She was always the first to offer herself for work and was often up at dawn operating the plough. As she only weighed forty-eight kilos she had to push very hard on the handles to engage the plough in the soil. When the ploughshare stuck on a stone or a thick rut, a jolt as if from the depths of the earth lifted her like a wave – it was exhilarating and the more the ploughshare dug into the silt the higher it lifted her. Using her muscles fired her up; she could feel the blood pounding in her temples, making the labour pleasurable. Her blade responded to her desires; all she had to do was apply her whole weight.

When she was in the fields with the other women – whether it was Gisèle, Fernande or Léone, with their children always about them – when they were all bent double concentrating on their task, Joséphine felt ashamed to be thinking of the lion tamer. So she worked harder to banish him from her thoughts, bracing herself to dig the plough into the earth, but all that happened was that she was reminded of the strong grip of those hands round her waist, on her breasts. The harder she worked, the more she felt how wonderful it would be to give herself to the gladiator.

What she had seen of the lions had only increased her longing. Everything in the man’s vicinity recalled the carnal act, even the groaning of the wild cats, their silken roars and the sighs emanating from their huge bodies. Every time she heard them, she trembled all over, and imagined herself up there, devouring and being devoured.