Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/111

On the Place Republique a carnival fiesta was going on, with throngs of merrymakers jostling about the enclosed booths, searching for a brief moment of joy. Some were finding their little ecstasy on the swaying gondolas, others in the slowly descending parachutes or on the backs of the stately wooden horses of the carousels. Men looked for acquiescent women; and women for promising men. The fortune-teller's booth was crowded, mostly with girls, all hoping for the wink of good fortune. A vague and tenuous hope fills the hearts of such searchers after a beneficent destiny; the impossible seems to become probable, and the hopes which beckon on to new achievements find new wings and poise themselves for renewed flights. Like, the moth, eternally longing, eternally dying in the flame of its desire.

From under an open red umbrella came a sentimental tune. A group of street singers were singing a popular song, and selling copies as they sang. A red-headed woman with heavily pencilled eyelashes sang the words through a megaphone. Her voice was like a fog horn, loud, brazen, tremulous. A young man with a fiddle, and a second with a trombone played the accompaniment. A large crowd was gathered around them.

"One franc a copy," the singer shouted and then repeated the words: "A franc a copy; the latest hit. Such a bargain never offered before! Come up and get them, mes amies."

Anna pushed her way through the crowd. She dug a franc out of her bag and accepted a booklet.

"Everyone together," shouted the singer.

"Everyone together," the trumpet-player echoed her words.

The crowd started to sing, at first hesitantly and unsurely, gradually gaining strength, high voices and low, fusing into a burst of harmony and floating into the night air!

Anna felt a lump in her throat. She wormed her way out