Rather than going over the crest of the hill, Joséphine wanted to stay in the shade and went down towards the ravine. The horse was baulking more than ever and refused to go into the wood down the slope; he kept slipping on the parched earth. Joséphine was a good rider; she knew how to steer carefully between obstacles, but the pitch was steep, and even though the horse occasionally spread his legs wider he sometimes almost lost his balance, the muscles in his shoulders spasming. So she dismounted. At least there was shade under the trees. She told herself that the animal could recover there where it was cool. The descent was still getting steeper – this short cut had been a mistake. But she was sure there was a path up to Mont d’Orcières somewhere on this route, even though she could not yet see it.

Suddenly she heard the noise of metal striking metal, from her left, even though Wolfgang’s house must have been over on the right, beyond the second hill on the west side. The metallic sounds were definitely coming from the left, from the other side of the hill just above her. She continued down, picking her way carefully through the tightly packed oak trees and holly bushes until she found herself on a little spur looking over at a ravine with a sheer face. The sounds were coming from the bottom of the igue. Who else but him could be making such a racket? She tried to go forward but the gaps in the rock were too narrow and the descent too steep for the horse. She tied him to a tree and went on alone through the brambles. Down below Wolfgang heard something coming and picked up his stake, thinking a deer had strayed or a young boar been attracted by the tar. But then, above, he caught glimpses of the familiar pale-coloured dress, and he realised who was coming down towards him. She held on to the tree trunks as momentum propelled her forward, but she stumbled over the last few metres and when she reached him, her arms and legs and even her face scratched all over by the brambles, she literally fell into his arms. He wiped the drops of blood from her cheek, and the time should have been ripe for them to kiss and hold each other as though they hadn’t seen each other for months. But Joséphine felt trapped at the bottom of the igue; suddenly she felt lost, almost panicked. She was trembling like the muscles of her horse earlier, but rather than snuggle up in the arms of the lion tamer, she mainly wanted to know what he was doing there.

‘Don’t worry, it’s the old travel cage. I brought it down last winter and I just wanted to make it bigger.’

‘Why would you put the lions so far away?’