‘But I am no longer in possession of that title, nor most of the extravagances of the past,’ said he, glancing at where the picture of St Cecilia once hung. He furrowed his brow and tipped his head, as if attempting to determine which of his treasures had been removed. ‘It is for the best. It is for the nation, for the Republic.’ He then shrugged and drained the contents of his glass in two deep swallows. ‘Why, I should rather live in an empty palace than in the Temple Prison eating sprats and crusts of bread beside my sobbing queen.’ He handed me a glass as I sat mounted upon my bidet and then sighed to himself. Lately, Orléans’s tone had seemed one of resignation. He had ever devoted himself to wine, but recently he had taken to imbibing copious amounts, though somehow managed never to lose complete command of himself. On that night, I sensed that he drank to quiet his concerns, but instead he merely gave voice to them. As they rattled off his tongue I was not certain if he was addressing me, or simply speaking his mind to the nearly bare walls.

‘My cousin and I have ever been at odds, long before the outset of this Revolution,’ he continued. ‘It is natural that current politics should render matters worse between us. Over the years, I have made many attempts at reconciliation, and each one has been perceived as a sort of insult by the Queen. I offered my daughter’s hand to the Duc d’Angoulême and it was Antoinette who would not countenance it.’ He sniffed and lowered his head. ‘The King is as stubborn as an ass and as stupid as a brick. If he possesses neither the wit nor the wherewithal to preserve himself, then . . . the devil take him.’ He refilled his glass with impatience and hastily imbibed the contents. ‘At present, the Assembly cannot agree on what will become of him, but wherever his fate lies, I must honour their decision.’ Orléans turned to me. ‘I was never formed for politics, Henriette, and yet now I find it as necessary to my existence as the air I breathe. I am a man of pleasure and it is the pursuit of that which I understand best. I cannot say what the future holds any more than I am able to lay a winning wager upon a horse. I can study the form or guess at it and yet I may still find myself incorrect, but where the King is concerned, I do not believe the circumstances favour him . . . or, indeed, me.’

He fell silent, his gaze hanging upon mine. His eyes seemed to sag with weariness. It was a look which inspired me with nothing but apprehension for the future.