Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/106

even the quivering of enthusiasm. As far as the eye could see, red wreaths and red banners fluttered in the breeze.

Suddenly the chants ceased, the line of marchers halted. A man in black held aloft a wreath of flowers and placed it against the gray wall. All eyes turned towards him, and beyond him, where against a background of flowers in rich hues, in a single row stood Thorez, Blum, Daladier and Cachin.

The year of the People's Front.

"Long live the People's Front," Thorez thundered. And, like a well-rehearsed chorus, the massed thousands thundered back-"Long live the People's Front!" It was as if Paris had a single throat, hoarse with the cry for peace, liberty, egalité and fraternity.

Deeply sunken in low chairs, the last survivors of the Communards sat before the crowd. They shook their white heads, like shadows from a world long gone.

• * *

The following day Anna was on her way to work. Despite the usual routine, it seemed to her that the world had assumed a new aspect; something inside her vibrated to the change she felt on the face of things. Passing by the ancient flower-vendor, she asked: "Did you see yesterday's demonstration, Madame Francoise?"

"More than once, my child," she snapped. "Year after year always the same damn thing. It would be better for you to buy this nice bunch of daisies. Fresh from the garden. They'll bring you luck. You'll be lucky in love."

• * *

On this Monday the transition from Sunday to the prosaic day's labor was more difficult than usual. When anyone did