They are led outside, into the yard, a hundred or so of them. It is a grey, dreary day, but they have lived in darkness for weeks – some of them months – and the light sears their eyes. To Alice it seems as though a layer of her skin has been removed, and she feels every breath of wind like an abrasion. She has become a different animal – subterranean, dark-dwelling – some helpless, naked thing. She looks about her at her fellow prisoners, grey-skinned and hollow-eyed, who seem like another species from the guards who flank them. For the first time, Alice sees Madeleine, and she understands that Madeleine would, indeed, once have been that pretty, plump farm girl of her imagination. Not any more though.
Finally, she glimpses her friends on the opposite side of the yard: Georgette, Étienne – even Madame Beauclerc. Étienne looks like a consumptive. Georgette has lost three stone, at least. As for Hélène Beauclerc: they must have decided she had something to tell them. Or perhaps her interrogator was more than usually sadistic. Alice can hardly bring herself to look at her. There is a thin trail of dried black blood at the corner of her mouth, and her nail-less hands hang limp and purple at her sides like ruined fruit.
Georgette looks up and catches sight of Alice. She gives an involuntary start, and Alice realizes that she, too, has changed almost beyond recognition. At least Georgette does recognize her, and she smiles.
‘What’s going on?’ Alice hears the man behind her murmur to another prisoner. They are being herded into the centre of the yard and then divided into two groups. A small, uniformed woman is in charge. She makes quick annotations on a clipboard as each prisoner steps into place.
‘I don’t know,’ the other mutters back, ‘the camps, perhaps.’
‘Halt dein Maul!’ Without further warning, a guard steps forward and cracks the second man over the back of the head. He gives a moan and crumples to the ground. The speed, the quietness of it, makes the whole spectacle more shocking. People look, and try not to. Is he dead, or merely unconscious? He is not moving, and there is a wet, blackish stain beneath his head. The other prisoners must step over him to move towards the centre.
Alice sees Étienne, Hélène and Georgette in front of her. She watches as Étienne and Hélène are sent to one huddle of prisoners, and Georgette to the other. Then it is her turn. The woman looks her over, briefly, and orders her to the first group.
A shout rings out. At first, Alice isn’t certain where the noise has come from. She turns, and realizes it is one of the prisoners in the other group, one who has suddenly found her voice. The noise cuts though the silence of the yard. ‘My husband!’ she calls. ‘Let me go with him. Please.’ Alice realizes with horror that the woman is Georgette. She waits, hardly daring to look, for a guard to step in and knock her to the ground. But no one moves. The guards seem too taken aback by the outburst to know how to act. ‘Please.’ All watch as Georgette sinks to her knees in supplication. The woman with the clipboard regards her, and looks back towards the other group, to where Étienne stands, his eyes filling with tears.
The woman shrugs. ‘Fine.’
She moves to stand before Alice and Étienne’s group, and looks carefully along the front row. She stops at Alice, and runs her eyes over her once more, assessing her according to some unknown criteria. Again, she shrugs, apparently not quite satisfied by what she sees, but not concerned enough to worry overly about it. ‘You,’ she says. ‘Swap.’