Rivals Page #4

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Four people died.

Gab was a ringleader.

So they transferred him to Mende,

the worst prison in France.

But they didn't break him.

He wouldn't let them.

He went on hunger strike for 50 days.

50 days!

Your man's a hero.

You're here.

- You're looking chirpy.

- I'm happy.

- I had a good day. How about you?

- Not bad.

- Not bad at all.

- Not bad?

You're smiling. You're in love. Is she pretty?

I'm not telling you.

I'm in love and she's very pretty.

- What about yours? Go on.

- She's magnificent!

I'm glad. For both of us.

It's good.

I've been meaning to say something.

I'm warning you, you'll probably not like it.

Go ahead.

I hated that you didn't come and visit me.

- That's the way it was. I couldn't.

- Why not?

I was ashamed.

I had to say it.

Like you say, "That's the way it was."

It doesn't change the fact that I like you.

- There.

- Thanks.

- Thanks to you. Goodbye.

- Goodbye.

Hi. The man who just left, what did he want?

- He dropped off an ad.

- Could I see it, please?

I'm not allowed.

Yes, you are. I'm giving you permission.

It'll be in the paper anyway,

everyone'll read it.

"Amicale de Boule Lyonnaise.

Meeting on Saturday at 12 o'clock."

Thanks, that's perfect.

Thank you, miss. Goodbye.

Wait! Should I publish the ad?

Don't forget, whatever you do.

Here.

Somebody's coming.

Dad, what are you doing here?

I could die waiting for you to visit.

- How are you?

- So this is it? It's great.

- How can I help?

- No need for that, Dad.

I can't sit around doing nothing.

Meet Nathalie.

- My father.

- Pleased to meet you.

- You are a very pretty girl.

- Thanks.

- Watch out, he's a connoisseur.

- You're even prettier in his arms.

My brother, Franois.

How do you like it?

Great, isn't it? Aren't you here to work?

- What do you think?

- Brought your overalls?

Did he tell you about his escape?

Wait...

- You kept that?

- Of course I did.

- You're handsome.

- On the front page.

Tell her how you made the rope.

Go on, tell her.

He got string from the soles

of the espadrilles they sold in prison.

The fools hadn't realised the soles

were made with five metres of string.

But how did he manage to get enough?

He asked everyone in the building

to gather some.

Then in the evening, he'd plait it.

Did it work?

No, it didn't. He had to throw the rope

to the other side of the wall.

He got it wrong.

The rope was five metres too short.

- Five metres, you mean!

- You tell it, then.

- Five metres! Wild exaggeration.

- It should have worked.

All that work. It's not fair.

Anyway, his rope is in the escape museum.

- Does that exist?

- That's saying something.

They should have put him

in the escape museum.

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