‘What is the matter, citizen?’ enquired the guard.

‘Mademoiselle Lightfoot wishes to save her voice for this evening, when she sings with my sister.’

‘Ah! She sings with Madame LeRoy? What a performance that promises to be!’ the captain cried. ‘Why, Sèvres is but a short ride from here! I have long admired your sister’s fine voice. I shall never forget when she sang Joset in Les Deux Petits Savoyards. Ah! Well, citizen, I should like to attend tonight!’

‘No, no, it is a private musical party . . . at her home.’ Valentin was now fibbing wildly, stringing one lie into the next, like a net in which to entangle himself.

That statement came down upon the guard’s demeanour like a great iron door. His expression changed instantly from one of lightness into something dark and vexed. He lowered his tone.

‘But certainly, Citizeness LeRoy would welcome a captain of the National Guard in her salon, non?’ He was now glaring at Monsieur Valentin, as if to challenge him.

‘I am afraid I could not say, captain,’ responded Valentin, his voice strained.

‘Are Citizen LeRoy and his wife not friends of the Revolution? I hear the King still possesses many devoted friends in Sèvres . . .’

Valentin’s face was now the cast of bleached linen. ‘Yes, why yes . . . captain. My brother LeRoy is a proud member of the Jacobin Club.’

‘Very well, then,’ said he, handing back the documents. ‘When you arrive, you must tell her to expect another guest this evening, Captain Lestrange. I cannot think it would be much bother to entertain another at the house of Citizen LeRoy, a man of such means, eh, citizen?’ The guard then ruthlessly slapped the flank of the horse nearest to him so that the beast fairly bridled. Had the brake not been applied, we and the entire apparatus would have taken off at a charge. ‘Until this evening, citizen!’ hailed the captain as we rode away.

It was at that moment Valentin, his forehead beaded with sweat, turned to me with a scowl so fierce as to terrify me.

‘What am I to do now, eh? This guard and his companions will come to the home of my sister and when they find there is no musical party, they will turn the house upside down and accuse us of unspeakable things! Oh, mon Dieu! What am I to do? What will become of my daughters!’ Valentin cried in a rage, waving his hands about as if he were conducting an orchestra. All at once he let out an angry grunt and clapped his hand to his face. His two daughters looked on in horror, sitting petrified against the back of the seat. I too was afraid to move. For a spell, he went still. Then: ‘You must come with us to Sèvres. I insist upon it,’ he resolved.

I squinted at this absurd man and his preposterous suggestion.

‘But I cannot sing, monsieur.’