“Any problems?” They shook their heads in unison and then laughed. There hadn't been much humor between them, or small talk, except for his question about the convent, and hers about his wife. The rest of what they had said was all related to the information they needed to share for their mission.

Someone brought them both a meal after a little while, it was thick stew made of rabbit, there was a slice of bread for each, and a cup of the bitter coffee everyone drank. The meal was nourishing and warmed them both. There was a decided chill in the air. The man known as Apollo was obviously hungry. Even Amadea ate well of the delicious stew.

They took photographs of both of them after that, for the miraculous artwork they did on passports and traveling papers. They seemed to be able to produce almost anything. Serge thought their German passports and military papers were their best work. Serge and Colonel Montgomery talked quietly in a corner for a long time, and one of the women took Amadea's measurements for the wardrobe she would need. She had no idea how, but they had ways of acquiring country dresses and suits, and elegant gowns, that were still hidden somewhere from before the war. People had relatives who had once been well dressed, and old trunks full of treasures. They even had a moderate amount of jewelry and some furs.

All of it appeared in a handsome leather suitcase two days later, along with their passports and papers, and all the necessary SS accoutrements for Apollo. He looked spectacular in the uniform and had worn it often before. They tried everything on, and it all fit perfectly. They made an impressive couple. Amadea was wearing an elegant gray wool dress that looked like one of her mother's, and a handsome string of pearls. The dress was by Mainbocher, and was in pristine condition, as was the fur coat she wore, and the stylish black hat. Remarkably, the shoes they had found for her were German. The bag was a black crocodile Hermès, and the gloves black suede and also a perfect fit. She looked like the beautifully dressed wife of a very prosperous man, which the officer he was impersonating was alleged to be. The actual officer whose name he had borrowed had been dead for two years. He had died in a boating accident on leave, and had been relatively obscure. What they needed was his name and identity. He had never been to Paris, and they were certain that no one knew him here. And even if they did, it was more than likely that the pair would get away with the charade they needed to for two days.

Colonel Montgomery needed to gather information at meetings of the Reich in Paris, and social events. Amadea was a decoy for him, and she would do her own information gathering while chatting with other women, and dancing with the senior officers at parties. Colonel Montgomery had gotten a room for them at the Crillon since it was their anniversary, and had ordered champagne and roses for her. A lovely gold and diamond Cartier watch was going to be shown off as her anniversary gift. They had thought of every detail.

“You're very generous,” she said, admiring the watch.

“Do you think so?” he asked, looking very cool and British in the SS uniform. “I think it's rather paltry myself. I frankly think you deserve a large diamond brooch or a sapphire necklace after putting up with me for five years. You're very easy to please.”

“We don't see a lot of these in the convent.” She smiled at him, still feeling like her mother in the gray wool dress and fur. She took the coat off and hung it up gingerly. Her mother had never had furs until after Amadea's father died. Before his inheritance, which had come only at the eleventh hour, they couldn't afford them. After that, she had always allowed herself one good fur coat, but no more. And a jacket for the girls when they were old enough to wear them. Amadea hadn't been near furs in years.

“Perhaps I should have gotten you rosary beads as an anniversary gift,” Colonel Montgomery continued to tease her, and this time she laughed openly.

“I'd like that very much.” And then she thought of something that she really did want to do, if they had time. “Could we go to Notre Dame?” she asked him, sounding like a wife for the first time, and he looked pleased.

“I think that could be arranged.” He wanted to take her shopping, too, or at least appear to. They were giving him quite a lot of German money to carry with him. It was going to be a lavish two days, suitable for a man of his position, and his pretty young wife. “Can you dance?” he asked her suddenly. He had forgotten about that completely. And since she had gone into the convent so young, he thought it was possible that she had never learned.

“I used to.” She smiled shyly.

“We won't dance more than we have to then. My wife always assured me I was a dreadful dancer. I'll tread all over your toes, and elegant shoes,” which of course had to be given back to whoever had lent them to her.

They shared as much information as they could in the next three days. Serge had long meetings with him. Montgomery was here to gather information on new bombs they were building, not so much technical details about the bombs themselves, although they were always welcome, as plans for the factory, the number of men manning it, storage facilities once the bombs were made, and who was in charge of the project. It was still in its early stages, but the British already knew it would have a huge impact on the war. All he needed to do in the next two days was make contact. It was a risky mission for him. If he was too well recognized, and ultimately remembered, it could jeopardize him for future missions, but he had been the only man they could send. What he was doing was essential to the war effort.

A cab was called, and they set off for the Crillon, with two handsome suitcases filled with everything they needed. Their papers were impeccable. Amadea's makeup and hair looked beautiful. She wore her long blond hair woven into a neat bun, and looked very stylish in her fashionable clothes. They looked breathtaking as they walked into the hotel. She stared when she saw their room a few minutes later, and then forced herself to clap her hands, exclaim with delight, and kiss her husband. But there were tears in her eyes when the bellman left. She had seen nothing like it since she entered the convent eight and a half years before, and it reminded her of her mother.

“None of that,” he said to her in German.

They went to Notre Dame, then Cartier, which was doing a remarkable business selling to German officers and their mistresses. He took her to lunch at Maxim's, and they went to a party at German headquarters that night. Amadea dazzled them in a white satin evening gown with a narrow diamond necklace, long white kid gloves, and rhinestone sandals. Her husband looked extremely proud of her as she was swept around the dance floor by nearly every young officer in the room, and he chatted amiably about the new munitions plans and what a challenge it would be to finish on time. He got all the information he wanted. The second night they attended a smaller dinner party at the Kommandant's home, whose wife became very fond of Amadea in a short time, got slightly drunk and extremely indiscreet, and told her everything her husband had been doing, or all she knew, and made Amadea promise to come back to Paris again soon. They were the hit of the evening by the time they went back to the Crillon for the second night, and Amadea was tempted to suggest they go back to Serge's then, but Colonel Montgomery said they had to play it out until the end and wait until the next morning.

As they had the night before, they slept in the same bed, she in a peach satin nightgown trimmed with cream-colored lace, and he in silk pajamas that were short for him, but Amadea was the only one who would know. They lay side by side in bed, whispering about the things that they had heard that night, as he debriefed her. She had picked up some important information for him, and he was immensely pleased. As they discussed the significance of it, they might as well have been sitting in an office wearing uniforms. The nightgown and pajamas meant nothing to either of them. They were operating as agents of his government, and this was work. Nothing more. They barely slept that night, and Amadea was anxious to leave the next day. She had been aware every moment of the risk they were taking, and as luxurious as their accommodations were, all she wanted was to be back in Melun on the farm.

“Not so quickly,” he chided her, always in German while they were there. “This is our anniversary. We are spending it in Paris. You don't want to leave. You adore being here with me, away from the children. You're a wonderful mother, but an even better wife.” And more than that, he realized, she was a still better agent. She had been invaluable to him for the entire two days, and he hoped to work with her again. She was brilliant at what she did, and better than she knew.

“You lied to me, by the way,” he said over breakfast in their room. They were both dressed by then, and their bags were packed. He had roughed up the sheets considerably when they got up, as she looked at him, wondering what he was doing. “We had a fabulous night of passion,” he explained with a grin. They had lain so still and so far apart that they had barely dented the sheets, and it looked like two corpses had been laid in the bed. When he was finished, it looked like quite a night, and she laughed.

“What did I lie to you about?” She looked puzzled. It was comfortable speaking German to him, although she hadn't spoken it in two years, but it felt like home again.

“You're a wonderful dancer. I saw you tripping around the room, flirting with everyone. I was extremely jealous.” He was only teasing.