Murder in the Latin Quarter by Susan Kiernan-Lewis Page B

said, her eyes sparkling, as Maggie pulled the cork out of the wine she’d brought.
    â€œI love takeout,” Maggie said. “To me it’s like having a picnic but Laurent calls it lazy.”
    Delphine took the glass of wine Maggie poured for her and frowned. “My nephew cooks?”
    â€œBoy, does he ever.” Maggie hesitated. “I guess you don’t know him very well?”
    Delphine arched an eyebrow. “I knew of him well enough at one time,” she said.
    Maggie was surprised. The Laurent that Delphine remembered was clearly not one she approved of.
    â€œIt was a gorgeous walk this afternoon along the Boulevard Saint-Germaine to your apartment,” Maggie said, changing the subject. “Has your family always lived in this part of Paris?”
    â€œIn the Latin Quarter? Yes,” Delphine said. “But not this neighborhood. I moved here with my husband Louis.”
    â€œWell, it’s got serious cool factor. But I guess you know that.”
    Delphine looked at Maggie as if making up her mind about something. Her glance turned to Mila, asleep in her carrier, and a smile formed on her lips.
    â€œThe Latin Quarter of my childhood,” she said, “was an artist’s mecca, comprends-tu ? Picasso, Man Ray, Hemingway, Gertrude Stein.”
    â€œIt’s still got a bohemian reputation.”
    Delphine snorted. “It is a tourist destination now. But at one time, it was like no other.”
    â€œWhat do you think changed it?”
    Delphine gazed past Maggie’s shoulder toward the foyer as if seeing something in her mind’s eye.
    â€œThe war,” she murmured. “The war changed everything.”
    â€œI can’t imagine what it must have been like.”
    Mila whimpered in her sleep and Maggie put a calming hand on her until she settled again.
    â€œI was only eighteen when the war broke out,” Delphine said. “A young girl full of life and romantic ideas.”
    â€œDid you meet your husband during the war?”
    Delphine shook her head. “Paris in war time was a city of women and old men.”
    Maggie tried to remember her history. Where were all the Frenchmen during the war?
    As if reading her mind, Delphine addressed her bowl of noodles and said, “Most of our men were placed in POW camps after the armistice was signed with Germany.”
    â€œThe armistice?”
    â€œHow is it you Americans refer to us even today? Surrender monkeys?”
    Maggie took in a sharp breath and stifled a cough into her napkin. “I…I mean, I’ve heard the term,” she said, blushing, “but I can’t imagine…I would never…”
    â€œYes, it is all very embarrassing. Even seventy years later,” Delphine said tiredly. “But what the world doesn’t know is that we French had no idea our government was making a deal with Germany! Our men fought bravely, valiantly in World War One. Did you know that?”
    Maggie shook her head.
    â€œAnd then the government just handed us over to Hitler in 1940. Not a shot fired! I am sure you knew that .”
    Maggie could see Delphine was reliving the shame of the memory.
    The Nazi occupation of Paris.
    â€œI guess it was pretty tough during that time,” Maggie said.
    Delphine nodded. “So much hardship. Always we were without the things that gave life joy. Wine. Cigarettes. Chocolate. Even our bread was made with substitutes that made it mealy and inedible.”
    Delphine reached for her glass of wine and contemplated it before drinking. “The Germans in Paris did not lack for anything, of course,” she said.
    â€œThat must have been really terrible.”
    â€œAnd as the years went on and the war refused to end—the sudden executions and constant reprisals—it was horrific. Sometime you must ask my friend Victor Rousseau for his family’s story. It wasn’t just the Jews who suffered at the hands of the