All the guests had fallen silent at the sound of his raised voice, and now there was a pause before conversation resumed, a low, nervous muttering which only gradually built up to the former light-hearted hubbub.

After lunch, the male guests strolled down to the shooting line on a raised bank and took up their weapons. Before them lay a vast cropped meadow, and beyond that a small forest.The cages containing the rabbits had been set up a short distance in front of the shooters with the beaters standing ready to drive them forward, in front of the guns of the imperial party. When all the guests had loaded guns held ready and stood in tense expectation, Bethier gave the signal to the senior huntsman, who cupped his hands to his mouth and bellowed,‘Loose the rabbits!’

The pegs were pulled free and the doors swung open as the beaters whacked the rear of the cages with their sticks. At once scores of rabbits bounded free, their tails bobbing up and down like balls of cotton.They hopped a short distance and then began to stop and turn, glancing round curiously.

Napoleon hissed impatiently, waiting for the rabbits to move beyond the beaters so that he could get a clear shot. But the rabbits, as if of one will, had turned round and were already hopping back, darting between the cages and the legs of the beaters as they made for the bank where the shooters stood watching in growing astonishment.

‘What the hell?’ Napoleon growled. He glanced towards Berthier. ‘What is going on? Why don’t they run away?’

Berthier shook his head in bewilderment as the rabbits surged up the bank. He called out to the senior huntsman. ‘What is the meaning of this?’

The huntsman ran over and bowed his head. ‘Sir?’

‘What are the rabbits doing?’ asked Berthier anxiously as he watched Napoleon lower his gun and kick out at a small crowd of rabbits clustered at his feet.

The huntsman bit his lip. ‘These rabbits, sir. Can I ask if you bought ’em wild, or tame?’

‘They’re from a breeder.Why?’

‘So they’re tame.’ The huntsman nodded. ‘That’s it then. They must think the shooters have come to feed them.’

The blood drained from Berthier’s face. ‘Oh, no . . .’

He looked round and saw the line of shooters besieged by the wave of hungry rabbits. Already some of the Emperor’s guests were in a retreat, some angered and some amused as the little beasts followed them. Then, as a fluke waft of breeze brought the scent of the banquet down the slope, the rabbits rose on their haunches, tiny noses quivering, and then surged up the slope. Berthier’s heart sank at the sight.

‘Berthier!’ Napoleon called out furiously. ‘You fool! You dunderhead! ’