Elegance and misfortune insulated Joséphine from malicious gossip, but some had noticed that since the day she had been to talk to the German, she could sometimes be seen on her horse in the evening, heading in the direction of the mountain, the suspicion being that she was having a liaison with the odious lord on high, that she had supped with the devil. Without ever saying that they were sleeping together, the villagers assumed that this was one of those unnatural couplings that were formed by superior beings, the sort of pact that it was best to stay well away from.

By the time they got home with their offspring, the mothers had recovered from their anguish, but they remained downcast for the rest of the day. Their heads were still full of all the terrible atrocities they had imagined. They wanted the joy of Sunday to last at least until the evening, when fear would take hold again. Every night as they went to bed, they were invariably seized by the worry that they would never see their husband, brother, fiancé or son ever again, or that the world would ignite and lava made from the dust and earth of the Ardennes would rain down on them. Lava could reach even the most remote places. That Sunday evening they tucked up their children more tightly and closed the doors and windows. Children were a reason to live; you had them so that they could be your friends later, your allies. It was warm for October, too warm to have everything closed, but outside there were noises. Much as they wanted to trust Joséphine, they could not convince themselves. She seemed too close to the evil man: she must be biased. And just as boar and foxes had started coming up to the houses, so, in winter, the wolves would also come and there was no one to hunt them. No village policeman either. The predators would have free rein. Some already claimed to have seen lynxes at night, and then, of course, there was the noise of the lions. There had not been this din when the men were still there – or perhaps no one had paid any attention to it. But fear meant that the least noise caused anxiety. The hooting of white and tawny owls and the howls of fighting cats mingled with the screeches of the foxes.