‘You can do what you like, I’m not afraid. You can kill me if you feel so inclined but this is what I have to tell you: one, just one of the children, is not yours. I swear this to you before God who is my witness here. It was the only revenge I could take on you and the only defence against your abominable male tyranny, the forced labour of giving birth to which you sentenced me. And who was my lover? You will never know! You will suspect every man and you will never find out. I gave myself to him with neither love nor pleasure but simply so as to deceive you. Which child is his? You will never know that either. There are seven, take your pick! I had intended to tell you this much later. Revenge is never complete till the person knows. But you forced me to confess today and that’s what I’ve done.’

She fled through the church to the open door and out into the street. She kept expecting to hear behind her the footsteps of the husband she had so openly defied and to be hurled on to the pavement by a stunning blow from his fist. Hearing nothing, however, and leaping into the carriage, tense and panting with fear, she called to the coachman ‘Home!’ and the horses set off at a brisk trot.

II

Closeted in her room, the Comtesse awaited dinnertime as a condemned man waits for the hour of execution. How would he react? Had he returned? She was well used to his rages, his violence and his domineering manner but still she wondered what he had planned, what was in store for her and what decision he had come to. The house was silent. She looked every few minutes at the hands of the clock. Her maid, having dressed her for dinner, had now left.

Eight o’clock struck. Almost immediately there were two knocks at her door.

‘Come in.’

The butler appeared, saying: ‘Madame la Comtesse, dinner is served.’

‘Has the Comte returned?’

‘Yes, Madame la Comtesse. Monsieur le Comte is in the dining room.’

For a few seconds she wondered whether or not to take with her the little revolver she had bought some time previously in anticipation of the scene she imagined might soon take place. Then remembering that all the children would be present she took only a bottle of smelling salts.

When she entered the dining room her husband was standing by his chair, waiting. They bowed to each other curtly and sat down. The children then took their places: the three sons with their tutor, the abbé Marin, to the right of their mother, the three daughters with their English governess, Mademoiselle Smith, on her left. The youngest child, a baby of three months, remained upstairs in its room with a nurse.