Madame Maupin spotted a mark on her skirt, exclaimed and rubbed at it. ‘Madame Raoul does not have long; she had heard of what the museum does and wanted to make a donation. I guessed it was better to go to the horse’s mouth.’ That particular idiom was never so effective in French but Laure took the point. ‘She’s been hoping to make it to her hundredth birthday. But you never know what God has in store.’

‘No, indeed,’ replied Laure and trusted she did not sound as wry as she felt.

Madame Maupin ushered Laure into the lift that took them up to the top floor. Despite the smaller windows, the light was brighter on this floor and a slice of sunlight poked in through the south-facing casements.

Madame Raoul’s room was small and narrow. A hospital bed had only just been squeezed in but the medicines, clock, rosary and Bible were laid out with surgical precision on a white cloth on the top of a chest of drawers. A chair was slotted in beside the door.

At Laure’s entrance, the woman propped up in the bed with multiple pillows turned her head. Madame Maupin bent over her – and kindness flowed through the curve of her body. ‘There’s no need for politesse, madame.’ She stroked the corner of the pillow. ‘Just say what you wish.’

Laure took up a position on the other side of the bed. Madame Raoul focused on the directeur. ‘The pillowcase, madame.’ The voice was faint. ‘Will you fetch it?’

Madame Maupin opened the top drawer of the chest and extracted a package wrapped in tissue paper that she laid on Madame Raoul’s chest who indicated that she should unwrap it. It was a square lace-edged pillowcase decorated with white-work embroidery. A tang of lavender, and the mustiness of old unused linen, so often smelt in brocante shops, mingled with the smell of medicines and old lady.

Madame Raoul lifted a skeletal hand and pointed at the pillowcase. ‘I made this,’ she said, ‘when I was seventeen and about to be married.’ Between sentences she paused to take in a breath. ‘We were taught by our mothers and they were taught by their mothers. Where I came from it was the tradition. Every girl had to do it. It was a symbol of our role as wives and mothers.’

Laure touched the linen with a fingertip. ‘It’s exquisite.’

‘Madame Maupin, you won’t like what I’m going to say.’ Madame Raoul looked up and the two women exchanged a look. ‘Chère madame, I don’t wish to upset you.’

‘In that case, I’ve other things to do.’ Madame Maupin drew the chair up to the bed and indicated that Laure should sit down. ‘You will find it easier to listen if you’re comfortable. When you’ve finished, please ring the bell.’