no longer be trusted."
"What was he going to do then)"
"If he was able to establish his proof, he would take the man out himself. He swore he was in a position to do so.
We assumed-correctly, we believe, to this day that whoever the traitor was, he somehow learned of Jodelle's suspicions and gave the order to execute him and his family.
"That was it? Nothing else?"
"Try to understand what the times were like, my son," said Catherine Villier.
"A wrong word, even a hostile stare or a gesture, could- result in immediate detention, imprisonment, and even, not unheard of, deportation. The occupation forces, especially the ambitious middle-level officers, were fanatically suspicious of everyone and everything. Each new Resistance accomplishment fueled the fires of their anger. Quite simply, no one was safe.
Kafka could not have invented such a hell."
"And you never saw him again until tonight?"
"If we had, we would not have recognized him," replied Villier pre.
"I barely did when I identified his body. The years notwithstanding, he was, as the English say, a , rackabones' of the man I remembered, less than half the weight-and height of his former self, his face mummified" a stretched, wrinkled version of what it once was."
"Perhaps it wasn't he, is that possible, my father?"
"No, it was Jodelle. His eyes were wide in death, and still so blue, so resoundingly blue, like a cloudless sky in the Mediterranean....... Like yours, Jean-Pierre."
"Jean-Pierre..... ?" said the actor softly.
"You gave me his name?"
"In truth, it was your brother's also," corrected the actress gently.
"That poor child had no use for, it and we felt you should have it for jodelle's sake."
"That was caring of you-"
"We knew we could never replace your true parents," continued the actress quickly, fialf pleadingly, "but we tried our best, my darling. In our wills we make clear everything that happened, but until tonight we hadn't the courage within ourselves to tell you. We love you so."
"For God's sake, stop, Mother, or I'll burst out crying. Who in this world could ask for better parents than you two I will never know what I cannot know, but forever you are my father and mother, and you know that."
The telephone rang, startling them all.
"The press doesn't have this number, does it?" asked Julian.
"Not that I'm aware of," replied Jean-Pierre, turning to the phone on the dressing table.
"Only you, Giselle, and my agent have it; not even my attorney or, God forbid, the owners of the theater.. ..
Yes?" he said gutturally.
"Jean-Pierre?" asked his wife, Giselle, over the telephone.
"Of course, my dear."
"I wasn't sure-"
"I wasn't either, that's why I altered my voice. Mother and Father are here, and I'll be home as soon as the newspapers give up for the night."
"I think you should find a way to come home now."
"What?"
"A man has come to see you-"
"At this hour? Who is he?"
"An American, and he says he has to talk to you. It's about tonight."
"Tonight .. . here at the theater?"
"Yes, my dear."
"Perhaps you shouldn't have let him in, Giselle."
"I'm afraid I didn't have a choice. Henri Bressard is with him."
"Henri? What does tonight have to do with the Quai d'Orsay?"
"As we speak, our dear friend Henri is all smiles and diplomatic charm and will tell me nothing until you arrive.. .. Am I right, Henri?"
"Too true, my dearest Giselle" was the faint reply heard by Villier.
"I know little or nothing myself."
"Did you hear him, my darling?"
"Clearly enough. What about the American? Is he a boot? just answer yes or no."
"Quite the contrary. Although, as you actors might say, his eyes have a hot flame in them."
"What about Mother and Father? Should they come with me?"
Giselle Villier addressed the two men in the room, repeating the question.
Chapter Two
"Later," said the man from the Quai d'Orsay, loud enough to be heard over the telephone.
"We'll speak to them later, Jean-Pierre," he added even louder.
"Not tonight."
The actor and his parents left the theater by the front entrance, the night watchman having told the press that Villier would appear shortly at the stage door.
"Let us know what's happening," said Julian as he and his wife embraced their son and walked to the first of the two taxis called from the dressing-room phone. Jean-Pierre climbed. into the second, giving the driver his address in the Pare Monceau.
The introductions were both brief and alarming. Henri Bressard, First Secretary of Foreign Affairs for the Republic of France and a close friend of the younger Villiers for a decade, spoke calmly, gesturing at his American companion, a