But however horrible the orphanage could be, the director was a devil Marc knew. If he was caught breaking into a house in Paris, he’d face punishment by police and the courts. He neither knew nor understood these forces, but the prospect of a Paris jail cell chilled his heart.

Against this, Marc weighed the extraordinary filth he’d seen inside Dormitory Raquel and the fact that sooner or later the director’s savings would run out and he’d have no option but to break the law to survive. Everything in life costs and he was too young for an honest job.

If he didn’t break into the house now it was only delaying the inevitable and the obvious absence of the owner, combined with the overgrown hedges shielding the view from the street, made this a great opportunity. The only thing was, Marc didn’t have a clue how to break into a house.

When the sun finally broke between two banks of cloud, Marc stepped off the porch and began a circuit of the building. His white shirt was now grey from the falling ash and his eyes still stung, but the rain had scrubbed the air and Marc felt as if he was breathing properly for the first time since he’d left the countryside.

He had to battle shrubs and branches as he searched for an easy way in. Most of the shutters were closed, but where he could see inside he was reassured by rolled-up rugs and covers over all the furniture.

Marc hadn’t found the soft entry point he’d hoped for, but the best option seemed to be a small window made from frosted glass slats. He wasn’t tall enough to reach it easily, so he dragged a metal dustbin from the back of the house and stood on top.

It was easy to put his fingers between two slats and pull on them. There was a squeal as all six swivelled into a horizontal position, giving him a good view into a bathroom. Directly beneath the window was a washbasin, with a spider’s web spanning the taps and the edge of the bowl. Across the room was a toilet, a bidet and a large bath standing on four tarnished feet. Like the house itself, the fixtures were grand but clearly a few decades past their prime.

If he could get two or three slats out, Marc thought he’d be able to slide through the window and drop down on to the sink. He began with an experimental pull on a slat, then he gave it a wiggle, but it clearly wasn’t going to be that easy.