Pierre waited as promised in the field. He took Hélène’s bag, and the one that Annette had picked up from the scullery, and led them out onto the footpath. There was no sign of the dawn, but it was not totally dark; a quarter moon drifted in and out of scudding clouds, allowing them fitful light as they made their way along the familiar path through the meadow. Once they reached the village it was easier going. The square was empty, but early lamps from some of the houses threw patches of light onto the cobbles. There was no one to see them hurrying towards the station. The platform was lit by a gas lamp, giving it an eerie green glow, and there were already several passengers standing waiting for the arrival of the early train. The girls waited in the shadows while Pierre, hat pulled down to shade his face, bought two tickets from a sleepy clerk in the ticket office. It was only a few moments later that the train steamed into the station, and Pierre opened a carriage door for them to get in, Hélène first, taking her bag. She turned back to take Annette’s bag and saw she was in Pierre’s arms, sharing a last kiss before the guard blew his whistle and she scrambled up into the carriage. Even as the train began to draw away from the platform, she saw that Pierre had disappeared into the shadows.

‘You’re leaving him behind,’ Hélène said as Annette took her seat beside her.

‘For now,’ agreed Annette, ‘but not for ever. He’ll wait for me.’

Hélène hoped that she was right, but thoughts of Rupert’s promise and subsequent desertion were never far away and she didn’t reply.

They spoke little on the journey. The train was a slow one, stopping at stations all the way to Paris, picking up passengers along the route, working men, mostly, with a few women bringing baskets of produce to market. They had agreed that Pierre should buy them third-class tickets, so that they would not be remembered as first-class passengers. If anyone enquired for them, it would be expected that they were travelling first class. The carriage filled up quickly and the two of them sat side by side in silence, not wishing to be drawn into any conversation. There was a buzz of it around them, but Hélène closed her eyes as if dozing and they were undisturbed.

When they reached Paris, Annette led them quickly away from the station into the jumble of streets; two unremarkable women in dark coats and respectable hats, nothing cautious or furtive about them. Once clear of the station, they took a public omnibus to Monsieur Colet’s office, where Annette presented Agathe’s letter explaining that she was her niece and was going to live in the Batignolles apartment for a while.

‘Very pleased to meet you, Madame Dubois,’ Monsieur Colet said as he handed her the key. ‘I hope you will be very comfortable living there.’