Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/138

"I'm not jealous," Anna protested. "Don't be so conceited. Now tell me where you were."

"That's easy?" he grinned, lowering her to the floor. " had to sit up with a sick friend. Heinz, the tall fellow, remember him?"

She remained silent.

"Don't believe me, do you?" he said. "I assure you I wasn't out with a brunette from South America! I know you feel like scratching my eyes out, but-believe it or not-I stayed up with Heinz."

"You stayed up with that, with that..."

"Say it," laughed Eric-"that Nazi bastard!"

"Nazi is enough," said Anna, her eyes flashing.

"I see," joked Eric. "Nazi bastard is redundant, like foolish virgins. All virgins are foolish and all Nazis are bastards-even me."

"You're not really a Nazi, are you Eric?" she asked pleadingly, putting her hands on his shoulders and probing his eyes.

"Do I look like one?" he hedged.

"Nazis don't wear their souls on their sleeves," said Anna.

"Oh, let's cut out politics," he shrugged. "We'll only spoil the evening. Let's have fun."

"How?" she asked eagerly.

He drew her into his arms and kissed her ardently, draining her soul with his kisses.

For a moment she stood as if stunned, then she walked to the mirror and drew a comb through her hair. She laughed happily as she talked, still dazed with the intoxication of Eric's kisses. Overflowing with the sweetness of his presence, everything took on a jovial hue for her. She laughed at her self, laughed at Eric's thoughtful expression, at the smoke that spiralled up from his cigarette, at the black-stoned ring