Monsieur Batignole

Labor Deportation Ministry

Eat. You may be next!

- Hello, Mr. Batignole.

- Hello, Mr. Ruet.

- Who's there?

- Lucien Morel, doctor.

Come in.

Well?

It's under control.

I got you a pass.

It'll get you to the free zone.

Contact my brother-in-law.

He'll take you to Switzerland.

Here are the papers

and baptism certificates.

Very good.

Thank you.

From now on you're not Bernstein,

you're Gerard and Paul Louvier.

Why?

I already told you.

- Say it.

- I'm Paul Louvier.

- Now you.

- I'm Gerard Louvier.

Shall we go?

Sleep well my rabbit stews?

My God!

All our stuff was stolen!

- When?

- Last night!

It could only happen to you!

- What is it?

- My hams were stolen.

I said pack light.

- I forgot my violin.

- Stay, I'll get it.

Only a kid could fit through!

What kid?

Look no further,

father-in-law.

Wait in the car.

You're going on vacation?

Yes, I'm going on vacation.

Can I have a word with you, doctor?

I don't want to keep you.

My future son-in-law...

It's about your children...

The oldest one.

Now, I'm not accusing him...

This morning, I brought

some scraps for my rabbits...

I'm sorry, I must go.

My ham was stolen last night!

He must've heard

about tomorrow's raid...

I haven't a clue...

I sent Mr. Batignole after him.

Alright.

It's my pleasure, Commissioner.

What's going on?

Nothing, my treasure.

I'll make some coffee.

What would he do with ham?

We don't eat it!

He can sell it.

What are you implying?

You think you're so high and mighty.

Since you've been here,

you barely say hello.

You're a surgeon,

I'm just a butcher,

that's no reason to be snooty!

I know I wasn't

born under a lucky star!

A yellow one?

If people resent you so much,

there's a reason.

I saved your daughter's life.

You were doing your job...

And I paid you for your services.

What's your husband doing?

I hate to end

this fascinating conversation.

Will you open your suitcase?

No.

I'll call the police!

- Kiss your vacation good-bye.

- Wait!

Dad! What are you doing?

We're finishing up.

Leave us!

For God's sake, do as I say!

Come in.

Here.

Sh*t!

Here!

And another up there!

Run, David! Run!

Go. Run.

Run away, Simon.

Run away!

Let me go!

Daddy!

On the second floor,

Commissioner.

French police!

Open up!

Thanks a lot.

It wasn't me...

Open up!

Police.

- Where's the kike?

- Don't know!

- What are you doing here?

- He was delaying him.

Take them away.

Thank you both for your help.

I didn't do much.

Participating is enough.

Don't you agree?

Absolutely.

Thank you again.

- Did he pay forthe ham?

- No.

- You dunce!

- They'll pay when they return.

That won't be soon.

- Where are they going?

- Compiegne, then Germany.

- Theirthings are up there!

- Not for long.

Careful, it's fragile!

Where is it all going?

It's stored in Paris,

and sent to Germany.

And the apartment?

An administrator handles it.

If you'd like,

we could benefit from this.

I can pull some strings.

We can't accept.

It's 200 square meters...

I don't want any trouble.

When opportunity knocks,

my husband ignores it.

There's money to be made

these days, but no!

He's got scruples.

"He's Got Scruples"

Great title for a play!

Get the first one produced.

Sir?

It's regarding

the Bernstein apartment.

Come in.

- We have rice pudding.

- No thanks.

As you wish.

I started by saying you were

a hardcore anti-Semite...

That you thought Germany

and its culture was the future!

I'm French nationalist all the way.

I didn't stress that.

I spoke of your artistic side...

Your articles

against degenerate art.

I told him that to write your plays,

you needed a calm,

comfortable apartment.

- And?

- He's not against it.

You're the best!

Some "tea" forthe digestion?

He wants to see you.

I hear he's seeing some actress,

she's a call girl...

He wants to produce a play for her.

And you'll write it.

- When can I meet your colonel?

- Tonight.

Excuse me.

Mr. Guitry, a table will be free

in a few minutes.

Sir!

Excuse me, Sir.

- Do I know you?

- Pierre-Jean Lamour.

I'm sorry...

I sent you my play

a month ago.

My pen name's Francis Mozeur.

Of course, Francis Mozeur...

The renowned theater critic.

He has a fatal machinegun style,

like his initials.

Initials?

F.M.

In otherwords,

Frankly Mediocre.

Yourtable Mr Guitry.

- You're insulting me, Sir!

- Yes.

But that's not how

I earn my living.

- You know...

- What!

Forget it.

So, about the colonel...

Isn't that nice.

It was a gift.

Earned through another's loss.

The tables are finally turning.

I've never denounced anyone.

We don't talk politics here.

I'm speaking my mind.

Be like me.

Don't!

Thank you very much.

Have a nice day.

Good night.

See you tomorrow.

I'm off to the movies

with Pierre-Jean.

- How are you getting there?

- By metro.

I'll drop you off.

You can help me with a delivery.

Yes, Daddy.

- Feeling a bit flat, Paul?

- Very funny.

- What's playing?

- "The Killer lives at n 21."

There's a party

at Colonel Spreich's afterwards.

Spreich?

The one who seized

the Jews' furniture.

You're invited?

Nice one.

Pierre-Jean's cousin knows him.

I don't like this, Micheline.

I'm just having some fun.

- Your fianc, isn't.

- Who cares about him.

So drop him.

He's moves

in all the right circles.

- All the doors open for him.

- Doors can shut too.

The Germans are here.

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