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watch the car stall half-way down the road. Once or twice a German officer, infuriated, whipped out his automatic and took a shot at the dim figures giggling in the shadows. This was great fun and gave the young people a sense of importance. They began to talk about de Gaulle, and to dignify their little exploits with the name of sabotage.
    Presently the Germans arrested M. Chavaigne, headmaster of the boys’ school, and tried him for complicity in these affairs.The evidence was inconclusive, so they sentenced him to ten years’ forced labour and sent him away to Germany to work it out. With the removal of that restraining influence the sabotage increased, and even adults began secretly to listen to the British radio and to talk about de Gaulle.
    Soon after that the cross of Lorraine made its appearance daubed in paint or clay upon the walls of the factory. The German Commission of Control, visiting the works one day, demanded furiously that these signs be removed and Simon, with apologies, set labourers to work.
    “I am desolated that this should have happened,” he told the Germans. “It is the boys who do it—the irresponsibles, who do not think. Boys are the devil.”
    The
Hauptmann Pionier
in charge of the Commission stared at him arrogantly. “Boys do what their parents do. In Germany the boys work hard, and do not insult the Government. It is not so here. If I see this again, I will have this town of Corbeil taught a lesson.”
    Simon said: “I will attend to the matter personally. This will not happen again.”
    The German turned away, and they went on with the work.
    Simon reported the matter to Duchene as soon as they were gone. “There will be trouble before long, monsieur,” he said. “The people are becoming restless.”
    The old man said: “I will not have trouble in these works. We do not mix with politics here, in the factory. See that the walls are cleaned each day, and the lavatories also. It is there that they write things.”
    “I will see to that, monsieur.”
    “Why must they do these things. It can only lead to trouble. What is the matter with the men?” the old man asked.
    Simon shrugged his shoulders. “It is the war,” he said. He glanced over his shoulders at the closed door. “You listen to the English radio, perhaps, monsieur?”
    The old man said: “I have no patience with the English since they ran away. As for the radio, it does not amuse me, and there is no news. Is it that that is the reason for the trouble?”
    Simon said: “It is the stories of the German losses in the air that the men hear upon the radio that makes the trouble. That, and the speeches of that man de Gaulle.” He bent to the
directeur
. “A hundred and eighteen German aeroplanes were shot down yesterday,” he said in a low tone. “And seventy-onethe day before.” He paused. “That is the real trouble with the men.”
    Duchene stared at him. “Somebody told me something about that, but I did not believe him. The figures are too big. It is an English lie.”
    “I do not think it is a lie, monsieur. When I was at Caen on Tuesday the foreman said that nearly a hundred aeroplanes took off on Sunday, but less than seventy came back. The officers there have become very surly, and they will not talk to me, or to any civilian. It is quite different from what it was a month ago.”
    The old man said: “Sacred Mother of God! If the English can shoot down Germans in that way, why did they not do it when they were fighting with us? They are playing their own game. They have betrayed us.”
    Simon shook his head. “I cannot understand the turn the war has taken,” he said soberly. “If they betrayed us, we are now betraying them in turn. These runways we are doing for the aerodrome at Caen—they are to make it possible for Heinkels to take off with double bomb load, to drop on English towns. But we were allies, once.”
    Duchene said: “It was they who began it.…” He turned back to his desk. “No more