The noise of the revellers at table became deafening. The child, disturbed by all the roistering around him, began to cry. A voice called out: ‘Go on, Father! Give him the breast.’

The room reverberated with their laughter. But the mother rose, picked up her son, and carried him off to an adjoining room. She came back in a few minutes saying that he was now fast asleep in his cradle.

The meal continued. Men and women went out into the yard from time to time, then returned to the table. Meat and vegetables, cider and wine disappeared down the guests’ gullets, swelling stomachs and putting a gleam in the eye. The festivities reached their peak.

Night was falling as coffee was served. The priest, to no one’s great surprise, had long since disappeared. Finally, the young mother got up to see whether the baby was still asleep. It was now dark and she fumbled her way through the room with arms stretched out in front of her so as not to bump into the furniture. Suddenly a strange sound made her stop in her tracks. She ran out terrified, certain that she had heard someone move. Extremely pale and trembling she returned to where everyone was eating and said so. The men rose as one with an angry, drunken roar. The father, seizing a lamp, rushed in. At the cradle’s side, his head on the pillow where the baby’s lay, the priest knelt, sobbing.

COWARD

Generally referred to as Beau Signoles, his full title was the Vicomte Gantron-Joseph de Signoles. As an orphan with a sizeable fortune to his name he was highly eligible as well as dashing and physically attractive. Possessed not only of natural dignity and a distinctly aristocratic bearing but also of great wit, he was much sought after by the ladies, who admired his handsome moustache and were drawn to the gentle expression always to be seen in his eyes.

Much in demand by salon society, he was particularly popular with the waltzers. Men regarded him with the amused tolerance often shown to the more attractive among them and there was also talk of one or two love affairs, which added even further lustre to his name. He led a happy not to say charmed and morally blameless life and enjoyed a reputation as both an excellent swordsman and an even better shot.

‘In a duel,’1 he would say, ‘I should always choose pistols. Then I’d be sure of my man.’