JULIEN ENTERED THE CHURCH TO see a familiar man in the pew nearest the altar. At last, his brother. He went to join Victor, and though it was a joyous occasion, they were cautious, unsure of who else might enter the building. They both looked straight ahead, as if they didn’t know one another, but it was a great relief for each to know the other was alive.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there when they came for the old man,” Victor said.

“I’m glad you weren’t. How is Marianne?” Fortunately, she hadn’t seen the horror of her father’s death.

“She’s strong. All the same, it’s a terrible blow. He was a good man. It probably took ten of them to kill him. They didn’t see you, I assume?”

How could they? He was out on a mountain, daydreaming, waiting for the heron. In some ways, it was an embarrassment to still be alive. “By the time I got back, it was too late.”

“They shot him?” Victor asked.

“You really want to know?”

“No. Don’t tell me. If I know I’ll have to tell her.” He gave his brother a look. “And she should never know.”

Julien agreed. He wished he himself didn’t know, that he hadn’t had to cut the old man down and drag him out of the house and down the stairs. He didn’t like to think of it even now.

“It should have been me,” he told Victor.

“It wasn’t your time. Be thankful. But the thing about saving yourself is that once you do, you have to live with it.”

Victor had a car parked around the corner.

“Yours?” Julien asked.

“Sure. Once I stole it.”