‘Have you seen what’s going on?’ she exclaimed, upset.

‘No, what is it?’

She didn’t reply, just picked up the lamp, held it up to the window and used the flames to melt the ice that covered the glass. ‘I’m sure I saw the servants leave, an hour ago. They were running towards the forest and they haven’t come back.’

She pressed her face against the window, but it was pitch dark outside; she opened the window a bit; her grey hair flew about in the wind.

‘Where were they going? It’s impossible to see anything. This will all end badly. The White Army is getting closer every day. Do you think they’ll come and warn us when they intend to take over the village? But who listens to an old woman? You’ll see, though, you’ll see! I hope to God I’m wrong, but I can feel something bad is happening,’ she cried, her voice shrill and plaintive, shaking her head like an elderly Cassandra.

Hélène stood up, walked over to the kitchen door and opened it; they saw that the fire was lit and continued to burn in the empty room, lighting up the table that had been laid with crockery and the food for dinner. But not a single soul was in the large room, normally full of the sound of voices and footsteps. The laundry room next door was also deserted, but the ironing boards had been left open with damp sheets carefully hanging over them: it looked as if someone had come to fetch the servants and they had immediately run away.

Hélène went outside and stood on the steps; she called out, but no one replied.

‘They took the dogs!’ she said, going back inside as she shook the snow from her bare head. ‘I can’t hear them, yet they know my voice very well …’

A woman appeared. ‘The White Army is surrounding the village!’ she shouted.

Doors opened; everyone held a lit candle, for it was the only way to light the house and these little flickering flames flew from room to room; the children woke up and started crying.

Hélène went back into the sitting room; it had gradually filled up with people. The women pressed their faces to the windows; they spoke to each other quietly.

‘But it isn’t possible … we would have heard them …’

‘Why? Do you think they make announcements?’ asked Madame Haas sarcastically.

‘Get that woman out of here,’ Reuss whispered in Hélène’s ear. ‘If I have to listen to her any more I’ll wring the old crow’s neck.’

‘Listen!’ cried Hélène.

The kitchen door banged violently in the silence. Everyone stopped talking.

One of the servants appeared at the door; she was an elderly Russian cook whose son was in the Red Guard; her cloak was covered in snow and her face looked exhausted and defeated; her dishevelled white hair fell over her forehead.

She looked at the women all around her, crossed herself and said, ‘Pray for the souls of Hjalmar, Ivan, Olaf and Eric. They were taken prisoner tonight by the White Army, along with some other boys from the village. They were taken and shot, then their bodies were just thrown somewhere in the forest. We women went to look for the bodies to bury them, but the priest refused to let us into the cemetery, saying that Communist dogs didn’t deserve any graves on Christian soil. We’re going to bury them in the forest ourselves. God help us!’

She slowly walked away and closed the door. Hélène opened the window and watched them disappear into the night, each one carrying a shovel and a lantern that lit up the snow.

‘But what about us? Us!’ yelled Levy. ‘What’s going to happen to us in all this?’

Behind Hélène, a mass of buzzing voices rose up.

‘We have nothing to fear from the White Army, that’s for sure, but we’ve landed right in the middle of a battlefield. The best thing would be to leave right now.’

‘Didn’t I say that?’ murmured the elderly Madame Haas with deep satisfaction.

‘Fred,’ asked Zenia Reuss, ‘should we wake the children?’

‘Of course. And be sure to dress them very warmly. Who wants to go with me to get the horses?’

‘Wait until morning,’ Madame Haas advised anxiously. ‘It’s too dark out. You might get caught in the crossfire. And besides, where would you go in the middle of the night, in this cold, with women and children?’

All the mothers had appeared by now, each holding a child in her arms. They weren’t crying but stared in wide-eyed surprise. Reuss suggested they play cards to make the time pass more quickly, so they set up the bridge tables as they did every night. Hélène looked around her; all the children, big or little, were sitting next to their mothers, and each mother had placed a trembling hand on their bent shoulders and foreheads, as if their delicate hands had the power to stop bullets.

Reuss went over to his wife and tenderly placed his hand on her arm. ‘Don’t be afraid, my darling, you mustn’t be afraid, we’re together,’ he whispered, and Hélène felt an invisible vice tightening round her heart.

‘He loves her so very much … But of course he loves her: she’s his wife,’ she thought with stifled anger.