Ariane went to her room, resolving that when things had quietened down she would venture out with Florence to see what had happened, if any help was needed. After an hour or so the shooting ceased and the sound of engines filled the courtyard. Looking out of the window, she saw the Hispano-Suiza drawn up in front of the door. The sight of her own car always produced a lurch of fear. This was not the return of the unit in strength, just of the major himself. Later she worked out that he had fitted in this visit to Bonnemort, to destroy papers and to speak to her, after the fight on the road and before returning to Lepech Perdrissou to execute Henri and his companions. Between one job and another. She stood tapping her nails on the sill. She was afraid to leave the house now, in case she was called for. Time slipped by while she hesitated, until Florence appeared at her door.

‘He wants you,’ she said. ‘He’s in a hurry, slamming around downstairs. And watch out; he’s in a mood.’

Ariane walked reluctantly down the tower stairs. Since its occupation by the Germans the house smelled alien. Before, it had smelled of lavender and damp, a mild, elderly, feminine scent. They had taken over everything, she thought, even the air, and it now smelled rankly masculine, of cigarettes and sweat, of leather and fear.

In the library the major was alone. She recognised all the danger signs and her palms began to sweat with fear. He saw her, ignored her, moving around the room, piling up documents into open boxes that were stacked on others, already filled, by the door. The meaning of what he was doing leaped at her instantly: he was packing. The emotion that flooded through her was so violent that she found she had to hold onto the jamb to support herself.

‘Shut the door,’ he ordered abruptly.

He was bending down by the hearth, a match flaring in his hand, a flame that seemed to gush from the ends of his fingers, as if he had literally a firearm, with no need of any other weapon. The papers that he had piled there refused to obey him. The fire was too densely packed; the flames died at the edges, spluttering into a glowing fringe, smoking evilly.

‘Come and do this for me.’

She took the matches from him and loosely crumpled a few papers, so that they would catch fire. He was standing beside her, looking down.

‘We’re leaving. Do you hear? Tomorrow we’ll be gone.’

She remained crouching, pretending that the fire needed her attention, his boots just within her range of vision.

‘But you’ll hear from me. When things have settled down again, I’ll let you know. I’ll send for you.’

Is he mad, she wondered, and leaned forward to push more paper into the flame.

‘I’ll be back with my men later; there are a few things to settle in Lepech. So I’ll see you once more before I leave for good. Get up.’