I stood aghast, my face blanched. This was the first I had heard of the subterfuge which had occurred beneath the roof of my own apartments. My correspondence with Mrs Elliot must have been but a small portion of the many letters to have passed through Thérèse’s care. That she had employed a code and ciphers only served to aggravate my own situation.

‘Let it be understood, citizens, that while the code committed to the pages of Citizeness Lightfoot’s diaries does not correspond with those found within Thérèse Bertrand’s book of ciphers, the suspicion which hangs about her, that she too was a participant in this treachery, cannot be dismissed – for certainly, my brothers, a mistress should have knowledge of the activities of her servants. Finally, it does not serve Citizeness Lightfoot well for it to be known that upon a search of her apartments, the place which she cites as her home, there was to be found no correspondence. There were no letters of any description, not a single line from a beloved parent or sibling, not a single billet-doux from one of her many lovers. When questioned as to this irregularity, Citizeness Lightfoot confessed that she had made a habit of disposing of her correspondence. I put to you, my brothers, is this not the action of one wishing to disguise her espionage?’

Fouquier-Tinville permitted this question to linger in the air. There came a beat of silence as he waited, head bowed with theatrical anticipation for the calls from the gallery.

‘She is a traitoress! She is a whore! English bitch!’ they came.

The president of the tribunal then cleared his throat and drew forth two sheets of writing paper.

‘In defence of the accused, a letter of character has been submitted by Citizen Égalité.’

Upon hearing this, I took in a sharp breath of hope. Orléans. My letter written from the Abbaye had reached him. My eyes began to sting with tears. I waited for the president to read its comforting message to me, but instead his eyes rolled over the words.

‘It is a substantial missive,’ he pronounced with a half-grumble. ‘It gives praise at length to Citizeness Lightfoot’s love of liberty and her devotion to the Republic,’ he summarized. He then took his eyes from the paper and folded it. My heart had begun to sink at the prospect of never hearing Orléans’s final words to me, when he reached for a second letter.