She set the camera in its box and latched it shut, gazing down at the initials CT, letter-pressed in the lid. “In that case, I will do exactly as you say. I will take marvelous pictures with your camera, and keep it safe, always.”

He reached out to pat her hand, but missed the first pat. She discreetly moved her hand so that he could touch it. The gentle gesture brought tears to her eyes. Over the past several years, he had been gradually losing his vision to a condition known as macular degeneration. He told her the blindness closed in like the aperture of a camera lens, narrowing the field of vision until he felt as though he was peering through an ever-shrinking tunnel.

“Your pictures are excellent, with your keen eye for the details of daily life. Promise you will keep practicing your craft. The darkroom is for your use, as always.” The darkroom in the pantry was a perfect laboratory, complete with photographic enlarger, special paper and chemicals, and fresh water pumped from outside.

He was a dear man, and Lisette would have helped him for no charge. But he insisted on paying her a wage. He understood the hardships of her family all too well, and he understood the dignity of work. “I don’t know how to thank you, monsieur. You’re very generous.”

“Very good, then,” he said. “That is settled, and I am content. What time is it?”

She looked out the window at the large clock face over the railway station. “Half past five.”

“Perfect. I should like an aperitif, then, and perhaps a chapter of our book before you leave.”

“Of course. I’ll just be a minute.” She tucked the camera box into her woven-straw market basket. Then she went and poured precisely two fingers of Ricard into a slender drinking glass, adding one chunk of ice from the precious supply in the icebox. Due to the deprivations of war, refrigeration was hard to come by, but Toselli had a special need for it. He was secretly making a wonder drug—penicillin—for the war effort. With his medical and scientific background, and the equipment from his veterinary practice, he knew just what to do, and Lisette was eager to help him titrate the medicine and keep it hidden.

If the invading forces found out, his supply would be seized and he’d probably be arrested. Lisette thought it was marvelous that this elderly man could contribute to the French cause. From the very start, she had guarded his secret. The occupying soldiers regarded him as a harmless old man, never realizing what was going on right under their noses.

“Let us go out to the garden terrace,” he said. “I love to feel the sun on my face.”

“Of course. I am right behind you.”

He picked up the book she was reading to him and tucked it under his arm. Then he led the way across the small sitting room to the garden behind the house. He touched things as he passed—the back of a kitchen chair, the side of a cabinet, the hall tree with his hat, cane, and umbrella. Lisette was meticulous about keeping everything exactly in its place. She had made it her mission to help him organize his home so he could find what he needed.