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M. Larue almost fell upon the neck of Höfgen, so delighted was he to see him again. “Oh, oh, mon très cher ami! Enchanté – charmed to see you again.” There was a shaking of hands and cordial laughter. Wasn’t it a pleasure for M. Larue to live in the new Germany? Wasn’t his new love in his well-fitting SS uniform much prettier than any of those dirty Communist youths in days gone by? Bonsoir, mon cher, I am utterly delighted – long live the Führer. That very evening, Larue insisted, he would send a report to Paris saying how happy and peace-loving everyone was in Berlin. No one has any wicked, aggressive thoughts.
