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As Joséphine climbs the stairs, Maurice peers out into the dark street. All clear for now. No soldiers. Frowning to himself, he disappears back into his apartment. That poor child, he thinks. Where are her mother and brother?

They must have been taken.

Standing outside the third-floor apartment of Mlle Levallois, Joséphine listens for any noise inside. She does not know what time mademoiselle and her parents, M. and Mme Levallois, rise. She hears doors opening and shutting below, and realizes she can’t stay in this hallway forever. She knocks lightly on the door and waits. Nothing. She knocks again.

When the door swings open, Joséphine is startled. Jumping back, she cries out in surprise and shock. She and Andrée Levallois look at one another, neither speaking. Joséphine begins to crumble. Her legs will no longer support her. Andrée leads her inside, kicking the door shut behind her, across the beautiful parquet floors that hold the memory of every footstep of every child who has come here to learn the artistry and beauty of music. The child is thin, her tiny frame reflecting the harsh rations imposed on all in the city.

“Andrée, what is it? Who is knocking on our door at this hour?” her father asks, entering the room, tying his robe, running his fingers through his morning hair. He sees his daughter guiding Joséphine, whom he knows well as one of Andrée’s pupils, to the sofa. The two exchange a look. “I’ll get her a warm drink,” he says without being asked.

“Louis, what’s going on?” Andrée’s mother, Augustine, asks as she walks into the room, like her husband securing her robe over her nightwear, her hair tumbling around her shoulders.

Andrée gently removes Joséphine’s hat, scarf, coat and gloves. Holding her hands, she feels the cold and gently rubs her fingers. Grabbing a nearby blanket, she wraps it around Joséphine and holds her tight to her chest.

“Where have you been, Joséphine? You’re frozen.”

“Outside, waiting outside. Maman told me to come to you. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.”

Andrée’s mother sits on the other side of Joséphine and takes one of her hands, gently massaging life back into it.

“Léon?” Andrée whispers.

“He’s with Maman. They were taken by soldiers. I don’t know where they’ve gone. Maman told me to come to you.”

“It’s all right. You’re safe here with us. We won’t let any harm come to you. Let’s get you warm and into bed. It looks like you need a good sleep. Am I right?” Andrée looks at her parents for confirmation. She can read the fear in their eyes. What does this mean for them all—who else do they know who might take the child? It isn’t safe for her to stay here.

“Tina,” Louis whispers to his wife, holding out the cup of warm milk. Taking it, she holds it to Joséphine’s mouth, encouraging her to drink the warm liquid.

Louis takes two steps back without taking his eyes off Joséphine. Andrée holds the girl tight, unable to let her go, the weight of the moment settling on her. In that moment, she makes a vow to herself and to Ruth: Until her last breath, she will do all she can to protect this Jewish child.

The hot drink revives Joséphine a little. She sits up, and her eyes travel to the piano in the corner of the room. Each Thursday she races here after school—the hour with Mlle Levallois is her lifeline, the happiest part of her week.

“Today is my lesson day,” she says to Andrée. “But first I should go to school, shouldn’t I?”

“No school for you today. But we’ll find time for a lesson soon.”

Louis bends down and whispers to Andrée, who nods.

“Do you want to use the toilet?” she asks Joséphine.

“Yes, please.”

“You know where it is. I’ll wait here for you.”

The three of them watch Joséphine disappear down the hallway and wait to hear the door close.

“Well done, Louis,” his wife says. “How did you know she needed the toilet?”

Andrée looks at her parents looking at each other. She sees in their eyes the love that has never diminished, and not for the first time wonders at her good fortune in having these parents.

“She was wiggling just like Andrée did at her age when she needed to go but didn’t want to stop what she was doing, usually playing the piano,” Louis says, smiling, remembering.

Andrée approaches Joséphine as she reappears.

“I am so tired,” the child murmurs.

Andrée gently lifts her into her arms. “Let’s get you to bed.”

“Would you like me to carry her?” Louis asks.