They went down, sometimes bent double, sometimes crawling on hands and knees into a vineyard where, straining for any sound and with their eyes nervously darting from right to left, they took advantage of the cover of the bushes. There was just one strip of open ground to cross before reaching the riverside. Running for it, they reached the bank and crouched, hidden, among the dry rushes. Morissot pressed his ear to the ground for any sound of marching in the vicinity. He heard nothing. They were alone, completely alone. As their confidence returned they began to fish.

Opposite them the deserted island of Marante hid them from the other bank. The little restaurant there was closed and looked as if it had been abandoned for years. It was Monsieur Sauvage who took the first gudgeon. Monsieur Morissot followed with a second and every few minutes one or the other lifted his line to find a small silvery creature wriggling on the end: it was a little miracle of a catch. Carefully they slid each one into a fine-meshed net bag at their feet and as they did so a delicious feeling of joy swept over them, the sort of joy you feel when, after having been deprived of a certain pleasure for a very long time, you discover it anew. The kindly sun spread its warmth between their shoulders. They heard nothing and thought of nothing; the world ceased to exist as they simply fished.

Suddenly, however, a dull, apparently subterranean roar made the ground shake. The big guns were firing again. Morissot, turning his head, saw on the left, above the river bank, the great shape of Mont-Valérien now sporting a white plume of the smoke it had just spat out. Almost immediately another puff of smoke was emitted from the top of the fortress, to be followed in a few moments by the growl of a second detonation. More followed, and now every second the mountain belched out its deadly breath, sending milky puffs up into the peaceful sky and forming a cloud over it.

Monsieur Sauvage shrugged his shoulders: ‘There they go again,’ he said.

Morissot, looking with concern at the feather on his float bobbing up and down, felt a sudden wave of anger, like any peace-loving man, against these idiots who would insist on fighting each other.

‘Killing each other like that. Talk about stupid,’ he muttered.

‘Worse than animals,’ said Monsieur Sauvage.

Morissot, who had just hooked a chub, declared: ‘That’s the government for you.’

Monsieur Sauvage cut in: ‘The Republic would never have declared war …’

Monsieur Morissot interrupted.

‘With a monarchy you’ve got war abroad. With a republic, you’ve got war at home.’