‘How have you worked all that out?’ said Anton.

‘Pop Dawson gets the French press translated and wires the best bits over.’

Thompson from Reuters turned out to speak, or at least understand, French and was circumspect in his judgements. He also seemed fond of snails, of which he ordered two dozen in the restaurant where they had gone for dinner, in a side street off the rue des Martyrs. The tables were close together and Anton felt anxious about being overheard, but calmed himself with the thought that no unguarded speculation of his could be wilder than those already printed.

‘This’ll interest you, Heideck,’ Maxwell was saying, as he spread some foie gras over his toast. ‘Calmette made his name as a junior reporter in Panama! Oh yes, he was there at the same time as de Lesseps. And they say that’s what accounts for his extraordinary wealth. He comes from a modest family and he was only ever a journalist like you and me. But, like half the Chamber of Deputies, he took the de Lesseps shilling, or franc I should say, urging his readers to vote more money to the French scheme. He ended up worth millions apparently. More wine, Thompson? I think it’s Reuters’ turn tonight, isn’t it? You look distracted, Heideck.’

‘Yes, I had a telegram at my hotel. My country has sent Serbia a diplomatic note. We’ve as good as declared war.’

‘Dear God.’

‘The rest of Europe will follow.’

‘Can’t it be confined to the Balkans?’ said Thompson.

‘Not when Germany joins in.’

Maxwell and Thompson looked down at the fillets of sole on their plates while Anton waited for their response. It was as though they resented time away from their favourite topic.

‘It won’t last long,’ said Thompson with a sigh. ‘If the French drag us into it we’ll soon put the kaiser back in his box. And don’t forget, Europe’s been at war off and on since 1618.’

‘Exactly,’ said Maxwell. ‘Plus ça change.’

‘I thought you didn’t speak French, you old fraud,’ said Thompson.

‘God, I’ve been found out! And by the way, one of the reasons they don’t like Caillaux is that when he and Poincaré went on holiday to Italy, Poincaré kept his mistress hidden, but Caillaux flaunted his in public.’

‘I thought they were all allowed to have mistresses,’ said Thompson.

‘They are. But showing her off at a reception is considered poor form. The belle époque has strict rules about these things. Etiquette …’

And so the question of the coming war faded from sight. Squeezing between the tables and the wooden partitions with their glass panels, the waiters brought sweetbreads in mushroom sauce and pommes vapeur. They drank more wine, a red from Bordeaux on the Reuters account, and for the first time since he had been in Paris, Anton stopped thinking about his house in Baden and about what Delphine would be doing. He even managed for a short time to put aside thoughts of a war between his country and hers as he sank into the hot noise of the room.