David pointed around the restaurant. "Notice all the women serving. When I was here in June, they were mostly men. Mamère told me the French men have a distorted way of treating women – they think women are meant to serve, but not for pay." He gave an imitation of a Gallic shrug. "Unless they're prostitutes."

"Good God! What an awful attitude. That's like what Greta had suffered under with Franz."

"And a bit like my father treats my mother. Surely, these attitudes will change with all the men away fighting and the women running what's left behind."

"But Mama told me that women control men and that we've ruled the Earth since Adam and Eve." Maria giggled. "By maintaining power over their dangling parts."

"Wise observation." David pursed his lips and nodded as he thought. "The force of my attraction to you when we met in the gasthaus ..." He shook his head. "I was sorely tempted to forget my disguise just to have you. The second night, I gave in to my passions, exposing myself to being caught as an enemy spy and executed. That's how strong your force is."

"And that's why Mama says we mustn't abuse it. She says it's most powerful when used subtly."

"And what in me attracts you?"

"You." She tilted her head and thought. "Just you being you. No artifice, no pretence, no acting. Just unprotected and vulnerable you. That's your power. Being who you are. You ooze strength that way." She paused and explored his face with her eyes. "Besides, you're devastatingly handsome. And your shoulders – such broad shoulders and strong arms. You look so commanding and so able to defend." She nodded. "That's likely why you don't need artifice. Why you ..."

She paused as the sommelier arrived and presented the Champagne. After it was opened and poured and the sommelier left, David raised his glass to Maria. "Here's to us."

"And to a speedy end of the war," Maria replied.

Their young server was soon back with menus and cartes, and after she had handed a pair to each, she nodded to the Champagne and said, "Prenez votre temps. Prendre plaisir!"

As the waitress left, David looked around the crowded restaurant. "They must see many young couples getting together for brief celebrations – for respites from the chaos of the fighting. Many in uniform, and most of them with women. They have little else on which to spend their money."

"I'm sure men are scarce. They're mostly away fighting ... or wounded ... or killed." Maria grimaced and shook her head. "There's an overabundance of women here. I guess in most places affected by the war now."

David nodded as he picked up his glass again. "Let's focus on here and on us. Let's do what the waitress said – take our time and enjoy." He took a sip, then pointed to the menus and cartes. "Let's see what they have to tempt us."

They opened them and read for a short while, then Maria asked, "How do we know what the prices are? Are they changing so fast with the war? Do they tell us what they are as we order?"

"No, the prices are all there. They're the numbers at the top of each dinner."

"There are no numbers on my menu." She opened her carte. "None in here, either." She held them out for David to see.

"Must be part of their attitude toward women. They think there's no reason for them to know the prices." He smiled, then continued. "Another attitude which will quickly change with the war. French women will finally be recognised and valued for more than only givers of comfort and bearers of children."

"But, it's not in France alone, David. I told you about the attitudes of some of the doctors and medical students in Bern when I presented my research paper at the University." She paused to sip her Champagne. "Come to think of it, I saw the same thing at Freiburger Krankenhaus. I just didn't recognise it then."

"A rare positive aspect of the war – women gaining independence and recognition." He lifted his menu. "We should decide on what we're having – we've an early train to catch." He chuckled. "I'll give you my menu and carte since I don't need to know the prices. Nothing's too expensive for you."

Maria dabbed her eyes. "You do that so often – bring tears of joy." She opened her menu and pointed. I saw the oysters earlier. "Can we start with them? Grandma said they're a classic with Champagne."

David signalled to the waitress, and she was quickly at the table. "La dégustation d'huîtres pendant que nous décidons."

"Oui, Monsieur."

Maria watched the young woman walk away, and then she gazed into David's eyes. "She has the hots for you, and she doesn't know how to hide it."

"I saw that." David shook his head, then took Maria's hand. "But that's not unusual. I've been aware of my effect for many years." He brought her fingers to his lips and lingered. "I've always had an easy time finding a girl to fuck. Often, I had my pick." He blew out a deep breath. "But they were all shallow and fleeting."

"What about Sister Clemencia? That wasn't fleeting. You said you did it with her for months."

"She was my first. And as my school teacher, she had control of me." He ran his fingers through his hair. "No, that's not true. After the first few sessions, I kept doing it because I enjoyed it, not because I was coerced. I guess that's where my feelings of shame and guilt began."

"Is that when you started running away into the mountains?"

"I've never looked at it as running away." David slowly nodded as he stared into Maria's eyes. After a long, silent pause, he said, "You're right. I was running away – in the beginning – for a while. But then the mountains grew on me, and I went up to enjoy them."

"And to find yourself."

"I guess that's ...

He paused as the waitress arrived and placed a board in the centre of the table. On the board were twelve oysters arranged on a plaited mat. She smiled at David, wished him bon appétit, and left.

Maria examined the oysters for a long while before she spoke. "So many different shapes." She pointed to one. "This looks like a woman with a headband and bouffant hair, and that one looks like a poodle with a French trim. This is similar to laying on our backs and seeing shapes in the clouds."

"And that one looks like your vulva – your button and grooves, as you call it." He pointed to another. "And so does that one."

"Oh, bosh. Your erotic mind is seeing things." She leaned closer. "But it does, doesn't it? The view in the hand mirror, not the one from up here." She blushed. "That's the view you get, isn't it?"

"And it's such a delightful view." He trembled lightly. "We should begin enjoying them. I'll show you what I do."

David held a shell as he slid the tines of a small fork under the gelatinous mass. "These have already been separated, so we simply raise the shell to our mouth as if it were a soup spoon, then sup the oyster from it." He demonstrated, and after he had savoured it, he took a sip of Champagne.

Maria copied his actions, then sat smiling at him. "What a smooth, silky texture. And the flavour – you're right, it is like your seed."

"And the texture is like when I'm licking you."

"Now I understand what Grandma meant when she told me oysters are an aphrodisiac." She giggled. "It's what Opa said, though – our minds are the primary sex organs. I must look further into this. Maybe write a paper on it."

"I'd love to help with the research."