I took the Bible from the shelf in the sitting room, and went to my own room to reconstruct the message. It read as follows:

For lo, as soon as the voice of Thy salutation sounded in my ears, the babe leaped in my womb for joy.

For He that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is His name.

And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city.

And it came to pass on the second Sabbath after the first, that he went through the cornfields; and His disciples plucked the ears of corn, rubbing them in their hands, and did eat.

And entered into the house of Zacharias, and saluted Elisabeth.

For with God nothing shall be impossible.

That He would grant unto us, that we being delivered out of the hand of our enemies might serve Him without fear.

Having burned the note I’d made of the message, I went to look for Vigée and found the Frenchman in a little walled garden overlooking the canal. As usual, he looked as if he hadn’t slept; his eyes were half closed against the smoke from his cigarette, and there was a little cup of coffee in the palm of his hand, like a coin. He regarded me with his usual indifferent expression, but, as before, when he spoke it was frequently with the added emphasis of a firm nod or a quick shake of the head.

“You made your peace with God, yes?” His German was halting but grammatical.

“I needed some time to reflect,” I said. “On something that happened in Berlin. On Sunday.”

“With Elisabeth, yes?”

“She wants to get married,” I said. “To me.”

He shrugged. “Congratulations, Sébastien.”

“Soon.”

“How soon?”

“She’s waited five years for me, Émile. And now that I’ve seen her again…well, she doesn’t propose to wait any longer. In short, she gave me an ultimatum. That she would forget all about me unless I married her before the weekend.”

“Impossible,” said Vigée.

“That’s what I said, Émile. However, she means it. I’m certain of it. I never knew this woman to say anything she didn’t mean.” I took one of his offered cigarettes.

“That’s hardly civilized,” he said.

“That’s women,” I said. “And it’s me, too. Up until now, everything in the world I ever wanted was never quite as good as I thought it would be. But I’ve a strong feeling that Elisabeth’s different. In fact, I know she is.”

Vigée picked a piece of tobacco off his tongue and for a moment regarded it critically, as if it might have been the answer to all our problems.

“I was thinking, Émile. The POW train won’t be here until next Tuesday night. If I could spend Sunday with Elisabeth, in Berlin…Just a few hours.”