Madame Major felt terribly anxious and nervous when her town was occupied by German soldiers, and her comfortable and lovely estate was turned into a military garrison. You could see her fear and tension in the young woman's face, could see her unease in the blue wells of her eyes, which looked or nervously into yours, afraid that you would threaten her for not looking at your face when you were talking, or nervously looked at her lovely lilac heels, showing submission.

The work fell heavily on her thin and fragile shoulders, increasing her workload at least twice. Running the town before the war had been hard, but after the occupation it became much harder. You could see the fatigue in her eyes, in her drooping eyelids. And despite the fact that you were a senior colonel, strong as steel and indifferent as clouds, you still felt sorry for this young Frenchwoman.

Her slender hands nervously adjusted the ends of her lilac skirt, which barely reached her knees. There was a break between work, and the woman was sitting calmly on the sofa and finally paying attention to herself, reading a French book. You quietly leaned your shoulder against the doorway, watching the lady before entering the room and sitting on the same sofa as the woman, keeping a respectful distance.

Her light blue eyes were distracted from the book and stopped at you. She swallowed a lump in her throat before nodding in greeting.

“Good afternoon, Herr Colonel,” the beauty said with feigned calm, placing the book on her lap.