“Frau Wojik, we are not familiar with one another so I will introduce myself a little. First, I am not a married woman and have no plans to be attached further to any man.  My roots are from France as you can tell by my surname and I am a nurse. I live and work in this area of Munich because the small monthly inheritance I receive only covers the rent on a flat in this low area of town. I have worked in that clinic for many years, long before being a Jew was considered a crime against the Fatherland.”<br/><br/>Yvonne maintained a smile that had more to do with her own entertainment of it than niceties, true or improvised.  She only felt slight strain at the healers ignorance.  The Fatherland was on no consequence in the scope of the true Father and it was the crimes against Him that needed to be brought to His justice, but she had the awareness to know better than make note with a comment of it at this time.  Instead she continued smiling, enjoying its secret reasons.<br/><br/>"All the more that I am here, then."<br/><br/>What was important to note was the way her attention wavered to Herr Kohler... and his when he spoke.  She did not miss the way he stared at<span style="font-style: italic">mademoiselle</span>Devereaux's shoulders, or that sometimes he would lower his eyelids to the armchair then lift his gaze to her arms, back, or shoulders again.  A cold gaze from the man was then shifted to look at the alleged respondent, his eyes locking with hers as a tight smile curled up one corner of the Nazi's lips, giving a threatening edge to his commentary of disease and destruction.  A lover scorned, maybe?  Wójcik was irritated with the complexities to which she was not privy.  This was something to be reported along, and she was smart enough to know better than wait for more details; at the least this implied all the atrocities the officer posed in his<span style="font-style: italic">query</span>and damnation to both hypocrites.  At most, though?  The sense she took from him left that indefinite.<br/><br/>The speaking man's comrade focused on the woman, eagerly awaiting her confession.  Yvonne's smile took it's place solidly once more.  He would never get it.  Mam'selle Devereaux was not innocent, but she was not party to the things which she was being accused - or prompted, as it were - and she was of better use to the exact nature of her talents as she presented them, exactly where she presented them, under the exact eye of the Fuhrer and His righteous plans.  It would worry her that the woman was unaware of the supplies even coming through to the clinic, but likely meant only that they went to the necessary distributions without interruption.  Or they were interrupted before they ever arrived.  Either way, not her jurisdiction, and would be productive to His ends.  Although the soldier she sent was still capable of salvation, so maybe it was worth looking into in the mean time.<br/><br/>“Ask what you will, but unless I am under arrest, do not lay your hands on me.” Isolde's intent was clear as she leveled a stern, measured look to each officer.  “As the good Father Fischer exhorted in Mass recently, I will cooperate with the government, rendering to Caesar the things that are Caesar’s. I also will give to God what belongs to God which for me would be to care for the innocent," she told them from the kitchen with their dishes, unaffected by the number of full cups.  Yvonne would have to make a trip to said minister soon.<br/><br/>Wiping her hands on a small towel, Isolde asked, "If this is all, I worked a double shift today and the night grows late. Perhaps, it is time for you to go?”<br/><br/>Something new entered her expression, but it held all the same intimacy as those previously shot to the lead official in the room.  The woman of equal standing held him in more and more contempt as the night grew.  However, there was credit in ending this conversation, so she stood, requiring the others to do so out of obligation, either from etiquette - which didn't seem to effect them as Isolde had left the room to care for their teas - or from threat.  Dama Wójcik may be a lady, but she was not to be underestimated.  She let her presence fill the room with the unspoken implication, that she would drag them from the room if they did not behave like the men they impersonated.  It worked best on the Italian, his mustache itching with fiery insult over a gaping mouth.  Yvonne shared that smile before bringing it round to the other standing woman as friendly as ever, moving as if to embrace her, but stopping as if recalling her words.  In truth, she never forgot them and appreciated the relief they granted her performance.<br/><br/>"Well," she said, humbly lowering her bashful eyes, "I believe the night blossomed long before our arrival and it is the dawn that grows early now.  Thank you for your patience.  It is clear in your hospitality that your charges are you primary concern, not the politics involving them.  It extends even to the well resting of those who would interrupt your own!  Who could so judge you of such actions?"<br/><br/>It was rhetorical.  It was backhanded.  God would be her judge, and only He could hold her to her sins.<br/><br/>Yvonne shifted her eyes back to herr Kohler.<br/><br/>Whatever they may be.