THE HERO Ilda Easterling He was born a coward, of obscure parentage, neither german nor french, in the no man's land of Alsace. A coward he remained until a sudden turn of circumstances transformed him. He was shy, plain, a little man with a soft impersonal face and avoiding blue eyes. No one had ever noticed him at the little restaurant where he ate his dinner every night, until Mado told about him. She was the owner of the cafe, a clever woman: she managed to keep her business going during those difficult war years. She was helped by one of her brothers, a farmer in Normandy. She visited him once a week and in spite of the Kontrolle* all along the road, managed to stock her kitchen with the food luxuries that the people of Paris had long forgotten about in four years of war. She kept her neighbors satisfied, gave them the best in exchange of their "food tickets". In addition she was gay, full of stories. She told about the Alsacian gentleman: the modest job he had, working for an export firm, making barely enough to support a nagging wife and two healthy children; how his wife left him to elope with a dashing german officer at the beginning of the war. She took the children. He was left alone in a Paris torn by restrictions and lost in the darkness. Suddenly his luck changed. The black market business gave him his chance and in a few months he had become a prosperous man. He had already been blessed with an arthritic knee that had kept him from the military service and perhaps consequently out of the war camps. And now he could afford anything that had been denied to him. The larva emerged from the cocoon, only this was no ordinary insect! Soon he was seen in the bars and expensive restaurants, escorting beautiful hungry girls, a well-dressed bourgeois among shabby-clothed intellectuals. His new wealth gave him the aggressiveness he needed, but the display of his riches was exasperating to many. They resented his brassy appearance. One can't become successful when people suffer and die. Success under such circumstances is revolting, humiliating. One can't get away with it. He did not. Some people decided to play a little farce on him. On this Thursday night he came to the neighborhood cafe earlier than usual, nervous, white faced, a wild expression churning his soft, flaccid features. No escort. Mado rushed to him, inquiring: "What is the matter with you?" "My poor Mado" said he, pulling a note out of his pocket, "read this!" It was a letter from the Surete Nationale ordering him to be present in their office the next morning at 8:00 A.M. "To answer questions." "Please provide yourself with two blankets." Mado immediately realized the seriousness of the situation. Her habitual customers were consulted; "Would anyone know what to do?" "Should he go or just disappear?" There was no doubt as to the fate of the people who received such invitations. Few had been back to tell about the questioning. "Well," said one of the "habitues", there is nothing to it. All they'll ask of you is to prove that both your grandmothers had true Aryan blood!"