“Ach, Sabina,” exclaimed Gustav, “don’t be a fool. Are you so blind? Don’t you see that I have become an important man?”

“That changes nothing.”

“What is it—do you think you’re in love with that ridiculous American? Ha, ha, ha!” Gustav roared in cocky laughter.

“You leave Matthew out of it!” she snapped.

“Ah, meine leibe Fräulein,” he chided with a cunning glint in his eye, “so the flames do still burn.” This would make his final victory over her all the sweeter!

“If it fell into the wrong hands,” he went on, “the information that you are an American sympathizer could be, uh, shall we say, very awkward for you and your family. Spies for our enemies are shot for treason, you know.”

“We are not American sympathizers,” said Sabina defensively, bringing her emotions gradually back under control. The mention of Matthew’s name brought enough pain to subdue her spirits.

“You maintain no contacts with your American friend?”

“I have heard nothing from Matthew in three years,” replied Sabina.

Gustav detected the hurt in her voice. It stabbed through his ego like a knife. But he was too proud, and too skilled in the ways of his Gestapo colleagues, to allow it to show. The mere momentary twitch of his upper lip divulged his pain at knowing the American had a home in Sabina’s heart, but he was careful to say nothing to betray himself.

Almost the next instant, however, his lip curled in arrogant remembrance of his encounter with the cowardly diplomat’s son at his father’s villa. What do I care, he said to himself. We will bury America, and her lover with them all! I will be the one who will possess the vixen in the end!

“Please, Gustav,” said Sabina, stopping. “I think I’ve had enough of a walk for today. I don’t feel like going to the garden.”

“But I do, Sabina,” he replied, suddenly more Gestapo agent than friend and suitor.

“Please, Gustav—”

“In fact, I insist,” he said, taking her arm and pressing her forward into motion again. “There is a certain part of your father’s garden I am most anxious to see.”

Realizing it was futile to refuse him, Sabina compliantly followed Gustav down the hill and under the arch. Nauseated by the very thought of his presence desecrating her father’s roses, she attempted to lead him along the path that led around the western border. But Gustav was insistent about their course. As little as he knew of the garden, he seemed to know just where he wanted to go. With horror, suddenly Sabina realized they were in the middle of her father and mother’s special place, where she had been that very morning with Gisela and Ursula.