The Palais-Royal was lit from one end to the other by the orange glow of lanterns. Madame Marcelle’s establishment was in the far corner, and as the three officers threaded their way through the evening throng of friends, families, lovers, hawkers and all manner of street entertainers, Napoleon noticed a crowd gathered round a man speaking from a large wine cask outside a café. He was screened from his audience by four men carrying long staves. As Napoleon drew closer he could hear the first words of the speaker, strident against the good-humoured tone of the wider crowd.

‘Citizens! You are in grave danger - your complacency threatens to kill you! Do you not know that even as you stand there, the Bourbon agents are plotting to overthrow the revolution? It is they who are behind the price rises and food shortages. They are the ones who are trying to undermine the new constitution. Trying to steal the liberty that we have taken into our own hands.’The speaker raised his fists. ‘All that we have fought for. All that those gallant martyrs of the Bastille died for - all, ALL will be torn from us and we will be as slaves again. Is that what you wish?’

‘No!’ called a resonant voice. Napoleon sensed the theatrical tone of the cry, and he smiled. A supporter planted in the crowd. ‘No! Never!’ the voice cried out again, and others joined in.

The speaker nodded and raised a palm to quieten them before he continued. ‘You are good patriots.That I can tell at once. Not like those Bourbon scum who would sell their souls to foreign powers and their mercenary hordes. They are traitors!’

‘Damned liar!’ a shrill voice called out. ‘Royalists are not traitors. We seek to free France of the tyranny of the godless!’

Napoleon paused, straining his neck and rising on his toes as he tried to see over the heads of the crowd towards the protester. He saw a tall thin man standing on a pediment at the far side of the crowd. As soon as he had spoken he turned and gestured towards the colonnade. At once a swarm of men emerged from the shadows of the tall columns. Each wore a scarf across his face and carried a wooden club.

A woman screamed. Her cry was taken up and the people surged as one away from the onrushing men.

‘Death to the murderers of the King!’ the voice shrilled out. ‘For God and monarchy!’