“This is Maximilienne,” said Max’s mother; and Marguerite broke into an enormous smile, as if Max was exactly what she had been hoping for.

“Of course she is! Ready to go, mon lapin?” (Mon lapin is French for “my rabbit”, and it’s quite a nice thing to call someone, if you happen to be French.)

Max nodded.

“Now, be good, Maximilienne,” said her mother. “Remember, your great-aunt is very elderly. And she’s not used to the Ways of Children.” And she added a third scarf to the two that Max was already wearing, and untangled the scarves from her plaits; which was her way of saying, “I love you, be safe.”

“Goodness me,” said Marguerite. “How alarming. I hope she’s used to the Ways of Nuns.”

Max’s mother smiled politely, but it was wasted, because the nun was already marching towards the door in a billow of habit. She threw it open, and turned to salute Max’s mother.

“Istanbul calling!” she announced. “Au revoir, Madame Morel!” And without waiting around for any further ado, she strode away down the street at a powerful speed.

Max gave her mother a hug goodbye, and reminded herself that it was exciting, and not terrible-and-horrifying, to be off on an adventure to Munich-Budapest-Bucharest-Istanbul. She took a deep breath, held on to her plaits, and scurried down the Rue de Vie after Sister Marguerite.

“Thought you weren’t coming for a minute there,” said Marguerite with a grin. “You OK? Got everything you need?”

“Yes, thanks.”

“Incorrect, mon lapin,” Marguerite declared triumphantly. “The first rule of travelling is: you have always left something behind.” And she chuckled to herself, as if this was a very good and unexpected joke.

They turned a corner, and Max’s house was out of sight.

Munich, Max thought to steady herself. Budapest. Bucharest. Istanbul.

3. Paris to Munich

An hour later Max and Sister Marguerite were sitting on the TGV Duplex train at the Gare de l’Est, Paris, waiting to set off for Munich Hauptbahnhof. The TGV Duplex was a double-decker train, and Max had a top-deck seat. From here, she watched as people heaved their suitcases up the platform, and hugged each other goodbye; and watched as latecomers pounded up to the train, red-faced and puffing; and watched as the platform emptied, leaving only an official in a bright orange jacket behind. Then she watched the emptiness for a long time, waiting for the train to pull out of the station. But it didn’t. It was late.