"That's just it! I don't know if I can!" moaned the Alsacian would be gentleman. The joke was a success. It had to be degustated for a while longer. Nothing else to do, no place to go. Outside the night was dark and cold. The curfew sent you to bed early, in a cold bed, in a cold apartment. The little man looked so grotesque, prostrated on the banquette, with his expensive black hat still on his head. His haughtiness had left him. He was a sheep afraid of the big german wolf. The audience had fun. Now they were going to tell him to relax, that it was a joke, when Marcel suddenly realized that this shaky creature, this parasite, could provide the financial aid needed to help two of his companions of the French Resistance Forces who really were in danger. Money would get them out of the country. The Alsacian had money. He was soon convinced to contribute some of it to a plan of escape. "This is serious, Monsieur!" said Marcel. "You have better take your blankets somewhere else tomorrow. The Surete is no place for you in view of this heredity". "But where?" "We'll help you. We'll get you out of here! Leave it to us!" A phone call, and he was on his way, to heroism! "Leave your cheese, Monsieur! We must hurry. I just talked to someone who is waiting for you!" It took him but a few minutes to cross the street to his apartment and retrieve the gold he had safely tucked under the boards of the wooden floor. They traveled all night, 20 on the train, the three of them, up to twenty miles from the demarcation line that separated the "red zone" from the "white zone" in northern France. They spent the day sleeping in a cheap hotel, and the following night walked the last miles to the village where they were expected. The newly appointed F.F.I.* was tired, his fancy suit dirty, his feet aching in his expensive hand-sewn shoes. Not much was left of the elegant dandy who took the chorus girls out to dinner. More than once he thought of turning back, but the idea of his suspicious grandmothers kept him going. They finally reached their destination the next morning at dawn. They spent the rest of the day in the basement of an old farmhouse, resting and playing cards. The Alsacian timidly questioned his companions: "What were their plans now?" "Don't worry!" said Paul with a wink, "Everything will be all right!" "We'll cross the border in the morning. A carriage will be waiting for you at the door at exactly 9 A.M. You'll ride in style," said he bowing ironically. "A carriage, Monsieur, no less!" "Stop asking questions now. Drink some wine and relax. You may be dead tomorrow!" They laughed and poured him another glass of wine. A last vision of his Paris apartment and the little doll from the Follies and the miserable man sank into a deep sleep. The two stopped playing cards; "Was it enough?" asked one. They put the sleeper on the couch where he lay for the rest of the night. At five minutes to nine, the next morning, the man on the couch was transferred into a cheap casket and carried in a hired hearse that was waiting at the door. The casket disappeared 21