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hospitality at the same time? With apologies to Ambassador von Schoen, I call that reprehens ible. Paul, you deserve my apologies as well. Under the circumstances, Lise and I will excuse ourselves and circulate amongst the other guests.”
    As Henri began to step away, the captain took hold of his shoulder and pulled him back. “You should be more careful, Noisette. When France is controlled by Germany, I will remember your insult.” The man’s voice was harsh and threatening, his eyes black and hard.
    Paul Delancey stepped between Henri and the captain. “Heldbrigg!” he said. “You were invited here as my guest. This is my daughter’s wedding, not a time for such behaviour. Under the circumstances, I must ask you to leave.”
    Captain Heldbrigg clicked his heels together and offered a mocking salute to his host. “As you wish, Monsieur. I hope our next meeting is more cordial. Please convey my regrets to your lovely wife.”
    With the captain’s departure, Ambassador von Schoen also excused himself, mumbling something vague about needing to speak with a friend. Henri, Lise and Paul watched him disappear into the crowd.
    “I’m sorry, Paul. I shouldn’t have provoked him. Heldbrigg epitomizes all the German characteristics I dislike. Insufferable man.”
    “I know he was obnoxious, Henri, but you embarrassed us, and made Paul uncomfortable,” said Lise.
    “Don’t worry, Lise. No one else overheard, and I was actually enjoying the way Henri got under his skin. Diplomats can’t normally do that sort of thing. Not in public anyway.”

     
    Chapter 6
    June 1914
    On a hot June day, humid air pregnant with rain, their train drew into Beaufort. The screech of metal brakes, hiss of steam and loud cry of a lone conductor marked their entrance. No grand hallway bustling with porters and echoing with footsteps greeted them. No marble arches, no vendors selling croissants, no shoeshine men, no newsboys yelling the latest headlines. In fact, no one at all except a dishevelled driver waiting next to an automobile, the likes of which Helene had never seen.
    “How will the six of us fit into that?” Helene’s mother said wit h a dismissive wave of her hand.
    “I’m sure we’ll manage.” Helene’s father approached the driver. “Gaston?”
    “ Oui , Monsieur.” The man chuckled. “I’m sure I look much older than the last time you saw me. Madame Lalonde asked me to meet the train.”
    Papa had inherited the Beaufort property when his maiden aunt died six years ago, and Madame Lalonde, who oversaw Tante Camille’s house, had prepared it for their arrival. But who was this man? Whiskered, angular, bow-legged, an Adam’s apple that bobbed every time he spoke, the man looked nothing like the drivers they used in Paris. Helene knew it was rude to stare, so she shifted her gaze to the pile of suitcases and boxes they had brought with them and began to count.
    “If Monsieur will agree, I think it best for me to take passengers first and return for your baggage.”
    “Hmmm. You’re right. We haven’t a hope of fitting everything in. What sort of automobile is this?”
    “Tonneau, Monsieur. Built in 1903. Your aunt was very proud of it. God bless her soul.”
    Papa walked all around the vehicle. The Tonneau was red, the colour of ripe cherries. And it had no roof. Instead, it looked like a fancy horse-drawn carriage without the horse. On the driver’s side, a large bulbous horn sat ready to clear the way with a purposeful squeeze, and the polished wooden handle of a steering stick protruded where the driver would sit. Brass-encased lanterns were mounted near the front wheels, and large wicker baskets were strapped to e ither side. Crude metal springs positioned above the rear wheels promised passengers a modicum of comfort.
    “Was it always red?”
    “Always, Monsieur.” Gaston held out his hand first to Helene’s grandmother and then to her mother, assisting them into the backseat. Helene scrambled in after