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She stared at it for a moment, then laughed with pleasure. She wiped her hands on her apron and set the beret on her head, pulling it down to one side. He followed her into the sitting room, where there was a large mirror above a sideboard. She adjusted the beret to a jauntier angle.

“Oh, if only I had had my beret at Koenigsberg! I had the red socks I was wearing when we were arrested. But soon they were thin and faded.”

“I bought myself a beret too, like the one I had in ’44.” He slapped on his black one, and she reached up to position it for him.

“That’s better,” she said, touching the back of her hand gently to his temple.

“Julien Baudouin,” he said, saluting their images in the mirror. “Stonemason, from Blois. Or was I a bricklayer?”

“I’d recognize you anywhere.”

They stared into the mirror together and laughed at themselves.

“I hope this isn’t inappropriate,” he said. “I heard that a fascist youth group wore blue berets. Can that be true?”

“They were not significant,” she said, brushing away the idea. “And the blue beret was only my school hat.”

“I remember in the Pyrenees, the Basques wore their berets laid flat on top of their heads,” he said.

“That’s the Basque way. I think their beret must fly off.” She laughed and removed her beret. She set it on a chair and smiled up at him, maybe remembering the day she guided a young pilot out of the train station.

He felt at ease with her. He wanted to hold her all day. But she awed him. What would she expect of him?

She finished the green beans and led him out to sit on the terrace with the omnipresent Bernard, who seemed to stay closer to her since last evening. Marshall sat in a wicker chair, and she sat in a chaise longue with her feet up, her hands folded.

“I have a proposal,” she said, her smile holding a hint of mischief. “For us.”

“What?”

“Our hike the other day was like an excursion for schoolgirls. We need something more vigorous!”

“Where to?” He shaded his eyes from the sun’s glare.

“A real hike. Across the Pyrenees to Spain!”

He was flabbergasted.

“Mon Dieu, Annette, why would I want to do that again?”

“We could go together.”

“The last place on earth I’d want to take you! It was torture.”

“It would be different now. You had to sneak over at night on smugglers’ paths, while pursued by Germans!” Her hands were moving enthusiastically, like butterflies courting.

“It was an adventure, bien sûr!”

“Didn’t you tell me it was a ‘breeze’?” she asked teasingly.

“I was being macho, I guess. You know—manly.”

“Eh oui,” she said.

“But why would we want to go there now?”

She rose from her chair and leaned close to him, her hand on his shoulder. “My family sent so many boys over the mountains—the aviateurs. And we didn’t know how the crossing went for them.”

“Oh. You want to go through that?”

“Oh, it wouldn’t be the same thing—the trails are very good now—but it is the idea of going to that place.” She ruffled his hair. “We will search for some maps. It will be a breeze.”

“Are you serious? Could you do it? Could I?”

“Dédée de Jongh did it more than thirty times in the war. In the dark! She was young, to be sure, but we must not surrender to age. She followed the route with the roaring river to cross, but we can follow a different way. You know about Dédée, do you not?”

“Yes, I do.” He recalled Nicolas telling him about the Belgian woman who organized one of the first escape lines for airmen. “Won’t we need a clandestine, a passeur—one of those mountain guides?” he joked.

She laughed. “But we don’t have to be smuggled, Marshall! The trails are good now, and well marked. We can join a hiking group. And now is the best time to go. The snows are melted. People will be out on the trails. It will be merry!”

She sat on his knee for a moment and hugged him, then jumped up and stood facing him. Her face glowed in the late-afternoon sunlight.

“We could go to the national park,” she said. “We could even go through Andorra. Or we could take the easiest way, down below Perpignan along the Mediterranean. You see, I have studied this matter.”

“Will there