Lucien watched Camille looking out the window, but not at the Germans. She moved from window to window, scanning the entire farm.
“What are you doing?” he asked, her behavior perplexing.
“I’m making sure no Germans are coming.”
“Weren’t those two enough?” he asked. “They were Gestapo.”
“They’ll be back,” she said simply.
She returned to the window nearest him, studying the barn and outbuildings. She looked toward the stream and the abandoned French troop truck.
“Isn’t it odd that they’re looking for a blonde woman who arrived on my farm on the same day that you did?”
“They checked where the soldiers camped and where we found Henry,” she said, not replying.
“But didn’t they keep looking across the field to an abandoned car on the highway?”
“Do you have more petrol?” she asked, stil
