‘We’re not all as hostile as that.’

‘I’m sure,’ I said.

‘First time to Paris?’

I nodded.

‘Betrothed?’

‘No.’

‘Here to work, then. To make your small way in the big world.’ He looked at my hat, at the cut of my coat. ‘Shop girl,’ he said, still smiling, ‘or seamstress. Perhaps a lady’s companion.’

I nodded at his last guess, amused.

‘I couldn’t think of a more uninspiring position than the lady’s companion,’ he said, ‘but likely an improvement from whatever situation it is you’ve left.’

‘Well.’ My legs were going numb.

He continued to stare at me, and I felt obliged to open my bag and reach for the small satchel of money I carried. I took out a few sous and offered them to him. He rotated his hands to make a bowl shape, his fingers having already been laced together, and into this I dropped the coins. He then did the most amazing contortion with his arms, a sort of figure-of-eight twist where his hands disappeared into the folds of his ragged clothing, then came out empty.

I stood then, and with the straightening of my legs, the blood rushed to my feet. I felt as if I might topple over.

He began to turn his trolley and move away. ‘Adieu,’ he said, and made as if to tip his hat, though he wore none. As soon as he’d gone, swallowed up by commuters, I wondered if I’d imagined him.

The cocher and I soon found one another. He took my bag and bade me to follow him quickly through the station. His cab stood in the street, lined up in a row with several others, the horses lean and tired and resigned. It had rained earlier in the day and the hem of my skirt drew mud, but the sun was out now, its light reflecting off the limestone buildings. As soon as I was seated in the carriage we were underway. I stared out of the window like a baby peeking from its pram. Clermont-Ferrand was sizeable enough but this was my first city, and it was Paris. Stuck behind an endless line of omnibuses and carts and other cabs, we crawled slowly along Avenue Daumensil, towards Place de la Bastille. People were everywhere, everywhere. Women with babies, and girls hurrying with parcels stuck importantly under their arms. Slick, clever-eyed street merchants and workmen dusty with the remnants of hard labour. Gentlemen who seemed to just be strolling, doing nothing, stopping in the middle of the crowd to look in a shop window. These men seemed wholly unconcerned by anything, anything at all. All the cafes were full. Waiters pranced among outdoor tables, clearing cups away and setting down dishes of food. Women chirped to each other across the open air from every other balcony. On one corner, a group of elderly men had set up a semicircle of chairs, and seemed to sit and speak as casually as if they were in a parlour at home. Looking down a smaller street to my left, I thought I saw a dwarf-man riding a tricycle, but lost him in the crowd before I could be sure. Moments later I thought I saw Tante Huguette coming out of a milliner’s, black lace up to her chin, but was of course mistaken.