'It's your first time, isn't it?' she had said softly.

'No.'

'If you say so. Come on then, you great lover. Let's see what you're made of…'

He smiled at the memory of the lovemaking; tender and nervous at first, before he gave in to the rush of animal pleasure that flowed through his body until the ecstatic burst of nerve-tingling energy of the climax, and the warm relaxing glow of oblivion afterwards. Then sleep, curled across her, his head resting on the soft smooth flesh between her shoulder and her breast.

She stirred, opened her mouth and yawned. Then she ran her tongue over her dry lips and her eyes blinked open.

'I'm hungry. Got anything to eat?'

'Some bread, over there.' Napoleon gestured towards the room's only table, under the window. Outside the morning was clear and bright and a pale shaft lay across the table, illuminating the wooden box Napoleon kept his food in to protect it from the rats. 'There's a sweet pastry as well. I'll get them for you.'

'I'll go.' She slid from the covers and padded across to the table as Napoleon stared at her. She ate the pastry first, hungrily. Then she finished off the bread and reached for her clothes, hanging over the back of the chair.

'Where are you going?' Napoleon propped himself up on an elbow.

'Home. I have to get home. My man gets worried if I don't come back in the morning.'

'You're married?'

'As good as,' she replied, smoothing down her heavily worn slip. 'We're to have a blessing in a few weeks.'

Napoleon was horrified. 'Does he know about… this?'

'Lord, yes.'

'But doesn't he object?' Napoleon glanced away from her. 'I know I would, if you were mine.'

She paused and smiled at him. 'Bless you, Lieutenant.That was a kind thing to say. But then it's easy for you. My man was a silk weaver, and that trade's in trouble. He lost his job over a year ago and we had to come to Paris to try and find work. There's not much work to be had here. One of us had to earn money so…' she shrugged, 'here I am.'

'Where were you from?'

'Lyons.'

'I see.' Napoleon shifted uncomfortably and pulled the blankets over him more securely. 'Is there nothing else you can do?'

'Like what?' she replied with a helpless gesture.'I have no skills, apart from being able to please men, and we need food, shelter and that's before we have to cope with all these tax rises. We barely survive as it is. I don't expect you'd understand.'

Napoleon was about to protest. After all, he was only here in Paris because his family faced ruin unless the Government could be persuaded to honour its original agreement. But the difficulties faced by the Buona Parte family were leagues apart from the struggle for survival that this girl and her man faced.

She had finished fastening the buttons on her simple dress and completed her attire with a thick shawl that had been hanging around her shoulders last night but which she now fastened securely over her hair. She pulled on and laced up her boots before coming back towards the bed.

'Lieutenant, you have to pay me now.'

'Pay you?' Napoleon blushed. 'Yes, of course. Excuse me.'

He rose from the bed, wrapping the blanket around him, and crossed over to where his coat lay draped over his travel chest. He fumbled in the pocket until his fingers closed round his purse. He took it out, unclipped the fastener and peered at the coins inside.

'How much?'

'Five francs, sir. But any more would be appreciated.'

He nodded and counted out five francs, paused a moment and counted out another five before he approached her and placed the money in her outstretched hand. 'Annabelle, get out of this city. Go back to Lyons. Go to the country, but get out of Paris. Find somewhere to settle down with your man and give up this life.'

She looked hurt. 'I thought we'd had a nice time.'

'We did. I did.The best night I've ever had.' Napoleon reached out to take her hand and the blanket fell away revealing his naked body and his penis, stirring into life once again. He laughed, trying to hide his embarrassment. 'There's your proof of my earnestness!'

They both laughed now, and when they had recovered she leaned forward and kissed him on the mouth. 'Farewell, Lieutenant. I wish you well. Maybe one day, we'll both find ourselves quiet homes in the country.'

'Maybe.' Napoleon nodded. 'Goodbye.'

She left the room quietly, closed the door and he heard her footsteps softly cross the landing and descend the stairs. He returned to bed and curled up under the blanket until his body had warmed up again.The smell of her was still on the pillow and he shut his eyes and breathed the scent in through his nose and let his mind drift back to the thrill of the previous night.

Napoleon finally rose and dressed as a bell tolled eleven. He sat down at his table and drafted a letter to the War Minister, Jean-Baptiste de Gribeauval, explaining that he was being obstructed by the Treasury in pursuit of compensation for his family, and therefore needed to apply for another six months' extension to his leave. He had few illusions that the War Minister would be pleased to grant such a junior officer yet more leave. After all, he had not served with his regiment for over a year already. But it was all Napoleon could do at this stage. In any case, his money would not last much longer and he would be compelled to return to Corsica. He was not looking forward to reporting his lack of success in Paris. His anger at the corruption and inefficiency of the government was fuelled by the wider inequality between the grinding poverty of the masses and the heedless luxury of the aristocrats and their coteries. Something had to change. But what prospect of change was there when the army stood by ready to crush any expression of discontent by the downtrodden and despairing people of France? What could anyone do about the situation?

Once the letter was completed, Napoleon copied it into a more legible form and sealed it. He tucked it inside his coat and set off for the War Ministry offices where the letter was handed in to a clerk, who was given the address of Napoleon's lodgings for the reply. Then he set off again, walking the streets, deep in thought about the state of the world around him, almost unaware of the fine weather that had embraced Paris and infused most of its inhabitants with better spirits after the cold and damp of previous weeks. When Napoleon looked up he realised that he was passing the street on which Monsieur Cardin had his shop. He pulled up with a start and glanced round, but he recognised no faces in the street around him, and he quickly hurried on.

By the time he had found a cheap inn for his evening meal, Napoleon's thoughts had returned to the pamphlet he had read two days earlier. The arguments poured through his mind with the irresistible force of a great river. The author, Citizen Schiller, deployed logic as if it were a weapon, and shot down anything in his sights, whether it was the monarchy, the Church or the aristocracy. He must be an interesting man to meet, Napoleon reflected. And he was speaking at Monsieur Cardin's shop that night. It was the thought of a moment and the decision followed immediately.

As one of the city clocks struck eight Napoleon emerged from the shadows opposite the subscription library and quickly crossed the street, with a last anxious glance round to make sure that he was not being observed. The library was almost in darkness; only a tiny glimmer of light flickered in the depths of the interior.Yet there were already men inside. From across the street he had seen them arrive, singly and in small groups. Napoleon reached for the door handle, but someone had obviously been keeping watch, because the door swung open at his approach.

'Inside, quickly!' Monsieur Cardin whispered.