The moment the two men left, Sister Mary Frances put in a call to the burly Frenchman whose name she did not know but who had left a number for her to call him should an emergency arise regarding Mademoiselle Bernadette Dufor. She laid a hand on her heart to calm her fear that he could not be reached, but he answered on the second ring. “Mademoiselle Bernadette Dufor has been taken,” she informed him without preamble.

“Who by?”

“The French Gestapo. They were just here and found the radio. She’s been taken to their headquarters at 11 Rue de Saussaies.”

“Merci, Mother,” the Frenchman said.

Sister Mary Frances hung up, trembling. If ever she believed in miracles, she must do so now. It would take one to deliver sweet Mademoiselle Dufor from the hell into which she had fallen. She left her office and set off down the corridor, announcing to the nuns that they were not to disturb her, that she would be unavailable for the night. Once inside the walls of the convent chapel, she knelt on a pew bench, clasped her hands, and began to pray.

*  *  *

At La Maison de Boucher, Madame Jeanne Boucher heard, “Madame Boucher!”

The assault on her ears could have been mistaken for the shriek of a bull elk. Jeanne hurried into the salon.

“Yes, Madame Richter?”

In a ghastly gray frock of many folds, its originator unknown, Madame Richter sailed toward her with all the intent of a pirate frigate ready to commandeer an undefended ship. Jeanne swore the woman got uglier at every fitting, her ill-favored looks and figure made worse by a meanness that leached from her entrails. “Where in God’s name is Mademoiselle Dufor? She was to fit me today.”

Playing the role of so many of her indifferent countrymen, Madame Boucher lifted her shoulders and displayed her palms in typical French style. “I would assume at the headquarters of the French Gestapo. Two members of their body arrested her this morning.”

“Mademoiselle Dufor?” the woman shrilled her disbelief. “Whatever for?”

“Oh, one of our designers denounced her for no other reason other than she was jealous of her from the first day of her employment here.”

“The bitch should be sacked. What am I to do now?”

“I did sack her, but have no fear. I’m sure one of our other designers would be happy to assist you in every way possible.”

“The devil they will! I must have Mademoiselle Dufor!”

“I’m afraid that is impossible, madame. My hands are tied.”

“Mine aren’t. My husband has authority over those imbeciles of the French Gestapo. Mademoiselle Dufor will be back here this afternoon. Prepare my gown for my fitting.” And with that Madame Richter sailed out, leaving Jeanne staring after her in astonishment. Rescue was on the way for Bernadette by the last person on earth she would have expected to save her.

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN