A delegate from the International Red Cross in Geneva had arrived, and the camp and its inmates were under his protection.
The delegate billeted himself in a farmhouse in the vicinity, in order to be near the camp at all times in case of emergency.
Who worried about escape now? Now there was no need for us to risk running toward the fighting line.
Boxes with medicines were unloaded from the car, cigarettes were distributed, we were photographed and joy reigned supreme.
In our excitement we had forgotten the third body, so we carried it outside and dropped it into the narrow grave we had dug for the three corpses.
The guard who accompanied us—a relatively inoffensive man—suddenly became quite gentle.
He saw that the tables might be turned and tried to win our goodwill.
He joined in the short prayers that we offered for the dead men before throwing soil over them.
After the tension and excitement of the past days and hours, those last days in our race with death,
the words of our prayer asking for peace, were as fervent as any ever uttered by the human voice.
And so the last day in camp passed in anticipation of freedom.
But we had rejoiced too early. The Red Cross delegate had assured us that an agreement had been signed,
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