‘There was a question asked in Parliament. Someone mentioned a camp at Newbury racecourse. But I think the government’s still hoping to find a solution. So it wasn’t very forthcoming.’

‘It’s too late,’ said Anton.

‘I know. But the truth is there are a lot of people at home who want a war. There’s terrible unemployment in the big cities – Liverpool, Manchester, Glasgow. Strikes. TB and rickets in the slums. Do them good to get some fresh air and three meals a day.’

‘Don’t you feel this whole trial is a bit of a sideshow?’

‘Yes, but look at the space it’s getting. I’m on the front page every day, even in London. Pop Dawson loves nothing more than a Frenchman making an arse of himself. But a whole country! It’s a godsend. Don’t be a prig, Heideck. You can make your name on this. This is your big chance.’

‘Will you volunteer to report on the war?’

‘I’ll go if they send me. I’m too old to fight, thank God. What about you?’

‘I’ll have to fight.’

‘Will you be conscripted?’

‘If I have to go, I’d rather volunteer.’

‘Dear God, Heideck, you know how to spoil an evening.’

‘I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m worried. About someone I know. She’s French. In Vienna.’

‘Let me get you another drink.’

While Maxwell was gone, Anton looked round the bar, whose clientele was younger than that of the café in the rue des Halles. Many were students at the nearby faculties of law or medicine, crowded close at the tables, smoking, interrupting, laughing in a way that seemed forced. The gilded mirrors on the wall doubled their number on reflection, spinning back a vision of enthusiastic health into the lamplit room. Soon their glossy hair would be shaved, Anton thought, their jackets and cotton scarves replaced by greatcoats and marching boots. Did the French infantry have wine delivered with their rations? Perhaps they did. These budding advocates and doctors would become old men – those who survived, at any rate – their darting eyes replaced by the stare of those struggling to forget what they have seen.

On the eighth day, when the verdict was due, Anton made a deal with Maxwell that they would share details of what happened, one operating inside the court building and one outside. Together they first mingled with the crowds in the morning, where armed municipal guards were trying to separate rival supporters. An hour was long enough to gather that those who passionately backed Caillaux believed he and his Socialist ally Jean Jaurès could still save the country from war, even at this late hour, by revealing how Poincaré had entered into illegal agreements with Russia as well as with Britain. The other side, more belligerent, believed Caillaux was depriving them of the war they craved, as he had once before, at Agadir; that he epitomised everything that was rotten in France and that both he and Jaurès should be shot. It was rumoured that a man had been found to do the deed and issued with two pistols, one bearing the letter ‘C’ and one the letter ‘J’ on the handle.