“Those who side with the Vichy government and Pétain are not French,” she hissed, feeling the heat of contempt. “We won’t get caught. We’re in the middle of nowhere, far from the big city.”

They walked to the edge of town, speaking in whispers while Jean-Luc wheeled the bicycle, taking care not to let it rattle over the cobblestones. Once they reached the roadway leading to the coast, they got on, Lisette taking the seat while Jean-Luc pedaled. Clutching him around the waist, she felt utterly exhilarated by the rush of air in her face and the feel of his muscular body beneath her hands. The darkness only added to the excitement. Finally, after simmering with resentment against the occupying soldiers, she had a chance to do something.

They met Louis in a broad, empty field on the high ground a few hundred meters from massive granite calanques jutting out into the sea. When she was small, Lisette and her brothers would come here after chores on hot summer days to enjoy the sandy beaches tucked between the towering cliffs. Papa had taught her to swim in the azure water.

After the accident, Lisette had become the teacher. Her father had plunged into a terrible melancholy, alternately furious and despairing over what he called his useless body. She had organized Papa’s friends to help. They had loaded him into a cart, brought him to the beach, and carried him into the water. Lisette had held his hands while he floated, encouraging him to swim. Seeing him rediscover the pleasure of weightlessness in the water had filled her with joy, and their outings to the beach became a regular occurrence. Maman would bring a baguette and something from the garden for a picnic, and sometimes for a few hours, they forgot what had happened to the boys, they forgot Papa’s accident, and they forgot that foreign troops occupied their town. Lisette had taken some pictures of her parents at the beach as mementos.

Tonight, there was no forgetting. Louis had not told them what to expect. Jean-Luc had explained that the less each partisan knew, the better. There would be nothing to confess under torture if someone got caught.

“What I wouldn’t give for a smoke right now,” said Louis, pacing back and forth. “Can’t risk it, though, not even a match strike.” He tipped his head back and gazed at the empty black sky.

“Where would you even get a proper cigarette?” asked Jean-Luc. “Don’t tell me you’re dealing with the black market.”

“I don’t have one,” Louis admitted. “I was just wishing for one. You know I’d never line the pockets of the collaborators. The war profiteers are as bad as the Nazis.” He stopped speaking and tilted his head to one side. “Listen.”

Lisette could hear the sound of the waves, but then she noticed something else. “It’s a motor.”

“An airplane,” Jean-Luc said. “Are they making a parachute drop?”

“Yes. Supplies. Help me move these stones.” Louis dropped to his knees and started removing some large rocks from a pile. Jean-Luc and Lisette pitched in. Under the stones was a square of canvas. Louis moved it aside and took out a box or case of some sort.