A French Village (Un village français)

150,000 francs.

A new life is going to begin. Long live the National Lottery.

More effective than the revolution of the same name.

If the cops start to win the lottery now, where will we be?

Is Natasha free?

Oh, I don't know what you all see in Natasha.

Yes.

And you, what will you have?

Well I'll have...

another cognac, please.

You drink too much, Henri. You'll lose it.

Ah yes. Long live the National Holiday.

No. There are more important things in life than pleasure.

You have a Natasha here? - Yes.

Her name is Odile, but Odile isn't a name that customers dream of.

Tell me, did you really win 150,000 Francs? - Yes really!

So, 75,000 each.

It makes you think of retirement.

You're joking.

Just wait...

Being a cop is a dog of a profession as is and it's becoming one of a German Shepherd.

Help! Madame Berthe!

Madame Berthe. Come quickly. Monsieur Alfred isn't feeling well. He's not moving.

Alfred, Alfred, Alfred!

Go get a doctor so he can confirm he's dead.

Hurry up.

Oh, shit, shit, shit, shit...

He dropped like that, all of a sudden?

Suddenly.

You knew him well?

Yes.

Yes, I knew him.

For 40 years we've stolen horses together.

And today, we'd won the National lotter...

and now this.

Docteur Morelle will be here in 10 minutes.

Where's his wallet?

Where is it?

I don't know.

Where have you put it, bitch.

I don't know. It's not me. I didn't take his wallet.

Confess! - No.

It's definitely you that took it.

No. It's not me I tell you. I swear it wasn't me.

I'll take you to the Commissariat.

Quiet. Quiet!

And you, control yourself. Jumping about.

Lottery

Where were you when it happened?

At Berthe's.

At Berthe's?

Yes. He wanted to celebrate the lottery win so...

Listen, Henri, I don't care if you went to Berthe's, frankly.

The girl in the cell there is one of her girls, definitely.

I'm sure she stole his wallet and the lottery ticket.

He had a family? - Yes.

A wife and two children, in Dijon. - Oh no!

I need to call her then.

I need to think of an idea to tell her about what happened.

Do I start with the vacant housing, or the requisitions?

No matter.

Good morning Judith. - Good morning.

I searched the girl's room...

No wallet. Absolutely nothing. So...

Except for this.

In her waste basket.

This is Alfred's writing.

Dear whispering, sublime storm...

unknown, radiant, my useless Natasha...unique, unreal, tragic...

What it is this non-sense?

Was this in the bitch's trash?

Well...apparently, to him she wasn't just a whore.

No. That's impossible. I knew Alfred well. No.

You never know people that well.

Why can't I come with you?

Because children can't go into prisons.

Even when their Papa is in there?

Even when their Papa is in there.

Even when it's not fair.

People will be surprised not to see you at Mass.

They're going to ask me where you are.

However I can't tell them you went to see your brother in prison.

Well they know my brother's in prison, right?

Yes. But most of the time they forget.

So, if the February coupons arrive, take them straight to the Mairie, without fail.

Can't it wait until you return? - No, because Te Quiero...

Look, I'm telling you what to do. Do what I ask. I've promised.

Excuse me.

I spent yesterday with representatives of the badly housed...

they're in a terrible situation.

I promised to give them the surplus coupons.

You're going to stop screwing me around, okay?

You're hurting me.

Listen to me, Odile, a whore isn't going to piss me off.

Even less a whore who has just stripped the body of my best friend. Okay?

So. What was your relationship with Alfred Camelion?

We've done it five times. Shit...

Well that makes it ten, then. Okay?

I spread my legs, he did the rest.

That's okay with you? - No.

A client doesn't write poems to a whore.

Alfred even less so.

You were his mistress?

Since when? - I hardly knew him.

And it's not my fault if customers want to write bullshit to me.

Good. So you did read the poem?

No. - No?

How do you know it was bullshit?

Because I gave it a glance and when I saw what it was, I binned it.

When did you receive it?

What? - Who brought it to you?

He didn't give it to you. You wouldn't have crumpled it up in front of him.

So?

It was a cyclist.

A cyclist brought me it yesterday afternoon.

You want me to believe that a regular customer, you hardly know...

sends you poems by cyclist.

Okay!

Why did you take the wallet?

I didn't take it.

Where did you put it?

I warn you. I'm Kommandant Von Ritter's favorite.

If he learns what you've done, he won't be happy.

Listen to me, Odile... - Natasha!

I don't give a shit about Von Ritter. Okay?

I don't give a shit about the Boches. I don't give a shit about anything.

There's only one thing that interests me...where is the wallet?

Where have you put it?

Where have you put it?

I put it....

under a tile, on the roof.

Why did you take the wallet and not the money in his pocket?

Because...

Alfred and me, we were...we were...

There was information in the wallet that couldn't fall into the hands of the Germans.

Monsieur le Maire.

Good morning. - Good morning.

You still can't call me Daniel.

No, it's true.

Are you Okay, my lad? - No.

Go on. Have a nice Sunday.

You'll give him my drawing.

I promise.

Until this evening.

Good luck.

You're sure you don't want to eat something?

Now that the atmosphere's more sensible.

After all, why not. Has someone said something to you?

Can I get you a coffee.

Thank you.

A tartine?

No. A coffee will do.

Hey, will you take me to the toy sale at the flea market, like you told me?

Well, no. I can't. I'm stuck here with Te Quiero. Maria is at her mother's.

Where is this flea market?

By the Post Office. It's organized by the Secours National.

Lucienne?

I think I scared you.

No. You surprised me, that's all.

It's curious, your filling inkwells on Sunday.

There are no children on Sunday.

I always fill them in the evening so I can get up later next day.

I'll help you.

No, no. It's fine.

Thank you, I'll do it later.

So it's you who plays the violin.

I've heard it several times. I wondered who it was.

Can I look at it?

Yes, of course.

Be careful though, it's fragile.

There's a problem with the bridge, right?

Yes, I must take it to the luthier soon.

There's a luthier in Villeneuve?

No. In Morsang, on the other side of the Line.

As the Line has been almost closed since December,

I have an appointment with him soon, on the bridge.

I'll have to pass violin to him over the Barrier.

Today is my first day of Leave since the beginning of the war.

A year now.

Will you go back to Dusseldorf?

No, it's only for 24 hours. That's too short.

Really.

It's chic that you could come with me.

It's natural. I live with you.

Hey, where did the toys at the flea market come from?

Ah well, I don't know.

because look, this one is marked Roland.

Ah, yes, I hadn't seen that.

Do you think this duck is Roland's?

No, we've paid for it. Now it's yours.

You know, I'll explain. In fact, during the war...

there are parents and children who have to leave...

to move and, well, sometimes they were forced to leave their things.

Do you understand?

But one day they'll come back for them.

Not necessarily. Some have really gone and won't ever return...

it would be a shame not not enjoy them though.

But we're not sure they won't return?

No. We have to believe that. And then,the money we gave for your duck...

will go to small children who have no house, who have problems.