"I reject her kind of game. It always gets sticky. Your friends become suspect; your peace of mind is shattered ... it's, umm, ah, bad." He smoked thoughtfully. "War is preferable to that kind of deceit. I don't want to blackmail my brain..."
For Orville the relationship was becoming meaningful; he wanted to continue talking, and as they talked he began to confide:
" ... You understand how our draft works ... you see, I was drafted ... I tried to make myself believe in personal sacrifice ... sure, sure, we would accomplish great things--world progress. I hardly knew what Nazism was. Okay. Invasion. Rescue Europe. To hell with Rommel. Ike and de Gaulle! I thought of you and Lena and Aunt Therèse ... my Ermenonville. I knew that France was having it rough ...
"At Cornell I got the architecture bug ... sure, a job ... a life doing churches, houses, barns, silos. That was my idea of freedom. If you ask me what freedom is I don't know anymore. Right now ... now I'm shackled ... this killing business has me!"
Orville attempted to analyze his uncle's face: was he betraying himself, hurting Ronde?
Bombers roared over the house, but when it was quiet he continued:
"I have visited Dad's grave. I've been re-thinking ... why is he dead and why am I living?"
The colonel shook his head, and puffed his cigar.
"You've something to live for," he said. "You have your Jean. It's a matter of weeks, Orville, because Nazi Germany is collapsing ... only a matter of weeks. You must manage to stay alive. Look, you are fighting criminals, not soldiers. There's a prison named Auschwitz where the Nazis are murdering thousands of Jews, innocents, women, kids. German factories employ slave labor..."
The clock on the mantel chimed three: Claude was laying a fire in a fireplace and glanced at the clock and then at the men: he had placed liqueurs on the table but they were unaware.