Vicomte de Leaume invited them to sit down.

‘Coming here is always a pleasure. It’s our treasure-trove,’ he explained. ‘So many of us had to emigrate to all the capitals of Europe. And often had to abandon our larger pieces of furniture. But rather than leave them to the revolutionaries, we sometimes

managed to stow them in hiding places like this. Our refugee friends in London have entrusted us with the task of keeping this place safe. In exchange, we are allowed to sell some of the pieces. As long as we use the proceeds for the cause, of course.'

Margont sat down in a comfortable flowered armchair.

‘A Louis XVI armchair: the chair of the beheaded,’ joked Honoré de Nolant.

The tasteless joke should have attracted the ire of his companions, but they didn’t seem to have heard him. Lefine chose a seat as different as possible from his friend’s. Leaume was relaxed and happy.

‘I see you have brought Monsieur Plami—’

‘“Lami”: L, A, M, I, Monsieur le Vicomte,’ corrected Lefine.

‘It’s of no importance. Whatever his name is, just this once I will allow him to attend our meeting. You’ll understand why in a minute.’

Margont was thinking about all the different elements of the situation at once. He was watching the committee members, studying their demeanour, thinking about Joseph’s agents - perhaps the ones following Varencourt or Catherine de Saltonges had not been shaken off; he was concentrating on playing his role to the best of his ability. He was also taking in every detail of the house. During his campaigns he had learnt to evaluate distances and to note the smallest details, as a matter of survival. When he was leading his soldiers into the open on a battlefield, it was essential to have thought already that shots could come from that wood over there, three hundred paces to the north-west, that, running, they would only need thirty seconds to reach that sunken road that stretched from east to west and would be an excellent defensive position, that there would surely be water - water! - in that verdant green copse tucked off to the east, because he had spied weeping willows there, and those trees were usually found near streams and ponds ... So, without appearing to do so, he was counting the yards separating him from the door and the windows.

He noticed that everyone was nervous except Charles de Varencourt, who had found his equilibrium again. Margont would have

been more reassured to see him as pale as he had been earlier that day. What had happened to soothe him? And Catherine de Saltonges, although tense, showed no sign of the drama she had lived through a week earlier.

Louis de Leaume gloated, This place is the jewel in our crown. We come here when our morale is flagging, when we have suffered a reverse, and it always cheers us up! But today, we’ve come for the opposite reason. The news is not just good, it’s excellent! Miraculous! And I’ve chosen this place for us to celebrate in. The Allies are at the gates of the capital! They will attack at any minute. And it’s important that they take Paris as rapidly as possible. So they need us more than ever at this moment.’

‘All the Parisian monarchist groups have just seen their worth increase tenfold,’ explained Honoré de Nolant.

It was not like Nolant to keep interrupting in that way. Moreover, his humour was dark and cynical. So he was also acting out of character.

The more we help our allies,’ Louis de Leaume went on, ‘the harder it will be for them not to return the throne to its only legitimate claimant: His Majesty Louis XVIII. So now’s the time to swing into action.’

‘Right away,’ added Honoré de Nolant, producing a pistol, which he pointed at Margont.

Guns appeared on all sides. Louis de Leaume also aimed at Margont. Varencourt and Jean-Baptiste de Chatel had Lefine covered. Only Catherine de Saltonges’s hands were empty.

‘What’s this for?’ asked Margont.

Louis de Leaume laughed heartily.

‘Even looking down the barrel of a gun, you still refuse to give up? My opinion of you has gone up a little. But it won’t work. We know you are both traitors.’

‘You sold us out!’ Margont shouted at Charles de Varencourt, who laughed.

‘Not at all! You still don’t understand, do you?’

Vicomte de Leaume could not resist showing off the extent of his triumph. ‘We knew all along, even before our first meeting.’

That was a sledgehammer blow to Margont. But his survival instinct and tenacity allowed him to conceal his shock. His thoughts raced, analysing everything at astonishing speed. His only aim was to escape from this alive, along with Lefine, of course. So first, he tried to stall for time. Joseph’s secret police might still be on their trail, or Varencourt’s or Catherine de Saltonges’s ... They would have to hold tight until they were found!

Catherine de Saltonges did not seem to be enjoying the situation. She wouldn’t look at the prisoners.

Vicomte de Leaume declared: ‘We’re going to lock you in a cellar until the Allies liberate Paris, which won’t be long now. When that happens you will be transferred to prison, until the King's judicial service has time to consider your case. However, I’m pretty sure you don’t have to worry too much. His Majesty will be intent on obtaining the support of all his subjects, royalists, republicans and Bonapartists. Since you haven’t harmed our cause in any way, I’m sure you will soon be freed.’

Catherine de Saltonges rose. ‘I have to go home. I have a prior arrangement...’

‘Co ahead, my dear. Roland will go with you,’ Louis de Leaume replied.

She hurried off. ‘Roland’ must be one of the two men keeping watch downstairs. At least that’s what Margont hoped.

There was something odd about Leaume reassuring them about their fate. And now Catherine de Saltonges was leaving the room, just as she had stayed out of the way the night Honoré de Nolant had held a knife to Margont’s throat. The situation that night could easily have escalated and she didn’t like to witness violence ... And another thing, Vicomte de Leaume had just revealed too much, when he was normally obsessively secretive ... Putting it all together, it was obvious to Margont that the group were going to murder them both. That’s why they had chosen to have them brought here: it was the place that would give the group the necessary fortitude to kill two unarmed men in cold blood. Unless he thought of a way out, Margont had only a few more minutes to live

‘So,’ he said to Lefine, ‘we should have listened to Galouche’s advice! When we tell him this ...’

Their friend Galouche was reposing at the bottom of a communal grave on the Moscow battlefield ... Lefine nodded. He had understood the message.

Leaume made Margont stand up and started to frisk him. ‘Where is it?’ His gestures were quick and precise. His left hand was searching everywhere. His right continued to point the pistol at Margont’s heart. ‘The letter! Where is it?¹ ‘What letter?’

‘Oh, no you don’t, Monsieur, no ... I think I’ve proved that you’re the fool here, not me. I want the letter that your bosses gave you.’

If he were to fire, Margont rated his chances of survival as ... nil. Varencourt intervened: ‘He’s trying to play for time. Of course he’s in possession of an official document attesting that he’s working for the Emperor.’

So that’s what they were after, thought Margont. The whole set-up, the faked betrayal by Charles de Varencourt, Margont’s pretend admission to the Swords of the King: all that effort and risk was for the letter. So it must be necessary for the execution of their plan.

‘It’s at home,’ said Margont.

‘No it’s not!’ replied Honoré de Nolant. ‘I searched your room myself and I’m certain it’s not there!’

Leaume was pulling so hard on Margont’s shirt that it tore.

‘We’ll strip you if we have to, but we will find it. Perhaps we’ll have to torture your friend as you watch, until you tell us where it is! The police must have told you my life story. I escaped from a mass grave ...’