May Williams would be analysing that response. Of course.

The idea sat uneasily at the back of Laure’s mind as she went about the rest of the day. A finger with a sharp nail had been poked through her shell and, when that happened, it unsettled her.

On the Rue de la Grange aux Belles, Monsieur Becque was conducting his late-afternoon sale of the produce. For a couple of euros, Laure was invited to snaffle an Alphonse mango on the turn, four tomatoes and an aubergine. Not bad. She paid up, exchanged greetings and continued on her way.

It was a warm autumn evening, the kind in which Europe specialized and Parisians had been enticed onto the streets. Although the daylight was only just beginning to fade, windows were lit up and drinkers clustered in the bars and cafes, bright with illumination. Girls were bare-armed and, frequently, bare-backed. Older women wore high heels and leather skirts, the men chinos and bomber jackets. Groups of them flowed towards the canals and their exchanges blended together on the evening air. Quite a few were ensconced on benches, heads bent over their phones.

Laure set her face against the tide and turned northwards up the street towards the Maison de Retraite on the corner of Rue Martat and Rue Louis Capet. On this evening where life of every sort accosted the eye, she was about to visit someone on the brink of death.

Like the museum, the Maison was one of the older houses in the Saint-Martin quartier. It had long, narrow windows, walls of brickwork and stone and machicolations that hinted of a medieval past. It was a familiar sight but Laure had never been inside. On being invited to enter, she stepped into a narrow and gloomy corridor so cloistral in flavour that it didn’t seem suitable for elderly inhabitants. Yet local gossip had it that it was a good place to spend your last days. ‘They’re kind in there.’ ‘They understand about being old…’

At the reception, she was met by the slightly dishevelled and out-of-breath directeur, Madame Maupin, who looked to be a hands-on person. So it transpired. ‘Apologies, madame, I’ve been helping a new resident settle in. He wasn’t happy with the position of his bed and we had to move it around until he was.’ She held out her hand. ‘It is good of you to come. I hope you did not mind us contacting you?’

‘No. Not at all. I rely on people contacting me.’