“In some ways.” Michel held the next picture beside a shot of the soldier on Camille’s tablet. “Here you are at sixteen or seventeen. The resemblance is striking, is it not?”

Camille reached for her father’s hand and squeezed it while they studied the pictures side by side. Both the soldier and Henri had skinny necks and prominent Adam’s apples, curly dark hair and dark slashing brows. Their faces were shaped the same. Even their ears stuck out at the same angle. “You could be brothers,” Camille said. “Oh my gosh, we have to figure out who this guy was.”

“To me, what is more significant is who he was not—Didier Palomar.” Henry’s eyes misted as he looked at the soldier, and then up at Michel. “And now let us speak of other things. There is something I must tell you. I was silent about my boyhood here, because I didn’t want you to know about the shame of being Palomar’s son. I learned to keep secrets, and it affected other parts of my life. Including my friendship with Michel.”

“I’m so grateful you were Papa’s friend,” Camille said. “You were good to him when no one else was.”

“I wanted to be his friend, and I wanted to be good to him,” said Cabret. “There was no stopping my feelings.”

“What a lovely way to put it,” she said, beaming at them both.

“What we’re trying to say, chérie, what I’m trying to say, is that we were friends of a certain kind. But at some point in my life, I decided my true heart would always be a secret. When I first knew I loved this other boy, it . . . I am not overstating things when I say it formed my personality. But at the same time, I tried to hide these feelings.” He covered Michel’s hand with his. “Until now. Now with certainty and no sense of shame I can tell you that I love him still, and he has been kind enough to keep his heart open to another chance.”

She frowned in confusion. “Papa? I don’t understand. Or maybe . . . Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“Chérie, Michel and I . . .” He took a breath, reached over, and placed his hand on his friend’s. “Michel was my first love, and I love him still. At long last, I want to come out, to let you know the truth.”

She gave a short laugh. “What? But . . .” And then the laughter died as a piercing insight struck like a physical pain. “You’re gay.” She looked from her father to Michel. “You . . . the two of you . . . Seriously?”

“Chérie, I had these feelings from boyhood, but of course at that time . . . I didn’t know how to handle myself. I simply had no context, no understanding of the situation. In those days, especially in a small country town, this situation simply did not exist. Or if it did, no one spoke of it. Camille, I’m so sorry. I never should have kept it from you for so long.”