I ran straight into him. Like, I know people say that, but I did. Smack into his forelegs – it was like crashing into a tree. He was enormous! Almost seventeen hands and jet black, and when I looked up it was like looking up at a mountain, that huge, muscular slab of a neck, thick shoulders and the massive legs. I staggered back and said, “Sorry!” – which was funny when I thought about it later, apologising to a horse’s legs. The horse, he didn’t even flinch. Didn’t even move a muscle. Police horses are trained to be unflappable.

“Son nom est Claude,” the policeman who had been mounted on his back told me after he’d leapt down to pick me up off the ground.

“En anglais?” I said.

“Ah,” the gendarme smiled. “You are English? Bien. I speak it well. All I was saying is that his name is Claude. If you like, you can stroke his muzzle. He is very friendly. Don’t be afraid.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I’m not scared of horses.”

“Bien,” the policeman said. “So, you like horses? What is your name?”

“Maisie,” I said.

“Well, Maisie, would you like to meet Claude’s friends? We’re just on our way back to the Célestins Quarter, the police-horse city stables where he lives. Come with us if you want? It’s almost parade time.”

They always say that you shouldn’t talk to strangers. But this stranger was a policeman, and they also say you should find one if you need help. So I figured it was OK to go. And it turned out we weren’t going far. All this time I had been so close to horses – just one street up from the art school were the high, baroque iron gates of the Célestins. Tourists were queueing outside, waiting to come in to see the afternoon display of the guards on horseback, and I thought the policeman might leave me there to wait with them, but he called to me to stay at his side and I walked through the gates as if I was being escorted by Claude, until I was in the central courtyard of the grand enclosure with buildings on every side. Here, gravelled paths were bordered by neatly clipped topiary hedges and a sand arena for the display stood at the centre. I followed around the perimeter of the arena alongside Claude, then through the stone arch of the main stable blocks. I was stunned at how many stalls there were. There must have been more than a hundred horses living here! The cobbled corridors echoed with the sounds of men laughing and joking as they saddled their horses ready for the show. Their horses looked almost identical, rich golden chestnuts, as shiny and burnished as a copper coin.

“Hey, Oscar!” One of the other guards spoke to Claude’s rider. “You have a young friend?”