And Sophie knew they had won this first part.

“That will not be necessary,” he continued hastily, no doubt imagining a conversation in which he was required to explain why a painting the Reichsmarschall supposedly coveted had been taken elsewhere. “Do as you wish, Mademoiselle Allard.” He gestured toward the interior of the hotel. “I will accompany you.”

“Thank you,” Estelle said graciously and swept into the hotel, Sophie and the wrapped image of Polyxena with a knife to her breast following in her wake.

The procession made its way through the hotel, heading toward the staircase that would take them up to the Imperial Suite.

“Tell me, who is Madeleine?” Sophie asked the young soldier who was dogging their heels like a puppy. She spoke deliberately in German.

“My girl,” he told her earnestly, blushing again. “She lives over near Notre Dame. She is something, truly. I never thought I would get so lucky.”

“How long have you been in Paris?”

“Three months,” he replied. “In truth, I didn’t think I would see any action in this war but here I am. Not that this post is as important as what my countrymen are doing on the front lines,” he said. “My mother cried when I told her that I was leaving.”

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen,” he mumbled.

“Your parents must be very proud of you,” Sophie told him, the words coming out far more easily than she had anticipated. “Proud of your service.”

His cheeks were scarlet. “Thank you.”

“You should be grateful that—” Sophie stopped abruptly, taking two quick steps forward so that the painting was between her and the salon they were passing. Without turning her head, she glanced up at the tall mirror mounted on the wall closest to her, reflecting the occupants of that salon.

Scharführer Schwarz was reclining in a brocaded chair, a cigarette dangling from his fingers, frowning fiercely. He was sitting off to the side, not a part of the conversation that was taking place amongst a group of Luftwaffe officers. Instead, his eyes followed the employees carrying the painting and the woman in the yellow dress leading them.

Sophie lowered her gaze and bent her head, cursing inwardly. Had he seen her? And if he did, would he recognize her? She looked much different than she had in front of Sacré-Coeur but that didn’t mean much.

“Madame Beaufort?” The question came from the young soldier. “Is something the matter?”

“Not at all,” Sophie replied. “I’m embarrassed to say I simply tripped.”

“Oh,” he said, looking relieved.

They were almost past the salon. Sophie had no idea if Estelle had seen the sergeant or not.