‘Ma chère, whether he absented himself from the vote or displayed any mercy whatsoever, it would appear the same to the people. They have begun to suspect his sympathies already, for he shares his blood with the King.’ La Buffon slowly met my gaze. ‘If Orléans does not vote for the King’s death, he will be voting instead for his own . . . and for ours.’

I stood entirely still, as did she. I recalled Orléans’s words to me, that he was never formed for politics. He no more enjoyed this sport than did a reluctant huntsman at the kill, but to be asked to deliver a fatal blow – why, this must have wrenched his heart into pieces. There is no knowledge more intolerable to the human condition than that one’s own survival is determined by the condemnation of another.

‘You must speak to no one on this matter, Henriette. No one is to know of it. Not even your maid.’

‘No.’ I shook my head vehemently, before remembering that which I had come to inform her. She would be certain to suspect me.

She then tipped her head to the side.

‘You are dressed early, ma petite?’

‘Yes . . . yes . . .’ I stiffened. ‘Dear Agnès, I fear you will not care much for what I am about to tell you.’ I rattled out my words. ‘I am afraid . . . I am afraid that Mrs Elliot . . . my relation, is . . . gravely ill at her house at Meudon. Yesterday I received a letter. She has summoned me to her—’

Madame began to wag her head at once.

‘She has chosen this moment deliberately. It is a trick.’

‘No, it is not, Agnès, it is true.’

‘How can such a thing be true?’ she said. ‘She is artful and deceitful and dangerous! This is some trap for you . . . for Orléans . . .’

‘She is ill, madame,’ I insisted, my face contracting with the pain of speaking such lies, of feeling myself drawn more deeply into the wretchedness of my deception.

‘I have confided in you!’

‘I swear an oath upon my life, Agnès, that I shall breathe not a word to her upon the matter about which we have just spoken. I shall take it to my very grave. I love you as a sister and would never deceive . . .’ With that, my words choked me and I sobbed as they stuck in my throat.

My friend simply stared at me in horror.

‘Madame’ – I attempted to command myself – ‘I must see her. She is . . . dying. I swear to you, my sister, that it will be but a short visit.’

She narrowed her eyes.

‘You cannot propose to go there at the present time, Henriette. Perhaps after the trial is concluded, after the sentence . . .’

I raised my wet eyes to her.

‘The passport has been issued for today.’

‘Today?’ She regarded me with incredulity. ‘Today? Why . . . How did you manage to come by a passport?’