‘It was more than that, monsieur. You set an example for the entire world.’

‘The best of them did. Though in an affair like that there is always much brutality. Lynch mobs. Summary executions. It wasn’t always very edifying.’

‘I know that some consider you a political fatalist. I am, of course, familiar with your work. But I ask you once more, in all earnestness – were you and your comrades wrong to take up arms?’

László shook his head.

‘Would you deny to others the right to do likewise?’

‘Obviously I could not.’

‘Then may I assume you would not oppose a movement that pursued objectives comparable to those you once fought for?’

‘Why would I oppose it?’

‘Would you support it?’

‘Perhaps.’

‘Actively or passively?’

‘You would make a good Jesuit,’ said László.

‘Religion,’ snarled the young woman, ‘is essentially fascistic.’

‘And you,’ said László, ‘would have made an excellent Party member. You have a head full of slogans.’

Emil said: ‘You can help us, monsieur. The risk would not be great. You are now a successful and respected man. I do not ask you to throw this away.’

László frowned at the other’s conceit. ‘Perhaps I want to throw it away. Perhaps I am not at all what you think I am, Monsieur Bexheti. Do not have too much confidence in your research. But suppose you now tell me, in the most specific terms, what it is you want of me.’

There was a pause. Emil nodded. ‘I have your solemn word that you will speak of this to nobody?’

‘Very well.’

‘Not even to Monsieur Engelbrecht?’

‘Not even to Monsieur Engelbrecht. Not immediately. Here, however, you must trust me to manage things as I see best.’

Before the woman could object, Emil signalled his agreement. ‘We are in your hands, monsieur.’

‘Let us say we are in each other’s hands,’ said László. He wondered what would happen if he betrayed them. Would a police launch fish him out of the Seine? He prepared himself – ready now to imagine almost anything – but what they wanted of him was so simple his first reaction was a sharp disappointment. They wanted a courier. A postman. Someone who would carry a case abroad, and then come home.

‘Nothing more?’

‘Nothing more.’

‘And what does the case contain? Documents?’

Another pause.

‘Money?’

‘As I am sure you already know,’ said Emil, ‘for several years there has been a tax on all émigré Albanians to pay for the parallel republic. For the schools and the hospitals we were forced to establish for ourselves. Now there are many who want us to be more active in the defence of our rights. They are prepared to give generously in order to make that possible.’

‘Money to buy guns.’

‘Also food, medicine, clothes...’

‘Uniforms.’

‘You want us to buy books?’ asked the woman.