~ 1 ~
1927 Paris
"Maman, what do all these grown-ups do dressed for church every day?" Ten-year-old Marie-France was accustomed to a small, rustic population busy with the chores of agriculture. In Paris, there were no pastures for cows or sheep to graze, no wasteland where goats could thrive, no olive groves, no fields of lavender or grain, no mills, no vineyards or orchards-just tall buildings and people everywhere. The only animals she had seen were horses pulling carriages and wagons or perfumed poodles on jeweled leashes.
Mme. Mirage laughed. "Trade, Precious. Businessmen dress like that. Things we produce at home and products from all over France and elsewhere in Europe are sold around the world. We buy goods from places as far away as China and America. These people arrange that commerce. Some come from faraway places and stay in our hotel." She raised her eyebrows and nodded.
"Oh!"
Emmanuelle Mirage had trouble adjusting to big-city ways too. She was annoyed with the hectic pace and confused by all the rules. On the first day of school, she dressed Marie-France in the wrong uniform.
The class laughed when the nun scolded Marie-France. Children teased her about her lisping provincial speech and old-fashioned hairstyle. Constance Klein was the only classmate who was nice to her.
At recess, Constance asked if she could brush Marie-France's hair. "This is the fashion now. You'll like it. Everyone thinks you're beautiful; they're just jealous. What lovely eyes you have." Marie-France smiled shyly as Constance fluffed her hair. "On the Équinoxe d'automne we begin wearing our winter uniforms; we change to our summer uniforms again after Easter."
As the girls waited on the sidewalk after school, boys would often run past and shout in their faces, "Bow-wow!"
Marie-France stared at the boys as they walked away laughing. "Do they do that to frighten me?"
Constance lowered her eyes. "No. They're barking at me because I'm ug-" She turned away. "Because I'm an Israelite." She then changed the subject and with a ready laugh made some suggestion about avoiding provincial colloquialisms. Reading aloud and reciting poetry together, Constance helped Marie-France overcome the lisp that Emmanuelle thought was so charming. Marie-France liked her new friend more and more. Constance was not as pretty as she, but she was not ugly.
One day, Sister Roselyne made an announcement to the class, "Children, I've just learned from Father Valentin that his student André Joseph and your classmate Marie-France are children of France's great hero Colonel François Joseph Mirage. Please forgive me, Marie-France, for not realizing that. Your father has a very special place in all our hearts."
Two days later, the father of one of the students accompanied his son to school. One of the man's arms was missing; he had folded the sleeve of his coat up and pinned it at the shoulder with his Croix de Guerre. He had a box of chocolates for Marie-France.
Sister Roselyn lifted the pointer that she often used to awaken dozing students. "Marie-France, please come forward." Marie-France took M. Dubreil's hand, curtsied, and offered her cheeks for his kisses. She had wondered about a classmate named François Mirage Dubreil. "Thank you, child." Sister Roselyn pointed again. "Monsieur, would you care to address the class; I'm sure the children would like to hear some of your war experiences."
The man was in tears as he told the story of Colonel Mirage saving his life. "Under heavy enemy fire and with total disregard for his own welfare, Lt. Mirage-he was only a lieutenant then, fresh out of the academy, but he left the security of the trenches and crawled to where I'd fallen. I was completely helpless and bleeding badly. The lieutenant dragged me back to safety and carried me in his arms to triage. I would surely have bled to death or died of shock, had not this girl's father ignored battlefield procedure and come to the aid of a common foot-soldier." M. Dubreil blotted his eyes.
