Each time a name was called to be drawn, Auguste, who was not only in a state of panic but also bad at mathematics, would jump and lose track of his reasoning: ‘There are 167 on the list, and twenty of them are exempted, so given that the municipality has to supply twenty-five men and assuming there’ll be ten discharged for various reasons, a number would become truly bad from twice that, so from fifty, which means there’s one chance in . . .’

Duchaussois was the first of the little group around the coal stove to be called. Were he to draw an unlucky number, he would seek to rely on a document he had thought to have prepared by a public prosecutor of the Imperial Court in Paris who was a family friend, which referenced his position as an acting judge on the Seine Tribunal, a position he had occupied for three years without remuneration. He drew a 10, asserted his claim, and was exempted.

Portefaux was the next name to be called . . .

After hesitating for some minutes as he mumbled who knows what sort of incantation, the young man was called to order and pushed unceremoniously towards the urn for the draw. When he extracted the number from its casing, he started to weep with relief: 120.

‘You’ll be able to start your diet, you great lazy oaf,’ mocked the soldier, as he returned to cranking the handle of the drum.

At last, around midday, it was Auguste’s turn.

When his name was called, his face crumpled. His body felt like it weighed a tonne as he dragged himself to the urn, plunged in his hand, then yanked it out as if from boiling water.

‘A 4,’ he murmured, defeated.

‘Selected!’ cried the officer, before reeling off the relevant articles of the Code in an emotionless voice. ‘Monsieur, in view of your number and unless you qualify for discharge, your position in the contingent is hereby confirmed. The recruitment board shall make its announcement on 18 July, whereupon you may proffer such replacement as you may have identified from any département in the Empire. The mayor shall inform you of the conditions of said replacement’s acceptance, as well as any documents you may be called upon to produce. We are relying on your zeal in performing your duty, and remind you of the unfortunate consequences which shall befall both you and your family in the event of your failure to comply.’

Auguste remained frozen before the soldier, his eyes vacant, hands moist, mind adrift. Then another name was called and he was forced to move, shoved aside by the next person to draw. He left the town hall without acknowledging a soul; in any event, nobody would have welcomed his greetings, for now he was jinxed. Overcome, he headed home, where his father was waiting impatiently to know what action to take.

Despite his outwardly calm and confident demeanour, Casimir had always worried for his youngest son.