‘Very weak, madame, and very low in spirits. Madame Leclerc fears for her sanity, if not her life.’

‘I see. I am sorry to hear it. Please feel free to go and visit her when your work allows and let me know how she goes on.’

‘Thank you, madame. I will.’ With that, Madame Sauze went back to the kitchen, leaving Rosalie with the unpleasant feeling that somehow she herself had been found wanting.

Alone again, Rosalie sat for a long time considering what she should do next. Clarice’s wedding was over; the risk of blighting it with the death of a baby was past. The newly married couple had now departed on their wedding trip to Venice, and life should be returning to normal. But before that could happen she needed to speak to her daughter. Though Hélène had had peculiar freedoms as a child caught up in the siege, she was no longer a child and must learn her place in society, and that place did not include friendship with a girl of the streets brought up in an orphanage.

Half an hour later Rosalie tapped on Hélène’s door, the first sign that she was treating her as an adult; until now she would have entered her daughter’s room unannounced. When there was no reply she knocked again and then tried the door handle. To her astonishment she found the door was locked. Rosalie knocked a third time, calling out as she did so, ‘Hélène, are you there? Open the door.’ For a moment there was still no response; then she heard the scrape of the key turning in the lock and the door opened a crack.

‘What d’you want?’ Hélène’s voice was stony.

‘Hélène? Don’t be silly. Let me in. We need to talk.’

‘What about?’

Rosalie had never heard her daughter use that tone of voice and she took a deep breath before, keeping her own voice calm, she said, ‘About Annette and what we can do to help her.’

The door swung open and Hélène moved away towards the window, leaving her mother to enter if she chose.

Rosalie saw her standing, watching, and noticed at once that she had washed her tear-stained face and bathed her reddened eyes. She still looked pale, but she seemed entirely in command of herself.

‘Let’s sit down,’ Rosalie said and, pulling out a chair, did so. With a sigh, Hélène sat down on her window seat, her back to the light, her face partially shadowed.

‘Hélène, darling, I realise you’re very upset about Annette,’ Rosalie began, ‘but sometimes babies do die before they’re born.’

‘You didn’t tell me,’ Hélène said mutinously. ‘You told me she was going to have the baby at the midwife’s.’

‘I didn’t want to upset you,’ replied her mother. ‘It was a special day, a special day for all of us, but most of all Clarice. It was her special day. Can’t you see that?’

Hélène relaxed a little and sighed. ‘Maybe,’ she conceded. ‘But you could have told me afterwards.’