As if she’d neglect Zurie altogether. “I bought her something instead. I found a beautiful collection of children’s stories by a lady named Beatrix Potter. Far lovelier than anything I could create.”

Maman faced forward and pressed her lips together. Whether in rebuke or to hold in a smile, Margot couldn’t tell from this angle. “Those fingerless gloves you knit last year were not entirely horrible. You are getting better.”

Margot laughed at the obvious lie. “No I’m not. One of these days you’re going to stop trying to turn me into a knitter.”

“It is an invaluable skill for a woman. Think how cold we would have been last winter without the clothing I made for us.”

“Indeed, it’s a wonderful skill for you to have. But I don’t share it. If left to my own devices, I would simply have had to purchase a scarf.”

“And then we would not have been able to put so much back in our savings.” As they stepped outside, Maman drew in a long breath of the autumn air. “The war will surely be over soon. We will go home, and who knows how much money we will need to repair our house—if it is even still there in Brussels? Who knows if our accounts will be returned to us, or if the Germans will have somehow drained all the funds from our banks? We need every pence we can save, Margot.”

Margot’s fingers crinkled the paper bag. She opened her mouth, ready to defend the sum she’d spent on Zurie’s gift as being for the purpose of education and therefore worthwhile, but before she could speak, movement caught her eye. And more, numbers filled her head.

The Pythagorean theorem. Then Euclid’s proof of infinitely many prime numbers.

It was the Lord, calling her attention to something.

To what? She let her gaze shift over the scads of people milling around, trying to identify what had demanded her attention. She frowned when she spotted a feminine figure slinking around a corner.

Maman must have followed her gaze. She stopped in front of Margot, facing said corner, with her brows drawn. “I believe that is the newest secretary. Miss . . . Felton?”

“Elton.” Miss Dorothea Elton. Margot hadn’t seen her since she delivered her to the admiral a week ago, but she recalled the name easily enough.

“That is right, oui.” Maman nudged her arm. “You ought to go and introduce yourself, Margot. That young lady could use a friend, I think. She does not seem to fit in well with the other secretaries.”

A mark in her favor. And the thought of following her around that corner made well-ordered numbers skip through her head, which was all the confirmation she needed. With a nod, she left her mother’s side and hurried after the secretary.