months my behavior was patterned after theirs, and it probably would have remained unchanged for the two years he lived with us had it not been for Theseus.

Theseus was the beloved child of the household: a magnificent blue Persian cat to whom we were never able to make clear that the downstairs bedroom was strictly offlimits. He used to climb in through the window, always left half open, and stay there for days on end, oblivious of our existence unless hunger drove him to seek our company. Mother would have preferred not see. ing Theseus again rather than demean herself to ask anything of the lieutenant. My pride must have been less all-inclusive or my love for the cat must have been greater, for on a Thursday afternoon, while alone in the house, I decided to go into the lieutenant's room to get my old playmate. He was sleeping, rolled into a ball on the bed, just as he used to do. It was touching for me to see my old domain all upset by the habits of another person. My little table was stacked with books in German, among which I noticed a large volume on painting with beau-

: .eproductions. I saw, on the night table, the little radio that, almost every evening, diffused through the house concerts of symphonic music that exasperated dad. On the mantlepiece two strange faces stared at me: a lady who must have been the lieutenant's mother, and a young soldier of about 20 who was probably his 'brother. This last photograph bore a dedication which read: "Fur Erik und auf immer. Kur'."

All of a sudden I felt goose pimFles all over me when I heard a prir of heavy boots just outside. The door opened and in came Lieutencât Hanfstaeng! in his uniform. I do not know whether I blushed or paled, but I did feel myself change colors 12

while mumbling excuses with a voice that I wanted to sound firm but which I could hardly hear myself, I must have looked so pitiful that he burst out laughing, with a laughter that made him seem much less terrifying. "Sure," he said, "your cat visits me quite often. I do have one friend in this house."

His French was waз astonishingly pure, with only the most insignificant trace of an accent. I had never seen him at such close range-he did not resemble much the blond, gian's with crew cuts I saw daily in the subways and in the streets. He was tall and slender, and if his eyes were as blue as the sea-the same shade of blue as the ink we used in school-his curly hair was as brown as my own. He may have been 30.

As I tried to flee he held me back: "Since you are here, do stay awhile. Let us get to know each ļ other."

Under the circumstances, all I could do was obey. I refused a cigaret, but could not resist the chocolate bar he offered me. He asked me what I did and I told him that I was in school. He then introduced himself: in civilian life he was a newspaperman in charge of the art section of a large Munich paper. He had been drafted and had participated in the campaigns in Poland, Belgium, and France. His perfect knowledge of the language had given him an envied position with the information bureau.

"I am so happy to see again the Paris where I studied years ago. What an extraordinary_city!"

'He gave me a second chocolate bar and continued: "This was your room, wasn't it? Notice that I have changed things very little. I only brought a few personal belongings: books, my radio... the photographs of those I love . . . that's my mother the soldier was my secretary in

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the paper and is my best friend. He is now in Warsaw... he had worse luck than I . . ."

I was feeling uncomfortable, for I knew that my parents would soon get back and I could imagine their astonishment if they were to find me thus settled in a room that mother was already talking of having disinfected, listening to Lieutenant Hanfstaengl relating the story of his life while feeding me German chocolate bars.

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He finally let me go, but added: "You must come see me again, I'd love to talk to you . . I am here every evening I go out very seldom. We could listen to music and perhaps I will be able to help you with your German homework?" He smiled again, and I thought that, in all honesty, he was quite likeable. When he offered his hand, I was not able to refuse mine, and when he asked: "We are friends, aren't we?" I did not have the courage to say no. We were not friends yet, but we were accomplices already. I did not tell my parents anything about our interview, but I could not bring myself to paying him another visit. He was still too much a representative of the regime against which the hatred of an entire nation continued to rise.

The first winter of the occupation was a difficult one. The French people had begun to understand that their trials would be long and painful, and that the months would go by, monotonous and depressing.

Finally, on a beautiful summer day, when the weather itself seemed to demand optimism, came a boldly theatrical stroke: Hitler's armies had invaded Russia. There were smiles in the streets among strangers, many whispered tales with the conclusion that "he" would not be stronger than Napoleon. The hopes of the French had turned toward the East.

Meanwhile, vacation time was approaching, and my parents, not wishing to leave again the house at the whim of its occupant, decided to send me alone to an aunt's who had a large estate in Sologne, right in the middle of a forest. Lacking other amusement, I would be certain to benefit from a life of physical activity and good, abundant food..

Our actions sometimes appear as if ill-considered and difficult to understand, but this is often because we are not aware of the slow evòlution that takes place wi.hin ourselves and prepares us for them. On the eve of my departure, when I suddenly decided to say good bye to the lieutenant, I found the idea as stupid as if I had decided to jump into the Seine. Neverthless, I still ask myself if it was only because of timidity that, while knocking at the door, my heart started beating so furiously.

He did not seem surprised to see me and said: "I'm glad that you have taken time to consider the situation before coming back to see me. It did take you a while, but I knew that some day you would come. My name is Erik. What's yours?"

It was during the course of this little visit that all that had separated us,that which had kept me from coming back to see him sooner, suc!denly seemed unimportant to me. While listening to him, while looking at him, the truth finally struck me: I wanted, I had need of his friendship; I would win it and keep it in spite of everything and everybody.

When it came time to leave, he said to me: "When you return in October we'll see each other frequently, won't we? But there is one thing we will have to keep in mind: " you and I will never speak of the war. We'll pretend that it doesn't exist at all."

My vacation was unspeakably