Margont was so shaken he had to lean against a tree.

‘How you can imagine something so horrifying?’

‘I’m not imagining anything. I’m opening my eyes and observing humanity. Whilst you’re torturing yourself with your hypotheses, I have done my researches to try to verify mine. Relmyer did not murder Wilhelm: he was with his hussars when the sentries spotted the two figures on the little island. Besides, if Relmyer had killed Franz he wouldn’t have taken us to see the farmhouse - he would have kept us well away.’

Margont looked taken aback. ‘You really believed that Relmyer could have ...’

‘Of course.’

Lefine was capable of evoking the worst abominations with fatalistic resignation while Margont persisted in ignoring that facet of the world.

‘Why didn’t you mention it?’

‘Because you wouldn’t have listened to me. So I had nothing to suggest. But I did eliminate a potential suspect.’

Although he did not agree with Lefine, Margont recognised that he was right about one thing: Margont did identify with Luise and Relmyer’s personal histories. The memory of his years shut up in

the Abbey of Saint-Guilhem-le-Desert was still vividly painful. He had suffered not just from the loss of liberty but also from the pressure to become a monk, that is to say, to become someone he was not. At the time, his family had thought that what they felt counted, and not what Margont wanted. It was one of the main reasons that he had later become a fervent follower of the republican cause. Because the Revolution considerably reinforced the rights of the individual. To be able to be true to himself was, in the final analysis, all that he wanted. Was that not all that Luise and Relmyer were after too? But in order to do that, they had first to track down this man.

In his mind his childhood memories constituted a sort of monster. A monster taking up too much space in his consciousness, bloated from having gorged itself on dark emotions, on rage, sadness, abandon, hate and dismay. Margont knew that he would never succeed in striking it down definitively. But he wanted to subdue it, to bridle it and tie it up somewhere, as if it were a frisky horse that, once tied up in its paddock, could not harm anyone.

You could not change your past, but you could change the way you thought about it. Should Margont succeed in helping Luise and Relmyer overcome their pasts, he would fortify himself and consign his own beast to a corner of his mind. At least, that was what he hoped. That was also the reason that victims helped other victims.

Lefine was right on two points, in fact. Margont was in love with Luise. However, something was preventing him from drawing close to her, from trying to seduce her: it was their respective pasts and Relmyer’s. Standing between Margont and Luise there were three monsters that he was wrestling with.

Lefine went over to the riverbank, intrigued.

‘What on earth is that fish?’

Across the water glided a boat equipped with three light cannon and propelled by twenty rowers.

The Emperor has decided to have a flotilla patrol the river and harass the enemy observation posts,’ replied Margont. ‘He’s also using small boats to intercept anything that could damage the

bridges. And he’s manned I don’t know how many islands with soldiers and batteries, even those up beside Vienna. So now no one will be able to tell where his army will pop from for the big battle. He’s having reinforcements rushed in from all over the Empire, he’s undertaking reviews ... In short he’s being incredibly active while the Austrians are just waiting.’

They’re not just waiting, they’re digging in,’ corrected Lefine, a proponent of defensive war methods, since war was less bloody for defenders than assailants.

‘Prince Eugene’s Italian army is going to confront the Austrians under Archduke John again. If Eugene wins, he will come to back us up and Napoleon will probably launch his offensive. The situation is endlessly evolving, time is pressing and we, we are stuck here, slouching in the sun, without any ideas! It’s already 8 June!’ ‘Why don’t you go and search the archives with Relmyer then?’ ‘That would achieve nothing! In any case, I can’t read German very well, so to try to decipher illegible writing when I don’t know what I’m looking for...’

Four hussars appeared from behind some trees - an adjutant of the 9th, two troopers from the élite company of the 7th and a young sabreur of the 5th. The variety of their uniforms made an iridescence of colour animating the gliding motion of their horses. They were like exotic birds, combining the colourful plumage of robins with the ferocity of birds of prey.

The men approached Margont. The sun played on their gold braid. ‘Would you by any chance be Captain Margont?’ enquired the adjutant with extreme courtesy, too much courtesy.

His rosy lips and his moustache with the curled tips might have made him look rather ridiculous, but any hint of a smile, and you would find yourself challenged to a duel.

‘I am. And whom do I have the honour of addressing?’

‘Adjutant Grendet. And this is Warrant Officer Cauchoit, Trumpeter Sibot and Hussar Lasse.’

The face of the warrant officer was extremely scarred. The surface of his skin was like a fencing manual. Sabre fencing, of course; for him that was all that counted. He owned two sabres, one very

curved, like a Mameluke’s weapon, and the other almost straight. He looked disdainfully at Margont’s sword. The adjutant went on in the same unctuous, honeyed tone.

‘We have been looking for Lieutenant Relmyer, of the 8th Hussars, for several days. They call him the Wasp sometimes, or the little lieutenant because of his youth and childish countenance. But of course you know exactly to whom I’m referring ... Very unfortunately he is never to be found with his regiment. However, I am told that you know him. Can you tell me where we would be able to find him?’

Margont was an excellent liar. He could thank Lefine for advice on the best techniques.

‘I’ve known Relmyer for only a few days and I don’t know where he could have gone. May I ask why you are looking for him?’

‘It’s very annoying,’ lamented the adjutant. ‘We would be so happy if we could speak to him.’

At these words the trumpeter burst out laughing.

‘Speak to him about...?’ persisted Margont.

‘Well, you see, Captain, Relmyer wounded Lieutenant Piquebois. Yet Lieutenant Piquebois is a very fine swordsman. So we would like to know if Relmyer would agree to show us his technique.’ Margont was outraged. ‘You want to challenge Relmyer to four duels?’

The adjutant shrugged to indicate his disappointment. It did not surprise him that Margont did not understand. He had always considered that foot soldiers and cavalry belonged to different worlds.

‘We don’t fight duels, Monsieur Infantry Officer; we make art! Very well, we’ll be on our way. Tell your friend Relmyer that we’re looking for him. He will easily find us in our respective regiments. Explain that I would be very much obliged if he would respect the order of hierarchy in his encounters with us. The highest in rank first, of course.’

The warrant officer was last to leave. Just before he did so he threw out: ‘Please say hello to Antoine Piquebois for me.’

His finger traced the length of one of his scars, running diagonally

through the chequered pattern of the welts. Margont suddenly remembered him. In 1804, Piquebois, then a hussar, had floored him with a sabre stroke. Officially it had been recorded as a training accident ...

After the hussars had gone, Lefine announced: Tm going to try not to get too close to Relmyer. That way I won’t be too grief-stricken when they bury him in two or three weeks’ time ... because even if he succeeds in knocking off those four strapping fellows, there will be more, and still more. For Antoine, all that calmed down after he was wounded at Austerlitz, because he changed completely after that. He’s no longer a swashbuckler ready to fight at the slightest challenge. Except when he sees Relmyer! But Relmyer, he does everything to attract the calamity that is duellists!’