Jacques Dufort walked down the boulevard, hunched over with his hands in his pockets. German staff cars passed, a troop truck, a black sedan typically used by the Gestapo, and an occasional bus or delivery truck. German soldiers mingled with pedestrians, stared in shop windows at French goods, and sat in outdoor cafes, enjoying the ambience of Paris.
He had almost reached Rue Serpente, on his way to Sophie Silvain’s, when three German soldiers approached from the opposite direction.
“Halt,” one of the soldiers said in German, his arm extended. His two comrades paused behind him, watching curiously. “Let me see your papers.”
Jacques hesitated. He hadn’t expected to be stopped. But he had nothing to hide, He fumbled in his pockets.
“You must always have your papers ready,” the German dir
