After that it was time for a few social calls. Madame from Le Stendhal, who is coming on nicely; Thierry le Tresset, who has been watching the chocolaterie from nearby in the vain hope of a glimpse of Roux; and Roux himself, who has checked out of his digs by the cemetery and into the cemetery itself, where a small chapel-of-rest serves as his current home.

It’s comfortable enough, I daresay. These tombs were built in the days when the wealthy dead were housed in a luxury undreamt-of by the living poor. And with the help of regular doses of misinformation, sympathy, rumour, flattery – not to mention cash and a steady supply of my very own specials – I have ensured, if not his trust and affection, at least his presence on Christmas Eve.

I found him at the back of the cemetery, near the wall that divides it from the Rue Jean Le Maistre. It’s the furthest place from the entrance lodge, where broken and abandoned graves lie among compost and rubbish bins, and that’s where the down-and-outs assemble round a fire that burns in a metal can.

Today there were half a dozen of them, dressed in coats too big for them and boots as scarred and cracked as their hands. Most were old – the young ones can earn their cash in Pigalle, where youth is always in demand – and one of them had a cough that started deep in his lungs and hacked its way out every minute or so.

They looked at me incuriously as I picked my way through the neglected graves towards the little circle of men. Roux met me with his usual lack of enthusiasm.

‘You again.’

‘So glad you’re pleased.’ I handed him a parcel of food – coffee, sugar, cheese, some sausages from the butcher’s around the corner and some buckwheat pancakes to wrap them in. ‘Don’t share it with the cats this time.’

‘Thanks.’ At last he deigned to smile. ‘How’s Vianne?’

‘She’s fine. She misses you.’ It’s a small flattery that never fails.

‘And Mr Big?’

‘He’s coming round.’

I’ve managed to convince Roux that Thierry calling the police is just a ploy to get Vianne back on his side. I have not gone into details of the charge; but I have led him to believe that it has already been dropped for lack of evidence. The only danger now, I have told him, is that Thierry, in a fit of pique, will evict Vianne from her home in the chocolaterie if she transfers her allegiance too quickly to Roux, and so he must be patient awhile, wait for the dust to settle, and trust me to make Thierry see sense.