“Absolument!” he said. He had read the note again. When Aunt Claire had told him about his son, what had been the reaction of the man whose color and shape of eyes he had inherited? A price was on the head of Nicholas Cravois. Would it be too dangerous for him to show himself in Paris? Could Bucky be sure that Aunt Claire had even told him of his son’s existence? Her wording might have meant that his father had agreed to discuss a visit with someone. Bucky had learned from Aunt Claire that his father was still unmarried. Mistresses, yes, but no children by them that she knew of. Samuel Barton was his only legitimate child. Had his aunt told him how much his son wished to meet him—wanted to get to know him?

Somehow he had to curb his impatience until tomorrow at four o’clock. Would his father be waiting for him in her parlor? Or would he have decided that he couldn’t possibly risk seeing him? Bucky had felt a crushing squeeze of his heart. Tomorrows in France were so uncertain. If he missed this chance to see his birth father, the opportunity might never come again.

“Monsieur Beaulieu, it is Madame Dupree. You must get up—now!” his landlady’s hushed voice implored urgently through his bedroom door.

Groggily, Bucky staggered to open it. “It’s all right, Madame Dupree. I didn’t intend to go down for breakfast.”

“It is not about breakfast, monsieur,” she said, pushing her way in, her glance quickly taking in his disheveled shirt and pants. “I have news. I am informing you first in case you must do…whatever you must do. We are about to receive new occupants.”

Bucky came alert. “Who?”

His landlady kept her voice low. “Three of my tenants were quietly evicted before daybreak and their rooms requisitioned as quarters for three members of the Abwehr. Bella is cleaning them now. The men will be arriving this morning. I came to warn you so that you can make sure your papers are in order and that nothing compromising can be found in your room. The pigs will probably have it searched for contraband.” Indignation dissolved into stricken sadness. “Esme, Dashiell, and Farrin have been with me for years. They are old. Winter is coming. Where will they go? Where will they live?”

Bucky was helpless to answer. There was also another concern so obvious as not to merit mention. In her years of cooperation with the Allied intelligence services, the enemy had been out of sight and far removed from Madame Dupree’s activities. Now they had taken residence under her roof, which put her in danger of discovery. If Bucky was discovered, she would be taken, too.