under a bunch of flowers that sympathetic mourners had brought. The silver and black curtains were drawn; the coachman whipped the two horses and the convoy began to proceed towards the border line. The mourners were following on foot, about a dozen of them, silent and grave. The Feldgendarm* on duty with the border patrol read the driver's oapers, checked the collective pass against his own register, counted the mourners. He looked once more at the convoy and reluctantly lifted the gate. He had no choice. The cemetery was on the other side of the demarcation line and the people who died in the village had to be buried across the line that had been temporarily drawn by the military forces of occupation for their own use and purpose. This funeral was providing the opportunity for two valuable men to get away A half hour later, the body in the casket was dropped into a freshly dug grave, but not for long. The Alsacian gentleman awoke from his lethargic sleep over the Channel. The roaring noise of the plane carried his dream away: the blonde doll was gone. Two men dressed in black welcomed him back to life, and to England with a victorious smile. No one heard anything more about him until the liberation of Paris. He came back inured, seasoned by his experiences, a hero wearing the uniform of the French Resistance. He rode atop the tanks, threw candy and bars of soap at the girls on the streets. He was kissed, hugged and feted. He marched down the Champs Elysees with a slighter limp, displaying the medals he had won in Africa where he followed his companions from England. How he won his medals would probably make another story. He was a hero, a hero against his will, but nevertheless a hero. 22 He still dines every night in the same cafe. He is the "patronne's" pet customer now that he has added prestige to his pocket book. He has won respect and the right to be demanding. And he uses his privileges. He has his own table reserved every night at the same time. He may ask to thumb the Camembert to make sure that it has the required ripeness; he may send back an opened bottle of old honest Bordeaux, if he decides that it has a "corky" taste. The girls like that, they admire a man who knows what he wants. He can do anything and he gets away with anything now that he has won his laurels. "Noblesse oblige." 23