THEY DROVE ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS, leaving the car hidden under branches a few miles from their target, using the doctor’s compass to aid them when they hiked to a wooded hillside where they were protected from sight, yet could still see the house and the gardens. Everything was in bloom, and the yellow fields of genêts were dazzling, but in front of them everything was dark, a black cloud of chaos. The end of the war would soon be upon them, and it was their duty to dispose of the evil that continued to send men and women and children to their deaths, more and more all the time, as if the Nazi regime was trying to beat the clock that was running down by murdering as many as possible.

Victor and Ettie had come here several times before to observe the habits of their target, a captain in the Milice who resided in a beautiful château he had appropriated. He was a thief and a monster and a beast, but he looked like a small, ordinary man with pale blue eyes. It was said that no one was allowed to utter the name of the rightful owner of the house in the captain’s presence; he was simply called The Jew, or sometimes The Rich Jew. The previous resident’s family had lived in the area for hundreds of years, and Dr. Girard had known them well, and had seen them through several illnesses; he had brought their children into the world.

There was no one to care for the garden, and by now most of the flowering trees were dead. Many plants had been crushed by soldiers who didn’t bother to use the gravel paths, but walked through the flower beds instead. Nothing mattered here. There was blood in the soil, and teeth in the ground. Resistance members were brought here and tortured beside the fountain, in which there was no longer water, only black mud. The captain now in residence was a fierce anti-Semite, a ruthless local citizen who had profited greatly from his association with the Germans. Ettie and Victor had kept his identity secret from the doctor, but had Girard known, he would have been pleased by the choice.