And they were off again, coughing and choking and making themselves sick with laughter. At this point the party split up. Madame Loiseau commented in her waspish way, as she and her husband were getting into bed, that ‘that little minx’ Madame Carré-Lamadon had had a touch of the green-eyed monster in her eyes all evening. ‘Some women’ll go for anything in uniform. They don’t give a hoot what sort. French, Prussian, you name it. Honest to God, it makes you weep!’

All night long from the darkness of the corridor all sorts of soft, barely audible sounds could be heard – faint rustles and creaks and the patter of bare feet on boards. From the narrow strips of light showing under the doorways it was clear that no one got to sleep until very late. Champagne is like that, it has the effect of a stimulant, apparently.

The following day, the winter sun shone brightly on the dazzling snow. Hitched up at last, the coach stood waiting at the front door while an army of white pigeons with black-centred pink eyes preened themselves as they strutted importantly between the legs of the six horses and pecked for food in the steaming dung.

The coachman, wrapped up in his sheepskin on the box, was puffing at his pipe as the ecstatic travellers all hurriedly packed in provisions for the remainder of the journey. Only Boule de Suif was missing. At last she appeared. She looked anxious and shamefaced. As she timidly approached her companions they turned, as one, away from her as if she were invisible. The Comte offered a dignified arm to his wife and led her away from possibly degrading contact. The plump young woman, shocked, stopped in her tracks. Then, summoning all her courage, she went up to the manufacturer’s wife and murmured politely: ‘Good morning, Madame.’

The other woman in reply gave the curtest of contemptuous nods, accompanied by a glare of outraged virtue. Affecting to be very busy, everyone kept their distance as though she were carrying some infection in her skirts. Rushing to the coach they left her to arrive last and alone to take the seat she had previously occupied during the first part of the journey. They appeared neither to see nor to recognize her. Madame Loiseau, however, looking indignantly over in her direction, muttered to her husband: ‘Thank goodness I’m not sitting next to her.’

The heavy carriage jerked into motion and they set off once more on their journey. At first no one spoke. Boule de Suif dared not look up. She felt simultaneously angry with her neighbours, humiliated by having given in to them, and defiled by the caresses of the Prussian into whose arms they had so hypocritically thrown her.

The Comtesse, however, turning towards Madame Carré-Lamadon, soon broke the awkward silence.

‘I believe you know Madame d’Etrelles?’

‘Oh yes, she’s a great friend of mine.’

‘What a delightful woman!’