The smallest room in the house, and the only one with no window to the outside. Its two doors open under the courtyard arcade, a metre from the well. It stays dark until eleven and cool until four. Guests who are writing usually ask for it twice.

Looks straight into the frangipani that was here before the restoration and decided the shape of the courtyard. Flowers drop on the sill from March. Morning shade until ten, then an hour of hard light across the floor tiles.

One tall window onto the neem in the service court, which the cooks sit under between services. The thickest walls in the building are on this side, so it is the coolest room we have in May — we have measured four degrees under the terrace rooms.

Two teak doors onto the arcaded verandah, so you can sit outside your own room with the street a step away. Busy until about nine at night, then completely quiet — Rue Suffren has no through traffic after the bollards go in at eight.

Three louvred windows over the street, at the height of the first-floor cornice opposite. Open them at six and you get the fish carts coming up from the pier; close them and the room is silent. A daybed under the middle window takes a third guest.

The sea over two low roofs on Rue Dumas — a grey line in the monsoon, a hard blue one in January. Between November and February the sun comes up in the left-hand window and you can watch it without getting out of bed.

The corner room, with two aspects: the sea through the east windows and the courtyard canopy through the west. The cross draught means the fans are usually enough until the middle of April. Named for the ship that was broken up off this coast in 1761.

The whole second floor under the original madras-terrace roof, with forty feet of private terrace, an outdoor bath and a shaded daybed. The only room in the house from which you can see the sea and hear the Ashram bell at the same time.