Leaving her hand where it was so as not to disturb him, Bel managed to crawl nearer to him, whispering endearments in the three different languages she knew, and placing her other arm around him. Finally, she pulled him gently from the bushes towards her. He was whimpering now, but no longer seemed frightened of her, only jumping in pain when she moved his right leg with the terrible gash so that she could cradle his bony body upon her knee.

Once there, the boy gave a sigh and turned his head to nestle against her. Doing her best to swallow down the bile that rose to her mouth at the terrible stench of him, Bel sat rocking him in her arms, hugging him to her breast.

‘Izabela,’ a voice came from behind her. ‘What on earth are you doing sitting in the grass?’

‘Shh!’ she hushed Laurent as she stroked the boy’s sleeping face to reassure him. ‘You’ll wake him.’

‘Where did you find him?’ Laurent returned the whisper.

‘Under the hedge. He can be no more than seven or eight, but he’s so thin he weighs less than a toddler. What do we do?’ She looked up at him, her eyes agonised. ‘We can’t leave him here. He has a bad injury to his leg which needs attending to. It could turn septic and the poison might seep into his blood and kill him.’

Laurent looked down at Bel and the filthy child, and shook his head.

‘Izabela, surely you understand that there are many such children on the streets of France. Most of them come illegally across the borders from Russia or Poland.’

‘Yes,’ she hissed. ‘And it happens in Brazil too. But this boy is here with us now, and it is I who have found him. How could I possibly leave him, dump him on the roadside outside Landowski’s land and let him perish? It would be on my conscience for the rest of my life.’

Laurent watched as tears coursed down Bel’s face, her eyes alight with pain and passion. He bent down next to her, then reached a hand to tentatively stroke the sleeping boy’s matted hair.

‘Forgive me,’ he whispered. ‘Perhaps the sights I see on the streets of Paris every day have made me immune to suffering. God has put this child in your path and of course you must do what you can to help him,’ Laurent agreed. ‘It is too late now to disturb the Landowskis. For tonight, he can sleep on a pallet in the kitchen. I have a key to the door and I can lock him in, safely away from Landowski’s precious Christ. Sadly, one never knows the state of mind of a stray like him. I’ll sleep here tonight in the atelier and keep guard. So, can you carry him inside?

‘Yes,’ said Bel, gratefully. ‘Thank you, Laurent.’

‘I’ll go and warn your driver you may be some time yet.’ Laurent helped Bel to her feet, the boy still sleeping in her arms.