Marc stood up from his stool, and approached the Sergeant. He knew based on the ticking sound that he had something in his left breast pocket. Given the rarity of time pieces in the field, Marc deduced that it must have been important.

So he took the photograph, and opened Murphy’s right pocket. It contained a field notebook which he used to protect the picture. Marc then promptly buttoned the pocket and backed away.

“Let this picture remind you that you once felt the gentle breeze of a woman,” Marc said. “Cherish those memories, you may find they’ll lead into the light some day.”

At that moment Sergeant Murphy understood perfectly what the Colonel had to say.

“…Well, thank you for opening my eyes, Sir,” Murphy said while trying to hand him back the picture.

“Keep it,” Marc said.

“I can’t—(possibly accept this).”

“You can,” Marc said. “Evelyn would love for you to have it. Besides, let it serve you as a reminder.”

“Being?”

“You might be able to grasp her, to contain her energy, but she’ll always slip through your fingers leaving only a distant memory to cherish,” Marc added.

Murphy appeared to be deep in thought, but years of dogma would not be easy to dispel.

“You’re not concerned that someone will covet her and that she’ll leave you, Sir?” Murphy asked.

“I can no more control the hearts of men then I can control her,” Marc said. “However, I can say with certainty that no other man will ever find a place in her heart and that’s enough for me.”

Marc chuckled before saying, “Ever tried to hold back the wind?”

There was a glow of recognition in the Sergeant’s eyes. It was clear that this man spent time reading the Bible. Which might explain his reaction.

“Sir?”

“My Evelyn, like many women, is a force of nature. While a lady, her head is always swirling with ideas and emotions that dance like gusts across a still pond.”

Marc was counting himself lucky that he had not been up too long. Embracing le Marquis for this long was starting to wear him down.

“You might be able to grasp her, to contain her energy, but she’ll always slip through your fingers leaving only a distant memory to cherish,” Marc added.

“Something like that,” Marc said.

His answer appeared to appease the Sergeant’s mind. Still something lingered in those eyes, and Marc found himself ill equipped to reason out.

“You let her pose like that?”

Marc chuckled before saying, “Ever tried to hold back the wind?”

“She’s beautiful,” Murphy managed to say after gulping.

“Thank you,” Marc said. “She’s a courtesan.”

Sometimes it was easier to work with the truth. Even if I have to glaze over the specifics.

“Like the Mata Hari?” The Sergeant asked.

That was a reference to a particularly popular courtesan in Paris, who was rumoured to be spying for Germany. Marc had seen her perform, and like Evelyn, she knew how to put on a show.

“Something like that,” Marc said.