‘The Austrians move nearer to Paris with each day. Our armies are disadvantaged and cannot hold them for long at Verdun. And you know what deed they will commit the very instant they breach the barriers of this city?’ He spoke each word with slow deliberation to La Buffon, who sat beside him, her eyes fixed like pins to his face. ‘They will throw open the gates of the prisons and herd into the streets every enemy of liberty who languishes within! All those interned, all those taken from the Tuileries Palace, who clung to the skirts of the Queen, every lover of despotic kings, every oppressor of the people, every ignorant clergyman, will be armed with muskets and pikes and swords and knives to take vengeance upon us.’ He paused for effect, his bloated cheeks and darting pupils coming to a momentary rest. Orléans’s mistress was mesmerized, as indeed were all of us. Danton then raised his chin. ‘But you have no need to fear, madame. The citizenry of Paris will never permit it. Before that day arrives, the nation will rise. The impure blood of traitors will be let by the hands of your very brothers and sisters.’ He then raised his glass of Burgundy to Orléans. ‘Vive la nation.’

Those at the table reached for theirs and echoed his toast, ‘Vive la nation.’

I observed the deep, ruby claret roll about the vessel as I held it aloft. It coated the glass with a substance thick and viscous and seemed to reek of iron and rot. All at once my belly lurched. I pressed my hand to my mouth and ran hastily from the room for a chamber pot.

It is perhaps on account of that incident that I recall the final days of August so clearly. I remember early September too, and one night in particular. I had returned to my apartments that evening to discover several of the paintings stripped from the walls. Most notable for its absence was a vibrant image of St Cecilia in saffron and lavender robes which had hung near to the door of my bedchamber. I wondered if Orléans had determined which of his objects were to be removed or if he simply ordered Monsieur Rotaux to perform this loathsome task, to run his finger down an inventory of pictures and objets d’art and make his selection. The Duke seemed neither to notice nor care, though it must be said that I have never known a gentleman of great rank to bemoan his financial ruin to his mistress. In fact, to all appearances, Orléans continued to live as he ever did with regard to luxuries. While he made a good display of modesty to the world, he acted very much the part of the munificent protector in private.

The proof of this lay inside my bidet that night.