‘Charming. Very special indeed. Well-educated too and an artist to the tips of her fingers. She has a wonderful voice and she draws like a dream, did you know?’

The manufacturer was talking to the Comte and above the rattle of the window panes the occasional word or phrase could be heard: ‘Dividends … maturity date … option … mature …’

Loiseau who had stolen the ancient pack of cards belonging to the inn and greasy with five years’ contact with sticky table-tops, embarked on a game of bezique with his wife.

The two nuns, taking up the long rosaries that hung from their belts, made a simultaneous sign of the cross. Suddenly their lips began to move at an ever-increasing speed as if competing in some salve regina steeplechase. From time to time they would kiss a medal, cross themselves again, then once more take up the mumbling at a rate of knots. Cornudet sat motionless, lost in thought. After three hours’ travelling Loiseau gathered up his cards. ‘Time to eat,’ he said.

At this his wife reached for a packet tied up with string from which she extracted a joint of cold veal. She cut it into neat, thin slices and the two began to tuck in.

‘Perhaps we should follow your example,’ said the Comtesse.

A chorus of approval rose and she set about unpacking the provisions which had been prepared for the two couples. In one of those long, oval vessels with a china hare for a lid indicating that within there lay a lièvre en paté, a succulent piece of charcuterie in which the hare’s dark flesh mixed together with other finely chopped meats was streaked with white rivulets of bacon fat. There was also a fine slab of Gruyère, wrapped in newspaper and now carrying the words ‘NEWS IN BRIEF’ on its satiny surface. The two nuns unwrapped a hunk of garlicky saucisson and Cornudet, plunging his hands into the gigantic patch pockets of his greatcoat, brought out from one of them four hard-boiled eggs, and from the other the crusty end of a loaf. The shells of the eggs he threw into the straw at his feet, and as he munched each in turn a constellation of bright yellow flecks was scattered into the dark firmament of his beard.