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“She needs this,” Andrée says. “She’s been through so much. She needs to just be a child.”

“Solène too,” Colette replies. “Losing her father, moving here. They’ll be good for each other, I think.”

In Paris, Louis answers a knock at the door. It’s midafternoon, and he’s not expecting anyone. He checks through the peephole first, always, before opening up.

A man stands there. He’s middle-aged, nondescript, carrying a briefcase. He could be anyone. A salesman. A clerk. No one worth remembering.

Louis opens the door a crack. “Yes?”

“It’s going to be a long, hot summer. May I speak with you?”

The code phrase. Louis opens the door wider. “Come in.”

Inside, Tina is at the table, immediately alert. The man sits when invited, sets down his briefcase; it is a prop, a copy of an old magazine its only contents.

“Colonel Pallas sent me. That should be enough.”

“Of course. What do you need?”

“A meeting place. Our usual location has been compromised. The Militia raided it two days ago. We got word in time. But now we have nowhere to meet. Colonel Pallas suggested you might be willing to help.”

“How many people?” Louis asks.

“Two, sometimes three. We need to meet once a week. Tuesday afternoons. No more than an hour.”

Louis and Tina exchange glances. Their apartment is already a meeting place for their own network. Adding another cell increases the risk exponentially.

But Colonel Pallas sent him. Colonel Pallas vouches for him.

“What kind of work does your cell do?” Tina asks.

“Better you don’t know. No names, no details. Just a room, once a week. If anything goes wrong, if we’re raided, you can honestly say you don’t know who we are or what we do. Plausible deniability. For your protection.”

Louis considers this proposition. The man is right to a degree: The less they know, the safer they are. If the Gestapo comes, if the Militia interrogates them, they can’t reveal what they don’t know.

“Our bedroom,” Tina says suddenly. “You can use our bedroom. It’s at the back of the apartment. No one overlooks it.”

“Tuesday afternoons,” Louis adds. “One o’clock. No earlier, no later. You arrive separately, one at a time. You leave the same way. You bring nothing that could incriminate you if you’re stopped on the street. And if anyone asks, you’re friends dropping by. Nothing more.”

The man nods. “Understood. We’ll be careful. You won’t even know we’re here.”

“I doubt that,” Louis says.

“When do you want to start?” Tina asks.

“This Tuesday?”

“All right. But let me speak to the colonel first. He’ll confirm with you that all is agreed.”

“Thank you.”

“But understand this—if you bring danger to our door, if this compromises our own work or threatens my family, we’ll end the arrangement immediately.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, monsieur, madame. You’re doing important work. We all are.”

He leaves as quietly as he arrived. Louis locks the door behind him and leans heavily against it.

“Are we mad?” he asks Tina.