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“What you and your parents have done—giving Josie a home, a safe place to see out this terrible war—is so admirable.”

“Thank you. It’s the least we can do.”

“I’d like to think that if the situation arose, I’d do the same,” Stéphanie says, not requiring a response. “You can trust me, Andrée.”

Andrée reaches out and touches Stéphanie’s arm. “Thank you. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

Andrée arrives at the bookshop a few moments later to find the sign turned to closed. Louis stands at the window, watching the street. Tina sits at the desk, her hands folded, her face pale.

“What’s happened?” Andrée asks.

“We don’t know yet. Colonel Pallas sent word through René. All network leaders, immediately.” Louis’s jaw is tight. “Whatever it is, it’s bad.”

They know what he means: For them to be called together in broad daylight is unprecedented. There must be urgent information to impart.

Louis indicates the door to the tiny back room behind the counter. It is closed. Andrée understands. The courier bringing the news is already waiting for them all to arrive.

The others arrive within the hour. Cat, casual as always but with tension in his shoulders. He enters the shop and browses the bookshelves, nodding coolly at the Levallois family, who stand behind the counter. Agent follows quickly behind, his face grave. Félix, for once not smiling. Dancer slips in last, breathless; her coat dusted with snow. Gypsy is the only one not in attendance; it is too close to the lunch hour, and her absence at Le Fleuron would be conspicuous. Louis will get a message to her once he hears the news.

Louis locks the door, pulls the blinds. They gather in the back room, between the high shelves, immersed in the familiar and comforting smell of old paper and dusty book jackets. Colonel Pallas’s courier, a thin woman Andrée doesn’t recognize, speaks in a low, urgent voice.

“The Germans have authorized the French paramilitary force, the French Militia, to start operating in the occupied zone.”

The words hang in the air. Andrée feels them settle, heavy and cold.

“French,” Cat echoes flatly. “A French force to hunt us.”

“That is correct. Joseph Darnand, a decorated war veteran, a fascist, and loyal to Vichy and the Germans, is leading it. The Militia will have full police powers. They can arrest, interrogate, execute. They’ll be hunting Resistance fighters, Jews, anyone who opposes the regime.”

“How many?” Louis asks.

“Thousands, eventually. They’re recruiting now. Offering good pay, better rations, authority. They’ll get volunteers, there’s no doubt about it. Frenchmen who believe in the collaboration. Frenchmen who want power. Frenchmen who are simply desperate and hungry.”

Félix swears under his breath. “The French hunting the French. It’s obscene.”

“It’s worse than obscene,” Dancer says, her voice sharp. “It’s effective. The Germans don’t speak French like we do. They don’t know Paris like we do. They can’t tell who’s lying, who’s hiding something. But this Militia? They’re French. They know the language, the neighborhoods, the people. They’ll know when someone’s story doesn’t add up. They’ll know where to look.”

Andrée’s stomach turns. She thinks of Josie and of the neighbors who watch, who wonder, who might report the recent appearance of a young girl in the Levallois household. She thinks of Mme Charbonnier, who was so rude in the bookshop, and whom Andrée imagines watching her and Josie come and go from the school. Of Maurice Dupont, the concierge, who asks no questions, but who has witnessed not only their growing household but also the weekly comings and goings of their “guests.”

“There’s more,” the courier adds. “The Militia will work closely with the Gestapo. They’ll have access to German intelligence, German resources. And they’ll be motivated. Many of them are ideologues. They truly believe in fascism, in collaboration. They won’t be bribed. They won’t look the other way.”

“When do they start operations?” Agent asks.

“By spring, they’ll be operating in Paris.”

Silence. Each of them calculating, thinking through the implications, adjusting their understanding of the danger they face.

“How will we identify them?” Cat asks. “Do they wear uniforms?”

“Yes. Dark blue uniforms. Berets. Insignia. They want to be visible, to intimidate. But not all of them will be in uniform all the time. Some will work in plain clothes, infiltrating Resistance networks, posing as sympathizers.”

“Infiltrators,” Tina says quietly. “We’ll have to suspect everyone.”

“We already suspect everyone,” Louis says. “Now we’ll have to be even more careful. No new members without extensive vetting. No meetings in public places. No exceptions to security protocols.”

The courier nods. “Colonel Pallas is implementing new procedures across all networks. Compartmentalization. Cell structure. Limited contact between groups. If one cell is compromised, it can’t bring down any others.”

“What about people we’re hiding?” Andrée hears herself ask. “Jews. Children. Will the Militia hunt them too?”