When Ollie returned to the table, Madeleine leaned over his plate and rubbed something over a grate. Black snow dusted his meal.

“May need a little something,” Madeleine said.

“Truffles?”

She nodded.

Ollie didn’t know if it was the truffles, or if it was because he hadn’t eaten in the past two days, but this simple meal of onions and withered carrots was extraordinary. The truffle, although ugly, like a shriveled potato, gave a slightly garlicky and earthy taste to the food. It was one of the best meals he could remember. The last time he had tasted something this good was when he had eaten Susan’s soup, laced with shellfish that had sent him running to the loo. He felt a tug at the corners of his mouth and realized he was smiling.

“You like, yes?” Madeleine asked.

“Yes,” Ollie said. He ate his food, then finished it off with a glass of cold water. He looked over at the hog, sleeping in the corner of the room. “Nice work, Louis.”

The hog twitched its ears but continued sleeping.

Madeleine grinned, then continued eating her meal.

Ollie sat with Madeleine until she finished eating, realizing how rude he had been to devour his food so quickly. He helped her clean the table, then took Louis out to the barn for the night. He was surprised that the hog followed him, but the animal obviously knew it was dinnertime. Per Madeleine’s request, he tossed a handful of potatoes into the hog’s trough. The potatoes, if one could call them that, were in nasty condition: molded black, covered in hairy sprouts, and wriggling with grubs. By all accounts, the potatoes were spoiled. Inedible. But Ollie quickly found out that Louis was not a tuber connoisseur. The hog ate his potatoes, meaty grubs and all, then flopped on his side to rest. Ollie glanced at the empty trough and wondered what the coming winter would do to the French. Would they starve? Or resort to eating rotten potatoes? Grubs? Or worse? He shook the thought from his mind and left the barn.

When he returned, Madeleine lit a candle and closed the drapes. She placed two tattered woolen blankets into the hiding place. Ollie lowered himself into the hole in the floor, careful not to step on the lieutenant. He lay down, feeling thankful to have a piece of canvas under his back, and watched Madeleine place the boards over them. Board by board, the hole above him grew smaller.

He looked up through the slit in the floor. “Madeleine,” he said.

“Oui?”

“Thank you.”

The woman nodded. She lowered the last board and sealed the hole.

Everything went black. Wood scraped as Madeleine slid the table above him. Her footsteps faded. Then silence. If it weren’t for the snores of an RAF lieutenant, he would have believed he had been sealed inside a coffin.