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“Someone else waiting behind the door for her.”

“I’m sorry, Louis, but that doesn’t sound like a well-thought-out plan at all. How long do you expect her to stay in the park if something has happened to you?” Dancer says.

“We know. We know. Andrée is trying to come up with a better arrangement,” Tina tells them. “For now, it’s the best we can do.”

Andrée returns to the kitchen. They hear Josie head to her room, to wait.

“Let’s finish up—Monique will be here for her lesson soon,” Andrée says.

“We’ve overrun today. So much to plan,” Louis says. “Now we all know what we’re doing for the coming week, the focus for all of us being to identify men whom we know can be trusted to accept our help in keeping them safe, both from the Germans and the Militia. Agent, Félix, you have the Sorbonne; Cat, you have your circle of friends and your family’s contacts. Dancer, I know you want to help, but we can’t risk having you approach men, unless you have known them for a long time and are absolutely confident where their loyalties lie. Andrée is meeting with Doctor René tomorrow to see if he can increase his output of documents, and by how much. Remember: We are not alone. Every network in Paris is doing the same thing.”

Everyone rises, the women kiss each other, the men kiss the women, shake hands with each other. These simple gestures are the only outward signs of the profound respect and trust they have for each other.

“I’ll go down the backstairs,” Félix says, heading to the discreet door in the corner of the kitchen, the maid’s entrance of old.

“I’ll follow you in a couple of minutes,” Agent says.

“Andrée, may I have a word?” Cat asks.

“I’ll see Dancer out the front door,” Tina says.

“I’ll check on Josie,” Louis says, following Tina out of the kitchen.

Andrée and Cat stand, slightly awkward now, in the small room.

“I’ve got an invitation to Le Bal Blomet. Charles Trenet is performing there. I was wondering if you would like to come with me. I mean, with your love of music, I thought you of all people would appreciate hearing him.”

“Charles Trenet? Oh yes, I’d love to come.”

“He’s playing just one night, next Wednesday. My father knows the owner of Le Bal Blomet, who offered him a table, but my mother doesn’t want to go, so he’s given it to me.”

Andrée looks away into the distance, thinking of another time, another place.

“Is everything okay?” Cat asks her.

A warm smile brightens Andrée’s face. “I was remembering the last time I was at Le Bal Blomet. Josephine Baker held us spellbound the entire evening.”

“She’s refused to sing in Paris under occupation.”

“Yes. Who can blame her? She knows the room will be full of Germans, and she won’t sing for them,” Andrée says.

“Unlike Charles Trenet.”

“Oh, I don’t have a problem with him doing whatever he must to survive. It’s no more than what we are all doing.”

Cat nods and sighs.

“You’re right, of course. I’ll come by around eight o’clock. I hope M. Trenet, and perhaps my company, will put that smile I just saw, briefly, back on your face.”

“Thank you, I’ll be ready. Now, am I seeing you to the front door or the back door?”

“Cat always sneaks out the back way.” He smiles at her.

As the back door shuts behind Cat, there is a quiet knock on the front door.

“That will be Monique. I’ll get it,” Andrée calls out.

She opens the door to Monique and her mother as Josie runs from her room. The two girls embrace.