He decided he had better show her he was sorry. He picked up the knife, wiped it carefully and told her a second time how he’d never seen a knife like it. And to show her how razor-sharp it was he began to pare his fingernails with it.

‘It’s already a quarter past four,’ said Séverine, standing in front of the cuckoo clock. ‘I’ve still got some shopping to do ... and we need to be thinking about our train.’

She had still not fully recovered from her outburst and, before tidying things away, she went back over to the window and leaned out. Roubaud put down the knife and his pipe, walked over to her, stood behind her and gently put his arms round her. He held her against him, his chin resting on her shoulder, his head touching hers. Neither of them moved. They just stood there looking.

Down below, the little shunting engines plied tirelessly back and forth like industrious housewives; but for a muffled rattle of wheels and the occasional toot on their whistles, you would hardly know they were there. One of them went by beneath their window and disappeared under the Pont de l’Europe on its way to the marshalling yard with a string of carriages from a Trouville train. As it got beyond the bridge it passed another engine coming in light from the sheds as though out on its own for an afternoon stroll, its brass and metal-work gleaming, bright and eager to be on its way. It came to a halt and gave two short blasts on its whistle to ask for the road. The signalman immediately directed it towards its train, which stood ready assembled under the great roof of the mainline station — the 4.25 for Dieppe. A crowd of passengers milled around the train, looking for their places, barrows laden with luggage clattered along the platform, attendants went from carriage to carriage placing foot-warmers in every compartment. The engine and its tender backed on to the luggage van at the head of the train with a gentle clunk as it made contact. The shunting foreman tightened the screw-coupling. Out towards Batignolles, the sky had darkened. An ashen haze seemed to settle over the vast network of railway lines, hiding the distant buildings from view. In the fading light they could still see the constant coming and going of trains on the suburban and circle lines, and above the brooding mass of the great station roofs, threads of red-coloured smoke drifted like strips of torn paper into the darkening Paris sky.

‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Leave me alone.’

Without saying a word he had slowly tightened his arms round her, roused by the warmth and closeness of her young body. Her scent excited him and, as she wriggled to free herself, he was filled with desire. He lifted her up and carried her away from the window, pushing it to with his elbows as he turned. He put his mouth to hers, kissing her insistently, and carried her towards the bed.

‘No, not here,’ she pleaded. ‘Not in this room, please, it’s not ours.

Séverine was a bit tipsy; she was feeling the effects of the food and the wine and had still not recovered from her mad dash across Paris. The heat from the stove, the table left uncleared, the unexpected journey from Le Havre and a private dinner party all to themselves ... She felt her heart beat faster, and a thrill of excitement ran through her. She must take a grip on herself. She must not give in. She sat on the bed, pressing her back against the wooden headboard. He frightened her, but, without fully knowing why, she was determined to resist him.

‘No,’ she said.