As they marvelled at their surroundings, they became aware of a faint smell of rotting coming from the warm scrub. Franck frowned and looked around him, searching for a dead animal. Just before the grove of trees, he saw a large patch of box. Leaving Lise to her own thoughts, he walked up to the wall of green, and the bad smell got stronger as he approached. The belt of two-metre-high box trees was indeed hiding something: a perfectly rectangular water tank, like a swimming pool more than six metres long, made of very old cement that had turned black with time. He went closer. The sides were barely a metre high, but the basin looked deep, full of stagnant, murky water with green spots floating on the surface. The water level was low, or perhaps the water really was very deep. Franck’s eyes struggled to adjust to the gloom. But when he looked closer, he could see the shadowy lake two metres below; thick, dark water covered in an array of tiny flora that had seized their opportunity. There was no dead animal though; the smell was perhaps coming from those rotting spots on the water.

Meanwhile, Lise was slowly turning her face to the sun, making the most of the panoramic scene. When she turned around again, awestruck, she could no longer see Franck and, for a moment, she had the terrible feeling that she had lost him and was utterly alone. She was overwhelmed by a horrible sensation of total distress and abandonment, coupled with infinite contentment. Alone.

August 1914

August 1914

The lion tamer could make himself at home up there and stay as long as he wanted. The mayor had handed the area over to him. He was not even asked for rent or any other quid pro quo. Perhaps the mayor thought the village would benefit from the illusory protection of the wild animals. Ever since all the healthy men had left for the front the village had been fearful. Fernand had already hidden a flock of ewes in the hills, more than two hundred of them, so why not hide some lions and tigers as well? No one ever went up Mont d’Orcières any more. Certainly no one would have wanted to live in that house, because the land was cursed. Everyone left it well alone.

‘If the Hun wants to live up there, let him get on with it,’ people said, as you would say about an enemy advancing on a minefield. ‘Let him settle in that sorry place; it’s the devil’s land. He won’t last long and nor will his lions …’