Camille watched the old lady being hoisted into the open conveyance. Finn was being particularly gallant, and Petra was a surprise, to say the least. She seemed a good deal younger than eighty-two, healthy and reasonably spry, with milky-blue eyes and white hair in a pinned-up braid. Best of all, she had not hesitated to offer her recollections to Papa’s story. Today, she wanted to take a ride to the far vineyards, because she remembered it was the site of Lisette’s daily walks.

With Finn driving the four-wheeler and Petra in the front seat, Camille climbed into the back. Wearing a bonnet tied in place with a bright ribbon, the old lady scanned the sunlit landscape as they drove to the uplands, where the Clairette and Marsanne grapes grew. During the war years, those vineyards had been abandoned, yet according to Petra, Lisette seemed drawn to them.

“It is nice to be back,” she said. “I’m glad for this chance to see little Henri again. That is what he was called—little Henri. He was a lovely child, and I feel terrible about the way he was treated, like a servant in his own household, ruled with an iron fist by my mother.” She twisted her hands in her lap. “Not to mention the way the kids at school treated him. I wish I had been kinder. More protective. But when he was in school, I was a typical self-absorbed teenager, though that’s no excuse.”

“Do you remember Didier at all?” asked Camille.

“Certainly. Uncle Didier was very proud and quite vain. He used to stand at the mirror in the front hall and strike poses. Maman said he was loyal to his family and a good steward of Sauveterre. He did have a mean streak and I learned to keep my distance.” Her expression softened, and she added, “I was fond of Tante Lisette and her parents, Monsieur and Madame Galli. Lisette was young and so pretty. She had a way of finding the fun in everyday things. She taught me to make a crown of flowers, for example, and to sing songs. Her favorite was ‘Dis-moi, Janette.’”

“That’s one of Papa’s favorites, too. All these little details bring Lisette to life.”

“She always seemed to be writing letters as well as taking pictures.”

“Who was she writing to?” Finn asked. “Any ideas?”

“No, but since your discovery about Henri, I imagine the letters were to the man who fathered him. Is that terribly romantic of me? I would hate to think that she’d been forced by one of the soldiers. Some women were.”

They stopped at a vineyard that was bordered by the woods and stream; Petra claimed this had been Lisette’s favorite place for long, solitary walks. They walked amid the vines, which were vibrant and already heavy with grapes. Petra brought them to a pile of unmortared stone. “This was destroyed by a bomb the day the Allies came,” she said. “It was the only thing Sauveterre lost in the war. My friends and I used to play among the rubble here. Come, I’ll show you a mysterious thing we found, if it’s still here.”