In a sense Joséphine had nothing left to lose. It would be hard going up there; it would be like glancing into the depths of hell. None of the other women would have risked going: they were all too frightened that it would bring them bad luck. If they went, they might encounter the ghosts of all those loved ones. Not just the winegrowers who had committed suicide, but also all the men who had not been heard of for two months, and who were assumed to be damned and wandering on the accursed mountain. And anyone who worked the land had no desire to see the land up there. It was said to be blue because of the chemicals used on it, or red, according to some versions. In any case the soil was dead – burnt and poisoned. What was more, the mountain was not really of this world, nor was it on the moon, but sort of between worlds, an elsewhere that women did not venture to. Ever since the vines and winegrowers had died, it had been a foreign land and now, with the roaring carnivores, it had become the den of a demon. The women crowded round Joséphine, warning her not to go up Mont d’Orcières. There was only one thing to do and that was to stay well away. To stay well away or else to set fire to it. But even if they set fire to it, who was to say that the flames would not go right up to the top and that flaming torches would not fall on the village. To set fire to the mountain might mean setting fire to all the hills round about and to the village … For generations Mont d’Orcières had been bad for everyone, except for those who stayed well away. But Joséphine merely repeated calmly that she would go, that she would go tomorrow.

So it was agreed. She would go.

The other women saw Joséphine as different. She was from Bergerac and had never worked on the land. They saw her offer to go up as something spiritual, a noble sacrifice.