“I’m sorry to hear it. The war has been very hard on her,” he said sympathetically, although they both knew that it had killed countless others. But it had clearly destroyed her mother’s nerves and health, particularly since the death of her husband and son two years before. “And you are all right?” he asked, looking at Gaëlle in a way he never had before. It made her feel strange for a minute, as though he was suddenly seeing her as a woman and an equal, which made her uneasy. “You must miss your father and brother very much,” he said, as she grew increasingly nervous about what he had in mind. For the first time, she felt extremely unsafe and vulnerable with him, and she just prayed he wasn’t going to rape her. She tried to look serious, respectful, and chilly all at the same time, but all she looked was beautiful and young, especially to him. Gaëlle knew that he had been widowed almost since the beginning of the war, and didn’t appear to be a womanizer. Unlike many of the other officers, he never caroused with the local women, and was unusually discreet and polite.
“I do miss them,” Gaëlle admitted, trying not to open up to him. Her feelings and her losses were none of his business, since he was responsible for her father’s death, and indirectly for the disappearance of the Feldmanns, and so many others.
“I believe that you are very loyal to your country,” he said carefully, and for an instant a tremor of terror ran through her, and she wondered if he had heard of her activities for the OSE, helping Jewish children all over France.
“Yes, I am,” she said quietly. Her face gave nothing away.
“And you’ve grown up with beautiful things here at the château. You are fortunate that your country has so many national treasures. Germany does too, but I’m afraid that my colleagues and countrymen have been greedy while they were here.” She had no idea where he was going with the conversation, and he had a look of pain and regret in his eyes when he said it. He had thought long and hard before summoning her, but he could think of no other way to execute the plan he had in mind. There was no one he truly trusted on his staff, and he had been careful not to make any friends among the locals, so he couldn’t be accused of disloyalty later. He was a German to the core, although he disagreed with many of the orders they carried out. “How do you feel about your national treasures? The famous artwork of France?” he asked her directly, emphasizing the word “treasures,” and she looked confused. She couldn’t see the purpose of his questions. But at least he wasn’t asking her about the children she had transported, which would have been the prelude to her being executed, like her father, although it was a risk she had long since decided to take. Their young lives, and so many of them, seemed worth more than hers.
“I think we’re fortunate to have what we do in France,” she said benignly. She hadn’t been in a museum since the war began, and their national treasures were the last thing on her mind, but they were very much on his.
“So do I,” he said, smiling at her, and he looked fatherly when he did, and as though they were allies somehow, which was clearly not the case. She wondered if this was some kind of ruse to entrap her, and hoped it wasn’t. “And unlike my countrymen, I believe that the art of France belongs in France, and should stay here, not be sent to Germany, where many important works and artifacts are being sent, particularly in recent months.” He deplored the trainloads of priceless art that had left France to be divided among the connoisseurs of the High Command. The Fuehrer had always been passionate about art and was designing a new national museum in Linz, Austria. “Some of the pieces that are being sent to Germany have been taken from museums. Others are from private collections that have been seized by the Reich,” he explained. “I don’t believe that is right,” he said seriously. “I would like you to help me with a project, Mademoiselle de Barbet. A friend of mine in Paris in the High Command of the SS wishes to rescue what artifacts we can, preserve them here, and return them after the war to your government, or the national museums they came from. Those that came from private collections could be returned to the owners who claim them. Your national museums could keep them until then. Would you be willing to help me with that?” She looked at him, stunned by what he said.
“Are you asking me to steal them for you?” she asked in a hoarse voice. “I’d be shot.”
“Indeed you would. And ‘stealing’ is too big a word, when we are talking about preserving national treasures for the government and collectors to whom they rightfully belong. No, I don’t want you to steal them. They’ve already been stolen once. My friend has been asked by fellow officers to ship a number of important paintings to Germany. He has been able to divert some of them, and even put many in a vault, which he will turn over to the French government before we leave. And there are others for which he wants to find a safe home in France, temporarily. If you join me in this, I would like to pass these paintings on to you, quietly, and ask you to return all of them to the Louvre in Paris when we’re gone. They would return those from private homes, when someone tries to trace them. I think you’re an honest young woman with high morals, and I trust you with these important works of art. And if you ally with me, no one must know what we’re doing, or we’ll both be shot,” he said bluntly, using her own words.
“Where would I hide them?” Gaëlle looked shocked.
“Somewhere on the estate. I leave that up to you. I will give you rolled-up canvases, preferably small ones. My friend has made arrangements for the larger works in Paris. You must conceal what I give you somewhere safe, and return them after we leave, because we will be withdrawing in the next few months. That’s not official of course, but we all see it coming, which is why the men in Paris, and even here, are stealing everything they can, as final souvenirs. But these would be very important souvenirs, too much so for any individual to own. And we have no right to them as spoils of war. Will you do this with me, Mademoiselle? I think this could be very important for your country.” It was his private way of making restitution. She was silent for a long moment, as she looked at him, trying to decide if she should agree to go along with his plan, or was it a trap to incriminate her? But it seemed dangerous to turn him down, and if he meant what he said, it was a brave and noble thing to do, and he rose in her esteem, particularly since many of the paintings that had been taken had belonged to deported Jews, and he seemed to hope that the Louvre would return them once they were claimed.