The red velvet of the banquette was almost fraying in the spot where Saint-Lô came for breakfast every morning to partake as discreetly as possible of his piece of bread and half saucisson. In the lavish old mansion that now housed the Musée Carnavalet, he loved nothing more than admiring the “Procession of the Catholic League”, a painting by François Bunel the Younger. Even though he was little enamoured of the League, the crowd on the paving stones of Paris stirred his emotions.

On the canvas to the right, a paunchy monk reminded him of his mucker Capitaine Merlot. He was friendly with Merlot. A lively camaraderie was developing between the two, what with their shared appreciation for hearty chinwags and unsophisticated wines. The apartment at rue des Innocents was warm enough, and the troops less prone to bickering than usual. In place of ambushes and scandalmongering, there was action and fraternity.

Soon it would be ten o’clock. Saint-Lô could tarry no longer – he had to honour his monthly meeting with Professor Stein. Yet again he would spout freely about his childhood: the stud farm, the fencing, the hours of reading, the threshing, the death. And the constant sensation that the man of science was trying to corner him.

“Such a fine work,” he sighed, standing up and fitting his broad-rimmed hat to his head.