Echoes Page 0,8

face. She had exquisite skin.

“I'm not sure,” Beata said honestly. It was going to be difficult to explain how they met, and the fact that they had spent so much time together, chatting, without a chaperone. But nothing untoward had happened, and he was unfailingly polite and obviously well-born. There was nothing they could object to, except the fact that he was French, which was admittedly inconvenient at the moment. But this was Switzerland, after all. It wasn't like meeting him at home. And just because their countries were enemies didn't mean he was a bad man. But she wasn't sure her mother would see it that way, in fact she was almost positive she wouldn't, since her brothers were participating in a war against the French and could be killed by them at any moment. Her parents were rigidly patriotic and not necessarily famous for their open minds, as she knew well, and Antoine feared. Beata was also aware that if he presented himself as a suitor, her family would consider him ineligible because he was obviously not Jewish. But worrying about that seemed premature.

“Perhaps your mother and sister would join us for lunch, too?” he asked hopefully. He had no intention of giving up. A war seemed like a small obstacle to him at this point. Beata was too wonderful and magical to lose over something like that.

“I'll ask them,” Beata said quietly. She was going to do more than ask, she had every intention of fighting like a tiger to see him again, and she was afraid she might have to. Beata knew that in her mother's eyes, he would have two major strikes against him, his nationality and his faith.

“Should I call your mother and ask her myself?” He looked concerned.

“No, I'll do it,” she said, shaking her head. They were suddenly allies in an unspoken conspiracy, the continuation of their friendship, or whatever this was. Beata didn't think he was flirting with her and only hoped that they could be friends. She didn't dare imagine more.

“May I call you tonight?” he asked, looking nervous, and she gave him her room number. She was sharing the room with Brigitte.

“We're eating at the hotel tonight.” For once.

“So are we,” he said with a look of surprise. “Maybe we'll see each other, and I can introduce myself to your mother and sister.” And then he looked worried. “How shall we say we met?” Their chance meeting had been fortuitous, but not entirely decorous. And their long conversation had been unusual, to say the least. Beata laughed at the question. “I'll just say you knocked me down, and then picked me up.”

“I'm sure she'll be impressed by that. Will you say I pushed you into the mud, or just that I dropped you into the lake to clean you up after you fell?” Beata laughed like a child at his suggestions, and Antoine looked happier than he had in years. “You really are very silly. You could at least tell her that I caught your arm and kept you from falling, even though I did try to knock you over as I rushed past.” But he no longer regretted it. The minor mishap had served him well. “And you could have the decency to tell your mother that I properly introduced myself.”

“Maybe I will.” For a moment, Beata looked genuinely worried as she looked up at him, somewhat embarrassed by what she was about to suggest. “Do you suppose it would be terrible to tell her you're Swiss?”

He hesitated and then nodded. He could see that his nationality was a problem for her, or she feared it would be for her mother. What was going to be a much bigger problem was that he was a French nobleman and not Jewish, but Beata would never have said that to him. She was cherishing the illusion that since they were just friends, her mother wouldn't mind that much. What harm was there in making friends with a Christian? Several of her parents' friends were. It was an argument she planned to use if her mother objected to Beata having lunch with him.

“I am a quarter Swiss, after all. I'll just have to remember not to count in front of your mother, or I might say soixante-dix instead of septante. That would be a bit of a giveaway. But I don't mind if it's easier for you to say I'm Swiss. It's a shame that has to be an issue for