Camille watched from the window as the last of the Germans filtered past. They moved quickly, down the dirt lane that had been deserted a month before, soon to be deserted again. She went out the front door and stood in the yard, looking in both directions. More Germans were coming down the road, but farther away. She went back in the house and into the spare room.
“He’s not doing as well as I had hoped,” Lucien said as she entered.
Henry Green was sprawled on the floor. He had been asleep in the closet, crouched up against the door.
“What’s wrong?” Camille asked, looking at the Englishman. She went to the window, watching the enemy approach. “He was fine when I left.”
“He’s warm, a fever. Maybe infection.”
“Be careful,” she warned, still at the window. “More Germans.”
“Where are the
