Madame Johnson sat in her drawing room. On the table before her was General Matthieu's letter. She read it again, then crossed to her desk and retrieved his previous letter concerning John and Marie. Then she pressed a piece of moulding, releasing a hidden drawer. From the drawer she pulled a batch of letters, tied with a ribbon. His handwriting really hadn't changed in nearly twenty years, she thought, as she added the General's letters to those he had written as a young Lieutenant.

What was she to do now, she wondered? She did not want for security - Edward had seen to that. She felt no strong ties to Canada, and certainly not to dull, English, Orange Order Toronto. As Edward's wife, she had entrée to Toronto society, and she spoke good English with no more than a trace of a French accent. But she spent more of her time with French emigrés like Emile Darte, whose return from the French Army to his steel plant in Welland had kept Edward busy for the better part of a year. No, there was nothing that tied her to Canada.

She felt an intense longing for France, although in the midst of war it would not be the France she had left. She wanted to see her son again, knowing that he could be lost at any time. She wanted to meet Marie, whom she was certain would be her daughter-in-law, if Le Bon Dieu spared John. And there was Georges...

A call to the French consulate to renew her French passport. Surely she could book a passage out of New York for Havre, even in wartime. She could be in France in two weeks.

She looked across the room to the mirror. She looked younger than her 45 years.

It was time to begin living again.