Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/264

How could there be talk of possessions when one no longer possessed one's own life? One's life belonged now to the bitter struggle for survival in which one's generation was engaged, to the pitiable calls for help from people caught under under the wheels of the enemy's war chariot, to the birth pangs of the young woman in the forest near Blois, to the whimpering children who had lost their parents. One's life belonged to the wounded French soldier, crying for help near the banks of the Loire. One's life belonged to everybody except oneself . . . And Anna, seeing all this clearly, yearned with her whole soul to strengthen those who most needed strength.

She managed to impress Marguerite with the urgency of the situation and succeeded in establishing two refugee families on the upper floor of the farm house.

Other fleeing civilians who halted to rest at the farm in the bewildered flight to the South, brought news of what on in the outside world. Some said the enemy had was going already crossed the Marne. Others swore that they had heard defiant broadcast: France's capital city would refuse to surrender; reserves were being rushed up to meet the enemy, and the Germans had even been driven back in some bloody engagements near Compiegne.

The fleeing refugees reported, too, that the rage of the populace was increasing by the minute. In their excitement some were cursing Leon Blum and Andre Renan; others were shouting death to La Roque and his fascist bands.

There were all sorts of fantastic reports about Paris itself. One woman, with tears streaming from her eyes, told Anna how she herself had seen the Opera in flames and the Louvre in ruins; and that the entire Trocadero section had been levelled to the ground by the Boche bombardment.

Another reported that an agreement had been made with