helped a man he wants very badly. If that is true, you are in a great deal of trouble.
Colonel Mueller neither forgives nor forgets.” He looked at Noelle. “On the other hand,”
he said carefully, “if you should not see your friend again, this whole thing could simply
blow over. Would you like a cognac?”
“Please,” Noelle said.
He ordered two Napoleon brandies. “How long have you been living with Armand
Gautier?”
“I am sure you know the answer to that,” Noelle replied.
General Scheider smiled. “As a matter of fact, I do. What I really wanted to ask you
is why you refused to have dinner with me before. Was it because of Gautier?”
Noelle shook her head. “No.”
“I see,” he said stiffly. There was a note in his voice that surprised her.
“Paris is full of women,” Noelle said. “I am sure you could have your pick.”
“You don’t know me,” the General said quietly, “or you wouldn’t have said that.” He
sounded embarrassed. “I have a wife and child in Berlin. I love them very much, but I
have been away from them for more than a year now, and I have no idea when I will see
them again.”
“Who forced you to come to Paris?” Noelle asked cruelly.
“I was not making a bid for sympathy. I just wanted to explain myself a little. I am
not a promiscuous man. The first time I saw you on the stage,” he said, “something
happened to me. I felt I wanted to know you very much. I would like us to be good
friends.”
There was a quiet dignity about the way he spoke.
“I can promise nothing,” Noelle said.
He nodded. “I understand.”
But of course he did not. Because Noelle intended never to see him again. General
Scheider tactfully changed the conversation and they talked of acting and the theater, and
Noelle found him surprisingly knowledgeable. He had an eclectic mind and a deep
intelligence. Casually he ranged from topic to topic, pointing out the mutual interests that
the two of them shared. It was a skillful performance and Noelle was amused. He had
gone to a great deal of trouble to learn about her background. He looked every inch the
German General in his olive-green uniform, strong and authoritative, but there was a
gentleness that bespoke another kind of man altogether, an intellectual quality that
belonged to the scholar rather than the soldier. And yet there was the scar running across
his face.
“How did you get your scar?” Noelle asked.
He ran his finger along the deep incision. “I was in a duel many years ago,” he