And Inès could not, not anymore. At home, while Michel snored beside her, she lay awake, trying to bat away the voices in her head that asked questions she didn’t want to answer. The explanation Antoine had given her about the first round of Jewish deportations in July no longer made sense to her, given the Germans’ increasingly aggressive anti-Semitism. And what about the fact that all the Nazis seemed to be living la belle vie, while the French were going hungry, freezing to death in the cold? With another winter approaching, how could Antoine so calmly look the other way?

On a rainy Friday night in early October, Inès was lying in Antoine’s arms after another sumptuous meal when she heard the roar of several trucks outside, the screeching of brakes on the street below. Antoine was snoring, and at first he didn’t stir when she tried to wake him.

“Antoine!” she hissed again, shaking him, and he opened his eyes at last.

“Marie?” he called out, and Inès tensed, for it was a name he’d said before, in those foggy first seconds of consciousness.

“No, it’s me,” she said, trying to keep the hurt out of her tone. “Inès.” She didn’t know who Marie was, but Inès had long understood that she might not be Antoine’s only lover.

“Yes, yes, of course, that’s what I said.” There was a perturbed note to Antoine’s voice as he sat up and reached for his trousers, which were hanging from the edge of the bed. “Well, what is it?”

“I think something is going on outside.”

Antoine climbed out of bed and moved to the window. “Yes. It’s happening,” he said.

“What is?” She joined him, wrapping a blanket around her naked body, and she gasped when she realized what he was looking at.

On the street below, in blackness lit only by the moon overhead and a few flashlights, uniformed Germans were dragging children from the building across the way toward French police vehicles. There were four of them, all boys, ranging from perhaps seven to fourteen. The smallest was tiny, scrawny, with a thick shock of black hair, and as he kicked and screamed and tried to shake his captor off, one of the Germans backhanded him across the face. Inès gasped as his little body went limp. He was thrown into the car with the others.

“What is this, Antoine?” Inès finally managed to whisper past the lump in her throat, but she already knew, even before he answered her.

“Jews,” he said without looking at her.

“Where are they taking them?”

“Drancy, probably.” His tone was flat. “An internment camp just northeast of Paris.”

“But what about their parents?”

“Already deported, most likely. There are situations like this all over, children who shouldn’t have been allowed to remain unattended when their parents were arrested. The authorities are finally remedying the problem.”

“But . . . they’re just boys.”

Antoine finally turned to her. “It’s not a perfect system. But with winter coming, they’ll be safer with their mothers and fathers.”

“But—”

“It’s not for us to worry about, dear.” His jaw was set, his eyebrows drawn together. “It’s not just children tonight, anyhow. It’s another roundup, like the one in July.”

“Another roundup?” Inès felt breathless.

“Yes, my dear. Standard procedure. Now, shall we return to bed?”

But Inès couldn’t imagine sleeping, not now. What would happen to those poor children? And what if the arrests were broader this time, encompassing more than just foreign Jews suspected of wrongdoing? What if Céline was in danger? “I—I have to get home,” she said.

“In the middle of the night? Are you mad?”

“No. I—I just have to get back, that’s all.”

Antoine studied her. “Ah. Is this about the Jewish woman who lives on your husband’s property?”

Inès was suddenly light-headed. “I—I’ve never mentioned that there’s a Jewish woman there. How would you know that?”

“There aren’t so many Jews who live in the Marne, Inès. Certain people who have seen us together have made me aware. To be honest, it’s been somewhat problematic for me. I’ve had to explain that you have nothing to do with harboring her.”

Inès gripped the window frame for support. She didn’t know where to begin. She felt sick to her stomach. “Antoine, Céline has done absolutely nothing wrong. Anyhow, I’m not harboring anyone. She has every right to be here.”

“Don’t worry, ma chère. Like the last deportation, this one is just for foreign Jews, and she was born in France, yes?”

Her head spun. “So you knew about it all along? The arrests tonight?”

Antoine shrugged. “I know about a lot of things. See, Inès, didn’t I tell you how helpful it is to be on the right side? With me?”

Outside the window, the police cars were pulling away. “And Céline? Is she safe for now? Or are your friends coming for her, too?”

Something in Antoine’s expression changed, and Inès realized too late she had misstepped. When his smile reappeared, it was cold. “Oh, my friends might come for her at some point, but not tonight.” He put a hand on her upper arm. “Now, I will ask you again: Shall we return to bed?”