‘The giantess, the little fury and the girl with the broken body . . I like you. All three of you. Pierre de Rigny died fifty years ago, when he met Mother and received the Darshan for his birthday. The elders here will provide you with my death certificate. And as for our common ancestor, Auguste, it made me very happy, hearing everything you had to say about him. It could well be that he met his end in a way not dissimilar to my own approaching demise: surrounded by trees.’

‘You won’t leave everything to Auroville, then?’

‘Certainly not! I care too much about this place to spoil it with that money.’

And then he did what my father always used to do when he wanted to let me know the conversation was over. He went back to what he was doing and we no longer existed. Voilà . . . voilà . . .

On the way back, Hildegarde and I didn’t say a word to each other, and then, at some point, when we had pulled into a petrol station to fill up our mopeds, I broke the silence.

‘Did you think about what would have happened if he hadn’t left us the money?’

‘Of course I thought about it . . .’

‘Me too.’

‘But it didn’t come to that, so chill.’

Versailles

20 April 1871

Naked but for an oversized jacket and trousers which he was clinging onto so they did not fall down to his ankles, Auguste stood in silence before the desk of Monsieur, the Chief Executive of the Republic, Adolphe Thiers.

Cinched into his grey frock coat, every now and again Thiers would throw the young man a stony look as he signed the orders in the file of documents awaiting signature while an unobtrusive secretary turned the pages.

‘You have your aunt to thank – a good and dear friend – for had it been left to me, I would have had you executed.’

Silence.

‘Have you nothing to say?’

Auguste stared at his feet, which were black with grime. His head was spinning and he could muster only one thought, namely to curl up in a ball on the ground and sleep.

‘Well then, clearly you do not have anything to say! That much is evident.’

Silence.

Thiers signed a few more documents, then dismissed the secretary with an abrupt gesture.

‘I knew your grandfather very well, you know . . . A fine friend . . . Your brother Ferdinand bears such a resemblance to him . . . He would have been proud . . . I have not had any children, myself . . .’

He sighed.

‘He would have been proud. Indeed.’

The floor looked so appealing. He could perhaps have feigned a fainting fit. There was even a thick woollen rug. That way the midget could continue his lecturing in that sour voice of his. Yes, he would listen, but stretched out on that comfortable floor, not one rat in sight.

‘Maintain one’s rank . . . Does it mean anything to you, this expression? It doesn’t, does it! Deplorable!’