"Little Moscow"

Several months ago, a well-dressed young man called on a woman real estate agent in the small town of Bazainville near Paris, seeking, he explained, a house and grounds suitable for his aged parents. Something nice and quiet, said the young man, adding: "Price means nothing to me." Impressed, the agent showed M. Riviere a large house, somewhat run-down --its porch sagged and its roof leaked--but basically sound and set in seven fine acres of vineyard and orchard. A working-class family named Dupuis with five children lived there rent-free.

M. Riviere liked the place and set just one condition. "The occupant must get out within fifteen days." Impossible, replied the agent: French law prevents cursory eviction of tenants; besides, the owner is a kindhearted man. Riviere was adamant; finally the agent arranged to move the poor Dupuis family to a vacant store and pay their rent. M. Riviere paid the purchase price, spent another estimated $86,000 rebuilding the main house.

Last week his "aged parents" were installed in Bazainville. The new tenant, in fact, proved to be ailing Maurice Thorez, boss of France's Communists just back from Moscow.

Reporters who went out to see Egalitarian Maurice discovered that "Little Moscow," as the villagers call his new home, is actually a small-scale Kremlin. Oaken gates and a six-foot-high stone wall seal off the front; a seven-foot-high wire fence topped by barbed wire barricades the sides. Ten husky guards patrol the approaches, accompanied by a bloodhound and a German police dog.

What happened to the Dupuis family? Reporters found them living nine miles away in a dingy, junk-piled hovel.

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