In 1894 Alfred Dreyfus, a Jewish French army officer, was unjustly accused of spying for Germany, and the French courts sentenced him to life imprisonment on Devils Island. Documents were uncovered which proved his innocence and Emile Zola wrote J'accuse, but in a retrial, the French courts again found him guilty. He was sentenced to 10 years in prison but was pardoned only after serving a few days. The entire incident spanned 12 years and was known internationally as L'Affaire Dreyfus.

L'Affaire Greenberg is less dramatic and less important, but it is worth telling, in my humble opinion. It is the tale of a traveler in a foreign city being taken advantage of, and cheated. Let me relay this story.

My wife and I were staying at a quaint hotel in Monpellier, France. It was built in the 16th century, overlooking well-kept gardens and a stone terrace. The village church bells would chime every hour. It was the secret dream spot of every American tourist who ever traveled off the beaten path in France.

Next door to this hotel is an equally quaint boulangerie-patisserie. The pastries, cakes and baguettes were beautiful to observe and delicious to eat. On each of our daily excursions, I would step in and order two baguette sandwiches for our trip of the day. The meals consisted of a crisp baguette, jambon (ham), fromage (cheese), tomat (tomato) and sprigs of parsley to add to the bouquet of various subtle tastes. I also ordered bottled water and an almond pastry.

The sweet, fiftyish blond lady behind the counter, who did not speak English, was very accommodating. She supplied the adjacent hotel with all of its breads and cakes. The manager of the hotel, a Mrs. Charpentier, who spoke perfect English, stopped in for croissants while I was waiting for my sandwiches for our departing journey back to Paris, to be made. We traded "bonjours," and all seemed international bliss.

I gave the nice woman a 100 franc note ($17.85) for a bill of 48 francs. She handed back to me a two franc coin and a 50 franc note ($8.93). The gray 50 franc note looked old and worn, and it was not the same blue 50 franc note which I had dealt with the past week.

I accepted the note without question because I did not want to seem an ugly American and I thought it must be some variation of money with which I was not familiar.

The taxi driver would not accept the 50 franc note. "Non, non, non!" he shouted. That was my first indication that something was not kosher. At the railroad station I tried to buy the daily International Herald Tribune newspaper with the aforementioned 50 franc note. "Non, non, non!" the girl behind the counter shouted.

In Paris neither my hotel nor the local money-changers would touch this pariah of a 50 franc note. What should the duped tourist do, in the situation that I have related?

a) Smile and say "C'est la vie!" (That's life!)?

b) Get mad and report it to the Bureau de Tourisme (Tourist Board)?

c) Internalize it?

d) Scream a French curse word?

e) Forget about it?

The answer came to me in the middle of a sleepless night at my hotel in Paris (1,200 miles away).

I wrote a pleasant note to Mrs. Charpentier and enclosed the bogus 50 franc. I asked her to return the note to the sweet blond woman.

I asked in return only two things from the shopkeeper:

1. a written apology

2. a 100 franc note (double the original amount).

I said strongly, "These are my terns, and then and only then, will I consider the matter closed."

There you have it, my readers. L'Affaire Greenberg.

What would you have done?

What do you think will be the end result of the infamous 50 franc incident?

It is no Dreyfus Affair, but I intend to keep you informed of the resolution of this rather sordid matter.

P.S. Send your opinion about and approach to this sticky matter to:

Stanley Greenberg

c/o Syosset-Jericho Tribune

132 East Second Street