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the luxurious goods laid out in the brightly lit store windows, or to make a quip about a patron in one of the many cafés lining the street. When they reached the Arc de Triomphe at the end of the avenue, Martha pulled out her guidebook and added to Leo’s knowledge of that famous landmark, then they settled into a small bistro for a snack and a pre-dinner cocktail.
    “To you, Martha Levy, and the fates that brought us together today,” Leo said as he raised his glass. She laughed. I could spend my life listening to her laugh, he thought. Maybe I’ll be able to do just that.
    “So tell me more about yourself,” she said after taking a sip of her drink. “I think the inquisition has been a little one-sided so far.”
    “Ask me anything.”
    “Well, does your family come from Budapest?”
    He pondered all the imprecise answers he usually gave that question, and thought at first that he would resort to one again, but then found himself telling her the truth. “No. I was born in a very insignificant village not far from what used to the Austrian border. My fatherwas the blacksmith on the local baron’s estate. When I was twelve, a student from the university came to start a small school. I impressed him and he brought me to Budapest, where I lived with him and his sister until…until after the war.”
    “And your parents just let you go?”
    He shrugged. “I was a very different sort of child, and my parents made it very clear that being different was dangerous. In fact I’ve sometimes wondered if I was actually my father’s son. Good God, I’ve never mentioned that to anyone.”
    She reached for his hand and gave it a quick squeeze. “I know what it’s like to be different. My father and my sister are so very…German.”
    He smiled at her. “And you’re not?”
    “Not like them.” She glanced at her watch. “Oh, no! I didn’t realize it was so late. I have to leave now to get back by eight.”
    “May I escort you?”
    “I don’t think so. The family I’m staying with would be a bit surprised to see me return accompanied by a man. But, thank you.”
    “When will I see you again?”
    “Do you want to?”
    “Do you have any doubt about that?”
    She looked down at the table. “No,” she whispered.
    “Good.” He came around the table and pulled back her chair, but when she stood up he did not move away. She turned to face him. They gazed at each other, the strength of their desire enveloping them like a shared baptism. Then his hands were cupping both of her cheeks, tilting her face upward as he brought his lips closer to hers.
    Leo wanted to devour her then and there, but they were surroundedby far too many amused French eyes pretending not to watch them. All he could do was briefly touch her lips with his own.
    “Can you meet me at the Madeleine tomorrow? Around five o’clock?” he asked, still just inches from her face.
    “Nothing could keep me away.”
     
    He fell asleep thinking of Martha, hoping he would dream about her, but the war came back to him that night. He was huddled at the bottom of a frozen trench, surrounded by faces that were no longer human, their features distorted by the ravages of toxic gas. Other men scuttled like rats among the dead bodies of their own comrades-at-arms, risking execution for the chance they might find something of value they could use to obtain cigarettes or extra rations on the black market. And he saw again the real rats, fat and defiant, waiting for men to die, or brazenly feasting on men not yet dead, no longer afraid of their screams.
    He awoke bathed in sweat despite the cold December air. Gradually, the cacophonous symphony of an urban morning replaced the sound of mortar fire. He blinked. He was lost. Then he remembered. He was in Paris. He’d met Martha. And today he’d finally have a chance to impress some very important men. It was shaping up to be the best day he’d had in a very, very long time.
    At eleven o’clock he entered the