The Tenth Man Page #4

what you'll do?

I mean, er...

You'll want to get married one day.

There's not much to choose

from round here.

There's Roche,

the great Resistance hero.

- And then there's you, of course.

- Ah, yes.

No. You'll be off,

back to your own sort.

Find a job and a girl who

works in the civil service.

- Knows about things.

- I'd like to stay here.

Maybe we should go to

that dance Roche mentioned.

I'm not too keen on those things.

You go.

I wouldn't go on my own.

But it would have been nice.

She's gone to bed.

They seemed friendly.

Maybe they don't hate us.

Of course they

don't hate you.

Well, good night.

You don't have to

use the back stairs.

You're not a servant.

- Terese? Is that you?

- Yes.

- Good night.

- Good night.

I think we should eat in

the dining room tonight.

There's no need to behave like Gypsies.

It's our house.

- It'll need cleaning out.

- I'll do it.

Ah, yes.

I'll get some water.

Look.

His whole life's in here.

Him in his cradle.

The christening.

That old priest's

still in the village.

And here... is Jean-Louis

at his first communion.

That priest again.

He called on us, let us know Chavel used

to have him for dinner at Christmas.

Mother let him know there wouldn't

be any more grand dinners.

What a bunch.

Mean.

Hard eyes.

No wonder he turned

out the way he did.

Can you imagine them doing something

human, like dancing or kissing?

Can you imagine them in love?

- How would they show love?

- I suppose they...

expressed it just like you...

and me.

I suppose that's your admirer Roche,

come to pay his respects.

Open up,

or Mother will start yelling.

Yes.

- Who is it?

- Jean-Louis Chavel.

- Who? - Chavel. Open the door.

It's wet out here.

Who is it?

Chavel.

- I'm sorry, can't you hear me?

- He says it's Jean-Louis Chavel.

Please.

Let him in.

Eh?

I apologise for

breaking in on you like this.

- What do you want?

- Shelter. Something to eat.

You're Chavel?

Jean-Louis Chavel?

Yes, I'm Chavel.

I knew you'd come one day.

I hope you'll allow me to...

Oh!

Erm...

I think you'd better go.

I can't.

They're looking for me.

Young men with guns who call

themselves the Resistance.

- Why? - This is a great

time for settling scores.

Anyone who has an enemy can

find himself labelled a collaborator.

But you have the perfect answer.

You were in a German prison,

condemned to death.

They're saying that I was

put there as an informer.

It was wrong of

me to come here

but a hunted animal heads

for the place it knows as home.

I'm sorry.

I'll leave.

Yes.

You'd better go.

I had another reason for coming. I had

a message for Mademoiselle Mangeot.

From her brother.

Message?

I'm sorry, monsieur, you are...?

You should know.

You were in the same prison.

I'm Jean Perrette.

Of course.

I thought I recognised your face.

Is this Chavel?

Oh, yes.

Yes.

It's Chavel.

I shouldn't have come back.

I'm...

Please forgive this intrusion.

Forgive.

You have a message

from my brother?

He wanted you to know

that he loved you.

He thought this was the best

thing he could do for you.

I'm sorry, mademoiselle,

I should have realised.

I should have known that this door

would no longer be open to me.

You don't have to go.

I wouldn't turn a dog out in this rain.

You can stay.

- It's not long till morning.

- You're very kind.

You need dry clothes.

You'll find everything in your room,

as you left it.

I wouldn't presume!

It's not my room any more.

Please.

Who's there?

What's all this noise?

My mother's not well. I won't tell her

who you are, she couldn't take the shock.

Who's this?

Someone who knew Michel.

Another one wanting a free meal.

And a hand-out.

I wonder that my son managed to

hold on to any of his money at all.

I said he could stay tonight.

What's your name?

Er, Toupard, Madame.

Philippe Toupard.

- You knew my son?

- Yes, he talked about you a lot.

You must be very

proud of him.

I'm starving.

Can you come with me, monsieur?

We have a lot to talk about.

Who are you?

What are you doing?

Look, I don't know what's going on here.

All I want is... a night's shelter.

No trouble.

I was on my way to Switzerland.

I got myself into something,

er, rather messy,

involving the police.

I thought it wise to lie low

for a couple of days.

May I see your

watch a moment?

A man in prison had a watch like this.

His name was...

- Breton.

- You're the son he talked about.

I had to pull quite a few strings,

use friends in high places to get him out.

You think he'd be grateful.

When he found out...

he threatened to kick

me out of the house.

Called me a collaborator.

Then he had a heart attack.

- What brought you here?

- Well, I remembered the story.

He'd told us about

a man in prison with him,

who bought his life.

You know, you were there.

I thought it was worth a try.

Jean?!

Can you help me?

Mother's not well.

She's having her

soup in her room.

Monsieur Chavel.

Oh, no,

I wouldn't dream of it.

You found everything?

In perfect order.

Fresh, dry clothes.

I am deeply grateful.

You're from Paris, yourself,

Mademoiselle Mangeot,

isn't that right?

My parents are from Normandy

but we were born in Paris...

my brother and I.

I've forgotten the bread.

You think you can

get away with this?

I reckoned Chavel wouldn't have

the nerve to come home.

I... decided to do it for him.

Everyone in the village

will know you're not Chavel.

I had to risk it,

just for the night.

I must say,

I like the man's style.

Mm. It's the best soup

I've ever tasted.

All right, what's going on?

What's your game and why are

you going along with my story?

To help her.

She had it in her head Chavel

would show up one day.

He became an obsession with her.

I thought this would cure it.

She could, er, start living.

Hm.

Well, I think I was a bit hasty,

saying I'd leave in the morning.

- I caught a look in her eye.

- You're forgetting she hates Chavel.

But I'm not Chavel.

Not the real Chavel. I'm the Chavel she's

invented for herself, not the dull reality.

- She spat in your face.

- I saw a play in Paris once,

by Shakespeare,

where the same thing happened.

A king murdered some woman's husband

and he was practically lifting her skirt.

The actor wiped his

face with his sleeve.

I remember the way he did it.

- Worked rather well.

- You should've been an actor.

When you're living off your wits, you learn

to be different things to different people.

Perhaps I could learn to be

Jean-Louis Chavel.

You won't get the chance.

You'll be gone by sunrise.

I'll make you.

- All this must be rather a blow to you.

- What do you mean?

Anyone with half an eye

can see you're in love with her.

- You must be mad.

- No, it's perfectly reasonable.

I mean, here you are, a man who's been

locked up in prison for three years.

You suddenly find yourself

with a young girl.

Pretty enough, but...

not quite your class.

It must be like being shipwrecked

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