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“Your accommodation. Not the Ritz, but considerably safer. You’ll take meals with the sisters: You’re safe with all of us here. Breakfast at six, lunch at noon, dinner at six. Mass at seven morning and evening. You’re not required to attend, but it looks better if you do. Germans respect piety. Or at least they’re suspicious of those who don’t display it.”

Louis sets down his bag. “Sister, we appreciate⁠—”

Sister Benny silences him with a look. “No need for speeches. You’re here to spy on the Germans, gather intelligence, and report back to London so they can bomb us again. Which, frankly, I’m entirely in favor of. The first bombing was quite exciting. I do hope they manage to finish the job next time.”

René stares at her. “Sister, you’re . . . remarkable.”

“I’m practical. And I’m French. And I’m furious. The Germans have turned our beautiful port into a submarine fortress. They’ve conscripted our young men. They’ve stolen our food, our dignity, our freedom. If I can help end this occupation by hiding a few spies in my convent, I’m delighted to do so. Now, you must be exhausted. Rest for an hour, then I’ll introduce you to some local friends who have information you’ll find useful.”

She turns to leave, then pauses at the door.

“Oh, and gentlemen? If there’s a raid, there’s a hidden panel in the floor beneath that rug. It leads to a crawl space that connects to the crypt. You can hide there for days if necessary. We’ve done it before. I do hope it won’t be necessary, but one never knows. The Germans are so unpredictable.”

She smiles. “Welcome to the Resistance in Saint-Nazaire. Do try not to get us all killed.”

And she’s gone.

Louis and René look at each other.

“I think I’m in love with her.”

“She’s a nun.”

“A nun with a magnificent sense of humor and absolutely no fear. If I weren’t already married to medicine, I’d be tempted.”

Louis laughs, and for the first time since leaving Paris, he feels hopeful. If Sister Bernadette is helping them, they might survive this mission.

In Paris, Josie sits at the piano, playing Chopin. Badly. Her fingers stumble, miss notes, hit wrong keys. She stops, starts again. No better.

“Josie, what’s wrong?” Andrée asks from the doorway.

“I can’t concentrate. I keep thinking about Grand-Père. Where he is. If he’s safe.”

Andrée sits beside her on the bench. “He’s on a business trip, ma petite. He’ll be home in a few days.”

“I know that’s what you told me. But I’m not stupid, Tata Andrée. I know you don’t tell me everything. I know there are things you keep from me to keep me safe. But I also know when you’re worried. And you’re worried about Grand-Père.”

Andrée takes her hand. “Yes. I’m worried. But worrying doesn’t help him. What helps him is us continuing our lives here, being safe, and being smart. Can you do that for me?”

“I can try.”

“Good. Now, play something that makes you feel better. Not Chopin. Something joyful. Something that reminds you of good things.”

Josie thinks, then begins to play. Mozart. The same sonata she had been playing when Louis announced his trip. Light and sparkling, full of hope.

Andrée listens, watches Josie’s fingers move across the keys. This child who has lost so much but still finds joy in music. This child who worries about an old man on a dangerous mission, who plays Mozart to make herself feel better.

“That’s better,” Andrée says when the piece ends. “Much better. Now, how about we work on that Bach prelude you’ve been avoiding?”

Josie groans, but she’s smiling. “You never let me avoid anything.”

“That’s my job. To push you. To make you better. To keep you learning and growing and becoming the pianist I know you can be.”

“Even when there’s a war?”

“Especially when there’s a war. The war will end, Josie. But your music? That’s forever.”

After they have rested, Sister Bernadette introduces Louis and René to the local Resistance. They meet in the church crypt, away from prying eyes. Four people: a dockworker, a baker, a teacher, a fisherman. No names are given, only occupations.