Victoria had become almost frantic. It was now August 30, six days since Derrick had left a message with Alois instructing her to remain at the chateau until a U.S. Army vehicle arrived to take delivery of her. Victoria had assumed it would come within days of the call. She had packed a few essentials and paced around the chateau, constantly gazing through its front windows expecting to see her olive-drab transport with a five-pointed white star on the side wheel into the car park. It had not come.

And now the count and his family were due back to the chateau in two days’ time. They did not know that she was here, using their home as a hideout. Even if they were willing to allow her to stay, what then? She could not remain indefinitely, and it would be unsafe for her to try to make it out of the city on her own. Since the evening of August 21, the Resistance radio station in Paris had been back on the air, and daily came news of the brutal public treatment and humiliation meted out to women accused of collaborating with the Germans. Reports of beatings and head shavings, even executions, and of women being driven naked through the streets were a common occurrence. One woman had been recognized and yanked out of a car in a funeral procession and made to lie in the gutter while a crowd threw sewage and urinated upon her. Derrick had warned her of this very retribution and wouldn’t have left her high and dry. She was certain of that, but what had happened to interfere with his plan for her? Had the liberating forces arrested him before he could set it in motion?

Her whole being had gone numb at the possibility. Alois, her only human contact beyond Derrick since June 11, had painted a clear picture of what the German occupiers of his country, especially the officers of the SS and Gestapo, could expect if they were captured by the rescuing authorities. To her question of what would happen to Derrick should he fall into their hands, Alois had replied, “There will be a military trial when the war is over. If conducted by the French and he’s found guilty of the offenses against the French people, he will be guillotined. If by the Allied liberators, hanged.”

Victoria had listened in shock. Guillotined? Hanged? Derrick Albrecht was guilty of offenses against the French people, certainly, but at great risk of his own life, he had also saved the lives of countless others, including her and her fellow dragonflies. He did not deserve to die in such a way. “Are French military courts ever open to hearing pleas of mercy for the condemned?” she’d asked.

“If there is reason for clemency, oui, but—” Alois shrugged and showed his palms “—they rarely listen. On the other hand, American and British courts are reputed to be more tolerant.”