Instead, exactly a week after last Friday’s devastating attacks, it exploded into a wave of human sound: cheering, whistling, whooping, clapping. And a burst of reggae, pumped from outside the Bataclan theatre by a yellow van with stereo stacks.

Some held hands and raised cans of Kronenbourg. Others turned up with their kids. From a fifth-floor flat next to the concert venue – where 89 people were murdered last week – a man started singing the Marseillaise. On the pavement below, illuminated by candles, others joined in. It was a defiant affirmation of eternal values: noise, joy, light.

In the 10th and 11th arrondissements some had gone drinking, occupying al fresco cafe tables similar to the ones were many were shot dead last week. Some restaurants were full, but others were semi-empty, a sign that the city is not entirely back to normal, and won’t be for some months to come.