Truly, though there was great wealth he could call his own, the plants he grew—and all they signified—were among his most prized possessions. He clipped two flowers from nearby rosebushes, a red and a white for wife and daughter, then rose from his knee.

He paused after a few steps and glanced around with pleasure down the slope toward the pinewood off to the south, seeing the stream flowing out of it, winding toward the hill of the estate before heading off westward to join the great river, and the rich fields in the distance in all other directions. Whatever became of it, this was good land, and he was blessed to have been given such an abundant heritage.

All at once, from around a bend in the path, his daughter came running toward him.

“Papa, Papa!” she had cried. “I’ve been looking for you.”

“And you have found me, Sabina!” he replied with a smile. “Here—I cut this flower just for you.”

“Thank you, Papa,” she said, holding it close to her nose.

“Why were you looking for me?”

“Did you mean what you said earlier, that I could go with you to Uncle Otto’s garden party in Berlin?”

“Of course I did. What does your mama say?”

“That if I am with you, she would have no fear to send me even to Russia.”

“Even I would be afraid to go there,” laughed her father. “Though I try to see good in everyone, I do not find the Bolsheviks an appealing lot. In any case, we are not going there, but to Berlin.”

“Oh, I’m so excited! When do we leave, Papa?”

“With the rising of the sun tomorrow morning.”

That had been two days ago. Now they had returned, and were making their way between the trees along the snakelike boulevard up the hill. They crested at length what might have been termed its low rolling summit. Emerging from the birch-lined avenue, the baron steered his 1934 Mercedes around a wide, graveled circle toward the front of the estate. In the middle of the entryway sat a stone fountain far more ornate than his tastes were comfortable with.

The great stone horse, out of whose mouth gushed a steady flow of water pumped up from the stream below, rose precariously on his two rear legs with a look of ferocity in his eyes that was no doubt intended to warn any intruder of sinister motive to consider his moves with caution. Such a sentinel was altogether out of place in this serene country setting, the baron would think to himself every time he had occasion to lay eyes upon it.