Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/139

on his finger. Her laughter rippled away like water tumbling over rocks.

She rumpled her fingers through Eric's locks with voluptuous motions and then drew the comb through them.

"Hey, Eric. You're not even listening to what I'm saying,"

"You only imagine so, my sweet." Eric put out the cigarette and peered at himself in the mirror. "I hear you"

They stood, still as two carved figures, gazing into each other's eyes in the cold reflection of the wall mirror.

"It's more than hearing," Anna murmured, moving her head closer to his firm, angular cheek. "Hearing isn't enough, my dear. You must have eyes to see where one's soul is leading one; and to follow its fantasies-far, far away, to the other side of the blue sea, to the round and sun-bathed house on that high hill-our house! Don't you see"-her voice took on a tone of hushed urgency-"don't you see, Eric, the flaming sunset? Look, it sets fire to the heavens, the waves, the palm trees, the castle's round walls. See, Eric, the naked sun has plunged herself into the sea, and all of nature, stunned by her glorious nudity reddens in shame. Yes, Eric, all of nature is jealous. Oh, Eric, it is only your eyes that remain cold and unmoved. Where are your eyes gazing?"- She turned from the mirror and placed her arms on his shoulders. "What is it you are yearning for, Eric? Do you yearn for Europe? Back on the other side of the sea? Tell me, Eric. Tell me truly!"

Eric remained silent. He was shocked at her gushy sentiment pouring out of her as if she were a heroine invented by Rousseau. This was Hitler's age-an age of "steel and blood." Anna guessed his thoughts vaguely as if through a crystal ball. She dropped her eyes and let her hands fal from his shoulders.