‘Monsieur d’Orléans has not been to Raincy since the spring, since the war was declared. It is best that he remains in Paris, here at the Palais-Royal, at the centre of life,’ offered La Buffon graciously. A faint flicker of appreciation crossed Orléans’s mouth as their eyes met.

‘Orléans! Orléans! Orléans!’ The cries came steadily. ‘Orléans! Orléans! Orléans!’ The chorus rose, now filling the room.

He remained rigid in his seat. The entire table had fallen silent.

‘Come to your window! Come to your window, Prince of the Blood! We have brought you a prize! We have brought you a prize from La Force! Come give the Princess a kiss!’ they cried.

Every gaze was upon him. Not a breath was drawn by any person in that room.

‘My apologies,’ said he, eventually rising to his feet.

The company clumsily followed suit, anxiously pushing back their chairs. Then, cautiously, Orléans proceeded to the window. Unable to contain their curiosity, both Kerly and Boyd joined him there.

I, on the other hand, found myself unable to move. Dread fixed me firmly in place. I did not wish to set my eyes upon that macabre spectacle which I guessed he might glimpse floating amongst the crowd. Instead, I found myself transfixed by the cast of the Duke’s face. It was utterly flat and calm; I followed it while he moved aside the drapery. I waited for him to discover what I was certain lay beyond the window. My heart drummed furiously in my ears. I waited. I waited. And then his face dropped with the sudden heaviness of a stone.

‘Mon Dieu,’ he muttered. ‘Oh, mon Dieu. Mon Dieu.’

The gentlemen beside him seemed frozen in place, too mesmerized by that which they beheld to move or even to gasp.

‘What has happened? What has occurred?’ La Buffon cried out. A bright flush had begun to spread from her panting breast along her neck. ‘Messieurs! What is it you see?’

It was at that instant that Orléans chose to open the windows on to a small balcony over the passage de Valois. A vast cheer blew in like a rush of wind. ‘Vive la nation! Vive la nation!’ he called out to them, raising his arms like a musical conductor. His face bore the same mask he had applied when greeting us: his eyes were entirely void of life, while his mouth wore a victorious smile.

I had been so consumed in my study of Orléans that I had failed to notice my friend beside me, boiling herself into a stew of impatience.

‘Monsieur!’ She beckoned to him, but he did not respond. She heaved herself from the table and made her way towards Orléans with angry determination.

‘No, madame!’ he ordered her, putting out his hand. But La Buffon was not one suited to taking commands.