She thought: well, they had it coming to them. The so-called Resistance never thought of ordinary people and how they had to pay the price for their criminal activities. This time at least it was the Maquis who were going to suffer. As long as it stopped there. A chill went through her when she thought of those other towns, Tulle, Terrasson, Oradour, where the populace had been assembled by the German army to learn some lessons.

Then she saw them leading them up. Pierre Rouget of Cavialle, who couldn’t have been more than nineteen was first. He was as pale as death already, but he wasn’t crying out or weeping. They stopped and she saw Henri Menesplier at the end of the line. The major was pointing to the six nooses, the seven men. A soldier ran off to look for more rope, but the officer was impatient. He looked at the row of Resistance fighters, walked up and down in front of them, prolonging the decision. He was enjoying that drawn-out moment of choice. She had been caught up in it, waiting to see what he would do. Finally he pointed to one of them. Henri Menesplier was led forward.

He had been good to her, Henri, after Lucien had been taken, in quiet ways, leaving food, calling in to see if she needed a hand, at a time when other people were steering well clear of her. She must have trapped him into working for her, just as she’d got Lucien involved. She was death to anyone who came into contact with her. Tears came into her eyes as the firing squad was formed. Tears for Henri, tears for Lucien.

She had never seen anyone die before, let alone shot. They hadn’t put a bandage around his eyes and she wondered how they could do it, the firing squad, look him in the eye as they took aim. Henri had a broad face with wide brown eyes. You could see everything in his expression in the endless seconds while he was tied up, before the order was given: his wife, his children, the grandchildren he would never see. Everything was there. She had cried out when they fired. It was so quick. Henri crumpled to the ground and a stain spread through his shirt. Then the hangings started.

The memory of her fear brought tears to her eyes.

‘And why was Henri caught, they’re asking,’ she said. ‘The Germans were ready for them. The Germans had divided themselves into two and their second party came up in the rear, once the attack started. That’s what they say. Henri and his men must have been betrayed. Who would have denounced them, that late in the day? That’s what people ask. Who would have bothered to try to save the Germans, when they were bound to leave anyway? Everyone knew they were on the run. It wasn’t someone who hoped for a reward. Oh, no. It would have to be someone committed to them, who wanted to save the Germans’ skins at all costs.’