On 2 April, galvanised into action by the progeny fate had delivered him, he had left with his Communard friends for the assault on Versailles, but having little experience in military matters, and confronted by a professional army, the troops had been rapidly encircled and taken prisoner. He had witnessed the summary execution of his leader, Duval, as well as numerous fellow Communards, especially those white-haired comrades who had been forced by their adversaries to break rank and were then shot on suspicion of being Forty-Eighters. He had then been paraded with the survivors through the streets of Versailles to the boos of the population. He had been spat upon, women had scratched him in the face and he had been struck with an umbrella until it broke on his back, then he had been made to kneel before each church in the town, like so many Stations of the Cross, in order to beg God’s forgiveness. He had even had his trousers torn off, and thus he found himself half-naked when he was thrown into one of those Versailles dungeons used over the centuries by the kings of France to rid themselves of their political opponents. He had been rotting there ever since.

Thiers was still observing him as he continued absentmindedly to reconfigure the objects on his desk.

‘Where I managed to achieve nothing with those damnable Prussians, you Communards have worked miracles. Can you believe they are returning all our soldiers to us and even permitting us to increase the contingent allowed in our peace accords. Bismarck has gone so far as to enjoin us to raise the finest army we have ever had – and I use his words – to allow us to crush you, that is how much you disgust him. Ah yes, you have even succeeded in repelling the Prussians . . . Now that is saying something indeed!’

Silence.

‘Where was it you were heading with your battalion of drunkards disguised as soldiers? Were you wanting to invade Versailles, is that it?’

He struck the table with his fist.

‘Is that it?’

‘Vive la Commune!’ said Auguste in so feeble a voice it seemed to emerge from the bottom of a well.

Thiers murmured, ‘What am I to do with you, de Rigny? Be off, disappear, you reek of dead animal.’