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‘Charming!’ Philomène retorted merrily. ‘What about you, Monsieur Jacques? You’ll come and have a little drink, won’t you?’

Jacques, thinking it best to err on the side of caution, was about to refuse when Pecqueux suddenly accepted the invitation, realizing that it would give him a chance to observe the two of them together and find out what was going on between them. They went into the kitchen and sat down at the table, on which she placed some glasses and a bottle of brandy.

‘We must try to keep our voices down,’ she whispered. ‘My brother’s asleep upstairs and he doesn’t like me having people in.’

She poured them a drink.

‘By the way,’ she continued, ‘did you know old mother Lebleu kicked the bucket this morning? I always said it would kill her if she was put into one of those rooms at the back. It’s like living in a prison. She stuck it for four months, going on and on about how all she could see out of her window was a zinc roof ... What finished her off, when she couldn’t get out of her chair any more, was not being able to spy on Mademoiselle Guichon and Monsieur Dabadie. I’m sure of it. It was all she ever did. She was absolutely furious she never managed to catch them out. It killed her.’

Philomène paused to swallow her brandy.

‘They must be sleeping together,’ she said with a laugh. ‘But they’re too clever. You’ll never catch that pair napping ... I think Madame Moulin saw them together one evening, but she’s not likely to say anything, she’s too stupid. Besides, her husband’s an assistant stationmaster and ...’

She paused.

‘Hey!’ she continued excitedly. ‘It’s the Roubaud trial next week, in Rouen!’

So far, Jacques and Pecqueux had listened to her without saying a word. Pecqueux couldn’t help but notice how talkative she was; she never had much to say when she was with him. He couldn’t stop looking at her, gradually becoming more and more jealous as he saw how animated she was in the presence of Jacques.

‘Yes,’ said Jacques calmly, ‘I’ve had the summons.’

Philomène moved herself closer, happily allowing her elbow to rest against him.

‘Me too,’ she said. ‘They’ve called me as a witness ... Ah, Monsieur Jacques! They asked me all sorts of questions about you! They wanted to know the exact truth about you and poor Madame Roubaud. What I said to the judge was: “Monsieur, he adored her. He couldn’t possibly have hurt her!” I’d seen you both together, you understand, and I could tell them all about it.’

‘Oh,’ said Jacques with a shrug of the shoulders, ‘I wasn’t worried. I was able to tell them what I was doing every hour of the day. The Company kept me on because they knew I’d done absolutely nothing wrong.’

They sat in silence, slowly sipping their brandy.

‘It makes you cringe,’ said Philomène. ‘That beast they arrested, that Cabuche, covered in her blood! Some men must be mad! Why kill a woman just because he fancies her! What good’s she going to be to him when she’s dead? Anyway, I’ll never forget it, as long as I live, that day when Monsieur Cauche came and arrested Roubaud too. He was on the platform. I was there. It was only a week afterwards. He’d started back at work the day after his wife’s funeral and he seemed quite normal. Then Monsieur Cauche came and tapped him on the shoulder and told him he had orders to take him to prison. Can you imagine it! They’d been inseparable. They’d played cards together, night after night! Still, there you are! If you’re a policemam you’d send your own mother and father to the guillotine! That’s your job! Monsieur Cauche couldn’t care less! I saw him again the other day, shuffling the cards in the Café du Commerce and never giving his friend a thought!’

Pecqueux clenched his teeth and banged his fist on the table.

‘God Almighty! His wife was running rings round him! If I was in Roubaud’s shoes ... Look, you were the one sleeping with her, someone else murders her, and it’s Roubaud who gets sent for trial! It makes me mad!’

‘Listen, you idiot,’ said Philomène, ‘Roubaud is