The day before, again under the watchful gaze of the beat cop, her work had drawn a crowd in overcoats and scarves to watch reeds and flora and tiny aquatic denizens along the pond’s bank come into being. Today, they had gathered to watch her, standing on her ladder, put the finishing touches on trees and clouds and tall grasses with her magic brush. When she stroked in the final detail of the North Star and started to descend the ladder, the crowd applauded. One Frenchman declared, “The mural represents hope. The star is us—the French. Our light has dimmed, but it has not gone out!”

The ladder wobbled, and Achim Fleischer rushed to steady it. To his amazement, he had gained an unexpected status in the neighborhood as the protector of the mural. Earlier in the week, two Wehrmacht officers had stopped to view and discuss it in German. Achim’s heart had turned over. They did not look pleased. They saw him and beckoned him over. “Who is the artist that did this?” one of them inquired in French and motioned toward the wall.

Achim had suppressed a gulp, surprised by his reluctance to provide a name. In the course of the days that the artist had worked on her painting, she had introduced herself as Bernadette Dufor and tried to disarm his cold manner by engaging him in warm conversation. He had resisted her attempts, still suspicious of both her and her mural, but as a male, he could not help but appreciate her winsome face and energetic little body, so perfectly formed and feminine and of the perfect height.

“A young French woman, a fashion designer,” he’d answered. “The mother superior of the Sisters of Charity”—he pointed toward the convent—“gave her permission to…to bring beauty to the street.”

“Well, that she has done,” the officer said. “Remarkable. I’m sure her efforts will result in quite a work of art when it is finished. See that you protect it.”

A woman from the neighborhood had witnessed the exchange but not heard it. After the army officers had moved on, she crossed the street to ask him, “Did the Boche wish to have the mural removed?”

“I believe that was their intent, madame.”

“But you talked them out of it?”

“It would appear so.”

“Bless you, monsieur.”