Page 37 of The Ringmaster’s Daughter

‘Surely that does not matter now? In fact, I should think it would be a positive thing, now that we find ourselves in our new circumstances?’

The gendarme looked nervous and handed the papers back. ‘I’ll check with the Captain. If he says so, I’ll be back, and you will have to move on.’

Werner turned away from him.

Michel followed Jean to his tent as the crowd dispersed.

‘You think he’ll come back?’ Michel asked, as Giordano set up a small table and chairs and Jean began to shuffle a deck of cards.

‘Probably, but Werner will take care of it.’

‘It’s true, then. France is now German.’

‘For now.’ Jean dropped a card on the ground then picked it up. ‘Have you no hope? It won’t last. Nothing lasts. Sit down. We need to talk of brighter things.’

‘I don’t see how we can.’ Michel sat.

‘How can we not? What are we to do? Talk of war, of what is happening, of what could happen? All we can do is sit here, enjoy each other’s company and drink. What else can we do?’

‘I don’t know, but I feel we should be doing something.’

‘Well, we are playing mouche. You know it?’

‘I do.’

‘Then I’ll deal you a hand. Giordano, bring the drink.’

Next to them, the triplets practised their baton twirling, the lamplight catching on the silver-painted sticks of wood that they threw into the air, turned, then caught behind their backs. Kacper played on his accordion, Gino asleep on his lap. Others sat around drinking and talking, the workhands growing louder and louder as they drank too and played their own card games.

‘You like it here, Michel?’ Jean asked.

‘It’s different.’

‘Different in a good way?’

‘I’m not sure yet – just different, I suppose. Werner… is he German?’

‘Obviously,’ Jean said.

‘I mean, I knew his name was. But his French is flawless.’

‘His mother was French,’ Giordano said. ‘Well… I’m not sure whether I believe that, mind you. But that’s what he says.’

‘She was,’ Jean confirmed.

Giordano placed five coins on the table. ‘You in, Michel? You need to add your money.’

‘I’ll loan it to you for now.’ Jean placed his and Michel’s bets.

‘May I join?’ A man with red hair appeared, his grey-green eyes bloodshot.

‘Michel, this is Hugo; Hugo, Michel. Hugo is our clown and makes the best génépy in France. What’s your bet?’

‘I have two bottles with me now. One to drink, one to bet.’ Hugo proffered two brown glass bottles of the herbal liqueur. Giordano took one and placed it under the table.

‘Fine. Jean is dealing.’

Jean dealt the cards, and each decided whether to stick or exchange.