After Baudel's words woke him up, Tré suddenly understood. "Thank you, Baudel. I had clearly fallen into a mental trap before. We only need to report Germany's intelligence truthfully to Paris. Whatever judgment they make has little to do with us."
Baudel nodded. "How to deal with Germany was never for little people like us to decide. Let the big shots in Paris have the headache!"
Thus, late at night, Tré began sorting through the various pieces of intelligence gathered recently and sending them back to the country by telegram, day after day.
France, Paris.
Paris at the end of 1938 remained a picture of prosperity. Cafés, theaters, and shops swarmed with people, drawing France's wealthy and countless foreign tourists. The nightlife was bustling, while art exhibitions and salons followed one after another.
The French public was completely unaware of the coming war. The air-raid drills and civil-defense publicity organized by the government in the streets received no attention. Officials carried them out inefficiently, citizens reacted with indifference, and everyone continued living a life drowned in drink and dreams.
Parisian shops even sold "fashionable" gas mask bags.
It was clear that neither the French government nor the people were entirely without precautions against war, and they had taken some actions for it. Yet the overwhelming majority did not take it seriously at all.
This made French society as a whole seem even more schizophrenic.
In the back seat of a black car on Boulevard Montmartre, an officer in a black trench coat was reading the documents in his hands. He rubbed his eyes and looked out the window.
There seemed to be some sort of celebration taking place in the street. He asked the man in the passenger seat, "Bonnel, what are those people gathered in the street doing