The funeral orations were starting. He couldn’t hear them properly, but that didn’t matter. He was there. He was part of the great event.

And everyone knew what must be said. Victor Hugo wasn’t only a great romantic poet and novelist. Liberty, Equality, Fraternity were his watchwords, and he’d lived by them. When Napoléon III had made himself dictator, Hugo had shamed him before all the world, choosing exile in the island of Guernsey, and refusing to come back until democracy was restored. When the Germans invaded France, he’d returned at once, to share starvation with the people of Paris. He’d served as a deputy and a senator too, and taken up residence on one of the splendid avenues that radiated out from the Arc de Triomphe. He was France’s greatest patriot, the conscience of the nation, the finest spirit of the age.

A few years ago, as a birthday present, the city had even renamed the avenue where he lived: avenue Victor Hugo.

From time to time, an oration would end, and the echo of applause could be heard before another speech began. Each time, Thomas would watch the young woman carefully, in case she turned her head. But although she shifted her position a little, he never saw her face. Meanwhile, the clouds were departing from the sky, and the Arc de Triomphe was bathed in sunlight.

At last the ceremonies were drawing to a close. He heard a church bell start to sound the hour of noon. And at that moment, the entire sky above Paris seemed to shake as a huge roar of cannon split the air. Gun after gun saluted, each bang and rumble reverberating off the buildings, so that it was hard to guess where the guns were placed.

He saw the girl step forward into the roadway, trying to discover where the sounds were coming from. She turned right around, saw him and stared—which was hardly surprising since, thanks to his rope, he was leaning so far forward that he appeared to be hovering in the air above the heads of the people in front of him. As for Thomas, he was gazing at her as if he’d seen a vision.

She was wearing the plain dress of a simple working girl. Her face was lightly freckled, her nose small, her mouth was not too wide, but generous. Her eyes were hazel, as far as he could see. She looked at him quizzically. And then she smiled.

To his surprise, at that moment, he didn’t feel a rush of excitement. In fact, he felt strangely calm, as if everything in the world had suddenly fallen into place.