will seem very rude if you refuse. Besides, darling, it won’t be as bad as the shooting party. I very much doubt that you’ll be close enough to see the kill. And they say it’s a truly wonderful spectacle – the hunters’ costumes, the hounds, the pageantry. And remember, this evening we’ll be the guests of the Emperor. If they sent you that note, it must mean that he’s behind this invitation. You know that he’s fond of your company. Please, Emmeline. This is our last day here. Let’s not spoil things.’
    And of course he was right. The Emperor must have spoken to Vicomte Walsh. She could not refuse. And so, a few hours later, a chamberlain presented her to Madame de Fernan Nunez, the wife of a Spanish banker, and soon she was seated beside Madame Nunez and two other ladies in a stately Berlin carriage, en route to the Carrefour l’Étoile, the rendezvous point in the royal forest where other carriages were drawn up at the side of the road awaiting the arrival of the Emperor’s retinue. Already, the imperial équipage de chasse and the gentlemen of the hunt were assembled at the crossroads and Madame Nunez who, Emmeline realized, had been chosen as her chaperone because she was expert in hunting matters, began to point out the various members of the Emperor’s équipe . There were ten in the team, huntsmen, whippers-in and valets on horseback, managing the pack of one hundred English hounds. The sight of the gentlemen riders in red coats and top boots, reining in their prancing horses as they waited for the Emperor’s arrival, reminded Emmeline of a scene in a painting. Unlike the guns and the brutal preparations for the shooting party, this was a pageant, and now the Emperor’s special group rode up to the crossroads, an astonishing sight in green velvet frock coats trimmed in crimson and gold braid, white kid breeches and tricorne hats. The waiting hunters fell in behind this official cortège, the pack of English hounds mingling among the riders in a great tail-wagging cluster, their movements kept in check by the professional huntsmen of the équipe . And then, to a sudden mournful peal of hunting horns, horses, men and hounds galloped off into the forest in a cloud of dust and flying leaves, the ground shaking under the drumming of hooves.
    In a confusion of cracking whips and shouting coachmen the guests’ carriages set off down the broad allée in an effort to follow the progress of the hunt. At last, at a crossroads, they came upon a lone rider who told them that the stag, far ahead, had just taken to water, swimming desperately, pursued by the pack of hounds. Madame Nunez, upbraiding her coachman, tried to move ahead of the other carriages to witness the kill but to Emmeline’s relief this was impossible and