The colonel took hold of her elbow. “You are in no condition at the moment to entertain any such delusions, Victoria. Are all the members of the Grayson family so pigheaded, or is the trait restricted only to you? You may answer that question on the way to the car.”

For the stretch of a few arrested heartbeats, Victoria thought she’d only imagined, filtered through the wooly residue of last night’s nightmares, her fatigue, hunger, insomnia, and attempted rape, a voice addressing her in English by her own name. Then the fog lifted. There was no point in trying to bluff her way out of this. Colonel Albrecht was not a man to be deceived. She’d been a fool to think that she could escape his infallible ear. She breathed deeply. Right now, knowing what she faced, death did not seem like a bad option. Her cyanide pill was in the lining of her coat. If her hands were left free, a quick pull of the seam’s thread, and she would be dead before they left the salle. Her friends in Dragonfly would remain safe.

But he would expect her denial. As he led her away, she spoke in French. “What are you talking about? I am Mademoiselle Veronique Colbert.”

“I am afraid not. You are Victoria Grayson from Williamsburg, Virginia, in the United States of America. You graduated with a degree in Franco studies from William and Mary College, where you were America’s hope to win the gold in foil in the 1940 Olympics. Your brother, Lieutenant Lawrence Grayson, is a pilot in the RAF.”

At her speechless silence, he said, “You must of course be wondering how I am aware of that information. The Sicherheitsdienst has sources in America, but I have known since the moment I heard you speak that you are an American, Victoria.” He tendered a small smile. “At the risk of appearing boastful, I have an unerring ear for languages, but I admit mine for English was boosted by the year I spent at Harvard University. A great country, America. I thoroughly enjoyed my time there. Now watch your step,” he said when they were at the door. “I am quite alarmed by your condition. You’ve paled even further.”

“Where are you taking me?” Victoria demanded. “To your interrogation cells at Sicherheitsdienst headquarters, I presume?”

He halted to stare at her, genuinely shocked. “Now why would you presume such a thing? I know all that I need to know about you already, including why you are in France.”

“Which is?”

“To discover the fate of your fiancé, Ralph DuPont, an American pilot also flying for the RAF until he was shot down near Paris in May of last year. You’ve now discovered to your deep sorrow that he is indeed lost.”

Alarmed for Madame Dupree, she asked, “And how did you learn that information? It couldn’t have come from your source in America.”