The men of the village had gravitated to the Perle des Ardennes to toast the miracle in red wine and mark and fit the stupendous events of the morning into their past forecasts and future expectations. In spite of the cold the door was open. The impromptu assembly of electors had spilled out into the street.
The first man to spot the jeep shouted a single word. “Yankees!” and the whole square fell still. The shawled women parted nervously and disappeared sidewise through their doorways. The playing children raced down the side streets. Three men from the doorway of the Perle des Ardennes gulped down their drinks, handed their empty glasses inside, and started walking with unnamed apprehensions across the square.
Franz spoke quickly. “Sergeant Foster and I are going into the café to see w
