Anyway, she’s dead now, don’t go that way . . . especially not with the children . . .’

They were tugging at Nastasia’s sleeve and skirt. The wind made their shawls billow around their heads as they huddled together.

Ada started to cry. One of the women tried to console her, others kept shouting. Some of them began fighting, hurling insults and punching each other. Nastasia rushed from one person to another, then grabbed the children by the hand and ran down the street, only to hurry back again, moaning: ‘What should I do? Where should I go? Oh, please tell me what to do! . . . They’re ransacking the lower town and here they’re killing people . . . Where should I go? What should I do?’

A woman who had been standing further away suddenly ran towards them, shouting.

‘There they are! They’re coming! They’re nearly here! They’re drunk! They’re trampling everything in their way! Lord Jesus, have pity on us!’

Some Cossacks on horseback galloped across the street. In the crush that followed, Ada and Ben got separated from Nastasia. Without thinking, they threw themselves into a nearby courtyard, then another, until they reached an alleyway and ended up back on the main road. They could hear the Cossacks shouting, the horses whinnying, their hooves beating the frozen ground. The children were delirious with fear. Blindly they kept running, panting, holding each other’s hand, absolutely convinced that the horde of soldiers was after them and that they would meet the same fate as the woman who had been crushed to death a few moments before. Their bulky, heavy winter coats were slowing them down. Ben had lost his cap; his hair was too long and covered his eyes so he couldn’t see anything. Every breath he took felt like a knife ripping into his chest. Ada saw the Cossacks only once. She quickly glanced back and spotted one of them laughing as he rushed forward. A piece of velvet was tied to his saddle; it had unrolled itself and trailed behind him in the melted snow and mud. Ada would never forget the colour of that bit of velvet, a pink that was nearly mauve and shimmered like silver.

It was daylight now. Instinctively the children ran ever higher, up towards the hills, leaving the ghetto far behind them. Finally, they stopped; everything had gone quiet. The Cossacks hadn’t followed them, but they were all alone and didn’t know where to go.

Ada collapsed on to a stone, sobbing. She had lost her hat, her gloves, her muff; the torn hem of her coat trailed sadly along the ground. She rubbed her face with both hands; her pale little cheeks were splattered with dirt; her tears etched long stripes down her dusty face.

‘We’ll go back down the hill and try to get to where Lilla’s staying,’ said Ben, panting.

‘No!’ cried Ada, shaking like a leaf. ‘No! I’m scared! I don’t want to! I’m scared!’

‘Listen, this is what we’re going to do. We’re going to go through the courtyards, behind the houses. No one will see us and we won’t see anything.’

But Ada just kept on saying ‘No! No!’ over and over again. She clung on to the stone, as if it were the only safe place in the world.

They had ended up on one of the quietest, wealthiest streets in the city, surrounded by large gardens. Everything exuded peacefulness.