On his balcony, Major General Konrad March gazed across the boxwood hedge for sight of his unlikely new fishing buddy, disappointed not to find him on the riverbank this second Sunday morning of their acquaintance. Church bells were ringing, but Konrad did not think the boy was a churchgoer. Madame Gastain, yes. Never came a Sunday but that his binoculars did not pick up his neighbor walking to mass in her widow’s weeds, slim and willowy. He would like to know what the face looked like beneath the black veil. Very pretty, despite her age, but sad and lost, Barnard had told him when he asked.

“Why sad and lost?”

It was an inane question. All Parisians looked sad and lost over the foreign occupation of their city, especially those who had fallen from the social and financial pinnacles of their former prosperity, as had Madame Gastain, but Konrad had wanted to know the other specifics. Barnard had answered his questions straight, without giving a hint that he perceived the reason for his neighbor’s curiosity. “Her husband lost their fortune in the financial crash of 1929 and never recovered from the disgrace of it. He committed suicide a few years ago, and she has not recovered from his death. There were no children, so Madame Gastain has been alone ever since but for two elderly retainers.”

“How old?”

“Who? Madame Gastain or her retainers?”

“Madame Gastain.”

“Around her middle forties, I’d guess.”

“And she’s still wearing widow’s weeds for her husband?”

“Well…not entirely just for him.”

Of course not. She wore them for all of France, like a lot of Parisian women. “What does she do to occupy her time, shut away in her house?”

“I’ve only known her a short while, but I gather she listens to the phonograph, reads—she has a huge library—and plays the piano. Perhaps you’ve heard her? I know nothing about music, but she sounds very accomplished. I bring her the fish I catch, and she invites me to share it at her table, which is very pleasant for me.”

“I’ve heard her play. You are right. She is very accomplished.”

This conversation had taken place the day before in Normandy waters on Captain Claude Allard’s fishing boat. The presence of the general had displeased the captain, and Konrad hoped it had not jeopardized Barnard’s job. The general’s ears were trained to hear through walls, and when the captain ordered Barnard to join him in the wheelhouse, Konrad, packing up his rod and tackle just outside it, had caught faint snatches of their conversation but clear enough to be understood. They had spoken in French, Konrad’s second language.