Trisresse at Paris-Match
Ordinarily, the Paris-Match building crackles with Gallic electricity as Europe's best-paid, most buoyant journalists exclaim over their latest exploits, argue about politics and shout out the window to pretty girls who preen in a cafe across the street in the hope that they may get their pictures in the magazine. But last week a heavy silence settled on Paris-Match. Staffers moved listlessly, speaking in low, conspiratorial whispers. An idle copy boy watched over the managing editor's office while its usual occupant, Andre Lacaze, appeared at the entrance to the...
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