“Let me see.”

“It’s too dark. We can’t light a match or a fire. It’d give away my position.”

“Your parachute and other gear—that is what will give away your position. It is your good fortune that it wasn’t seen by someone else, someone who would report you. I must see to that right away.”

“Okay.”

She touched the back of her hand to his forehead. The intimacy of the gesture made her heart skip a beat. “You have a fever.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have water?”

“I did have. My canteen is empty now.”

She did not know the word canteen until he handed her his flask. “I will fill it for you. I’ll only be a moment.” She took his bidon to the stream and filled it with fresh water, then brought it back.

He drank in long, thirsty gulps. “Thank you, ma’am.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Since last night. I had a bad jump. A bad landing. There was a problem with the equipment, and the wind came up.”

“Is someone looking for you? Comrades?”

“I can’t say, ma’am.”

He would divulge as little information as possible. She didn’t blame him. “I’m going to fetch your parachute and bring it here, so there is no trace of you in the forest.”

“Thank you. I’m very grateful to you, ma’am.”

Lisette frowned. “I don’t know this word, ‘ma’am.’”

“It’s a polite way of saying madam, I reckon.”

“Call me Lisette,” she said, then went to pick up the chute. The silk fabric snagged on the underbrush, so she tried to make sure she had gathered up every scrap. This was not the first time she had helped with a parachute. Ever since the Germans had taken over the region, the Allies had been dropping supplies and information all over the countryside. Small arms, heavy weapons, and explosives from the British SOE kept the maquisards armed. But never before had she been confronted with the prospect of a live paratrooper. She brought the bunched-up chute to him, along with the medical kit that must have fallen from his bag.

She handed him the first-aid kit and tucked the fabric around him. The temperature was sometimes cool at night, particularly for someone who was feverish and wounded. “I will come very early tomorrow morning,” she promised.

“I’ll be here,” he said.

“Don’t die, Hank,” she told him.

“I’m not planning on it.”

Hank was awakened by a creaking sound. His head was on fire. He grabbed his sidearm and waited, tense and watchful. From his hideout under the fallen tree, he could see only a patch of blue sky fringed by leafy branches. The fever caused him to see double, so it appeared that two huge, long-haired dogs charged into his hiding place and put their faces in his. It was really just one dog, giving him the once-over with its nose, its feathery tail swishing back and forth.

“I wanted Dulcinea to meet you,” she explained, “so she doesn’t bark later and give you away.”