“Mademoiselle Allard.” A horrified-looking Müller met her at the bottom of the stairs. “There is a rumour that something has happened. Are you all right?”

“She tried to kill me,” Estelle whispered, letting a few more tears slide down her face.

“What?” Müller’s face went white. “Who?”

“Madame Beaufort,” Estelle sniveled. “The sergeant is pursuing her. I think…I think she came here to kill the Reichsmarschall. I…I think she used me. She called me stupid.”

Estelle swayed on her feet, and Müller leapt forward to steady her. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I don’t know.” Estelle sniffed. “It all happened so fast. I’m not feeling well at all. I…I’d like to go home,” she said, turning her tearful gaze on the youth.

“Yes, yes, of course,” he said. “I will arrange it.”

“Thank you,” Estelle told him. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”

She allowed Müller to walk her through the hotel to the Cambon exit. They passed the bars and dining rooms and salons, the patrons focused on their meals and drinks and cigarettes and all oblivious to everything that was unfolding somewhere above their heads.

The young officer put her in a car and gave the driver instructions.

Estelle climbed the stairs to her apartment for the last time.

She opened the door and stalked through the empty flat, the bare space above the hearth a glaring reminder that she would not be coming back. She strode into her bedroom and set the little handbag on the coverlet. From beneath the bed, she pulled out a small travelling case, already packed. With care, she transferred the contents of Sophie’s handbag into the interior lining of the case, beneath the samples of lipstick and powder. She pulled off the lemon-yellow dress, tossing it on the end of the bed, and changed into clothes more suited for a travelling saleswoman.

She picked up the case, left the bedroom, and deposited it on the dining room table. She opened the tall cabinet and chose a pretty crystal tumbler, carrying it with her into the kitchen. There, she poured herself a healthy measure of brandy from the bottle she’d kept hidden under the sink. She raised her glass in a silent toast to the woman who had risked everything and made a silent promise to her that her risk would not be for nothing. She tipped the brandy down her throat, embracing the burn.

Estelle left the crystal tumbler in the kitchen by the sink, fetched the case from the table, and made her way to the door. She put her hand on the knob and turned to look behind her one last time. Her gaze collided with that of the nude woman who glared silently back.