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Emile left Marcoles on a stolen bike. 400 miles, six flat tires, hundreds of mosquito bites and one sunburn later he stood on Rue Molière hoping Yvette still occupied the small room on the second floor. He had such news! Their parents, yes, both of them, were alive – freed from Auschwitz in January. Emile could hardly believe it.
“Yvette!” he cried. “Yvette!”
The window opened. A face appeared. “Silence, idiot! Yvette is gone.”
“Gone? Gone where?” Emile shouted.
“The SS shot her along with the other Jew rats taking up space in this building.”
Emile’s heart sank. “When?”
“January.”
The window slammed shut.

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