A few minutes later the house was dark. Everywhere, from the kitchen where André snuggled into his goosedown-soft, curtained bed, to the attic, there was the sound of quiet breathing. And in the attic the English boy turned restlessly on his narrow cot. Before dawn the household roused to the day’s duties. It was not long before they heard news. The weary, older German soldiers were being removed. War-toughened young Nazis were going to take over the district. Before the new troops had been in camp two days, proclamations that put stricter limits on freedom were posted everywhere. A curfew was ordered. People must not leave their houses between ten in the evening and five in the morning. This did not bother André since he usually went to bed well before ten. A sad little good-by note from Papa Schmidt reached him. It thanked the family warmly for their kindness and ended: “Be a goot boy. Someday I bring my Otto to see you. _Auf Wiederzehen._” André noticed that the German camp was a changed place. The new regiment had chained vicious police dogs inside the wire fence. And André was horrified when he heard that stray dogs belonging to the village people had been shot. He tied Patchou safely in the farmyard at the rear of the house, and kept an eye on him. Then came another dreaded order: ALL ARTICLES OF BRASS OR COPPER MUST BE SURRENDERED BY THE CIVILIAN POPULATION. A HOUSE-TO-HOUSE SEARCH WILL BE MADE. André’s most prized possession was a gleaming brass trumpet which he had learned to play with some skill. It was not only dear to him, but the only really precious thing he owned. “I must hide it in some very, very safe place,” he thought. Also, the coming search would be very dangerous to the rest of the family. If the Germans came they would surely find the flyer in their attic. And if an enemy pilot were found in their house they would all be shot. Marie and her father had been watching for the Maquis operator to come for the flyer, according to plan. But for some reason he had not yet appeared. “Those Maquis! They are wasting their time in some café, enjoying themselves, probably,” Mme. Gagnon said irritably. But Pierre replied, “No. Not the Maquis. There is some good reason why the operator has not yet been able to get here.” It was not until June 4th, just before curfew time, that a Maquis messenger slipped into the Gagnon house. He said he could not come before because the new Nazi garrison had sent patrols everywhere. The plans of the Underground had all been changed. Pierre and Marie, he said, must keep the flyer where he was until new arrangements to spirit him away could be made. That evening Marie and her father huddled in the dark little parlor to talk over their situation. Marie whispered wildly, “What _shall_ we do if the Nazis come here? They will go to the attic too.” Pierre shrugged, scowling. “We must find some way. We always have before.”