Read Crossings for Free Online Page B

damp. She was fond of Liane, and well aware that before they met again, the welfare of both countries might be jeopardized in terrifying ways.
    “And to you.” The two women had hugged, and then Liane had slipped into the Citroen beside her husband for the short drive to the Embassy, which was still their home.
    When they reached their front door, the chauffeur escorted them inside, and, as always, two guards waited, bid them good night, and then disappeared to their own quarters, where all appeared to be silent. The servants had all gone to bed, and it was long past the hours when the children would be up. But as they made their way toward their rooms, Liane smiled at her husband, tugged at his sleeve, and put a finger to her lips. She had heard a rapid shuffling and the click of a light.
    “Qu'est-ce qu'il y a?” he whispered. He was less attuned than Liane to what she was hearing, but she swiftly opened the door to Marie-Ange's room with a broad smile.
    “Good evening, ladies.” She spoke in a normal voice, and Armand thought she was crazy, but then suddenly there was an eruption of giggles and scurrying feet. Both girls had been hiding in Marie-Ange's bed, and now they ran toward their parents with laughter and excitement.
    “Did you bring us any cookies?”
    “Of course not!” Armand still looked shocked. Liane knew her daughters better than anyone, and it always amused him how well she did so. He began to smile now too. “What are you doing up? And where is Mademoiselle?” Their nurse was supposed to see that they went to bed and stayed there. Mutiny against her was a difficult task, as they all knew, but now and then the girls succeeded, with enormous delight.
    “She's sleeping. And it was so hot …” Elisabeth looked up at him with the wide blue eyes of her mother, and as always, something deep inside Armand melted as he looked at her and then picked her up in his powerful arms. He was a tall, well-built man, and even in his mid-fifties he had a physique and a strength that suggested youth. Only the lines in his face, and the full mane of well-combed white hair, indicated his years, but his daughters were oblivious of the fact that their father was so much older than their mother. All they cared about was that he was their papa, and they adored him, just as he adored them.
    “You're very naughty to be up so late. What have you both been doing?” He knew that Marie-Ange would have started the revolution and Elisabeth was only too happy to follow. That much he knew of his daughters, and he was quite right. As he watched them Liane switched on the light, and what they saw was a sea of toys pulled out of the boxes and trunks where they had been packed. The room was filled with steamer trunks packed with the girls' dresses, coats, hats, and shoes. Liane always bought them in Paris.
    “Oh, my God,” Liane groaned. They had unpacked everything but their clothes. “What in heaven's name were you doing?”
    “Looking for Marianne.” Elisabeth said it in a saintly little voice and looked up at her mother with a smile bereft of front teeth.
    “You knew I didn't pack her.” Marianne was Elisabeth's favorite doll. “She's on the table in your room.”
    “She is?” But both girls began to giggle. They had just been having fun. And their father looked at them as though he would scold them, but he didn't have the heart to, they were too full of life and too much like their mother for him to ever really get very angry at them. And he had no reason to. Mademoiselle ruled them with an iron hand, and Liane was a marvelous mother. It allowed him to enjoy them without having to play the ogre. But nonetheless he admonished them now for a moment in French. He told them that they had to help their mother with the packing, not take everything apart. They had to get everything ready, he reminded them, because they were leaving for New York in two days.
    “But we don't want to go to New York.” Marie-Ange looked up