Napoleon felt a stab of anger tear through his heart and had to bite down hard to stop himself from swearing. The moment passed and he responded quietly, ‘This is not Ajaccio, Mother. This is Paris, and life is lived differently here. The old ways are gone, and people express themselves in a more liberal manner now.’

‘Liberal manner, indeed. Pouf! It’s licentiousness, pure and simple, and Corsicans are better than that.’

‘Mother,’ Joseph intervened. ‘For better or worse, we are French now. We have to live by a different standard.’

‘Lower our standards, you mean.’

Joseph ignored her and turned to his younger brother. ‘The important question is, does Napoleon love her? And does she love him?’

‘Love?’ Letizia laughed. ‘What do either of you know of love? Sound reasons for marriage come first, love grows later. Depend upon it, that’s how marriages work. If you do it the wrong way round it is merely a childish infatuation that quickly passes and all that is left is a marriage certificate and a lifetime of duty. Napoleon!’

‘Yes, Mother?’

‘This Beauharnais woman, what do you know of her?’

Before Napoleon could reply, Lucien coughed and stirred. ‘I have heard something of her.’ He smiled. ‘I’ve been spending some time at the Jacobin club, finding out as much as I can about the political terrain, as it were.’

‘Really?’ Letizia stared at him.‘Is that wise, given your nose for trouble?’

Lucien looked down at his shoes, shamed by the memory of the ill-timed radical pamphlet he had written that had done so much to ruin the family’s fortunes in Ajaccio.

His mother tapped her foot impatiently. ‘Well? What do you know of this woman? Speak up.’

‘She is well connected indeed, just as Napoleon said. Until very recently she was the mistress of Paul Barras.’ His eyes flickered towards his brother leaning against the window frame. ‘Some say that she still is.’

‘Then they are fools,’ Napoleon replied tersely. ‘She is mine and mine alone, and she wants to be my wife.’

‘Of course she does,’ Letizia said. ‘Who else would be fool enough to have her?’

‘Enough!’ Napoleon took a stride forward, his hand cutting through the air. ‘I have decided to marry her and that is an end to it! You will not question my decision, Mother.’

‘I will do what I like, my boy. And when is this farce going to be made legally binding?’

‘I don’t know,’ Napoleon admitted. ‘We haven’t settled on a date yet.’

‘Well I should, and soon. I imagine that Paris folk are not inclined to respect the sanctity of the marriage bed. Best to get yourself married before any bastards spoil things.’

‘We are already lovers, Mother.’