Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/271

doom. Voices murmured that Hitler's boasted thousand-year reign over Europe was already established. Others comforted themselves with the hope that cracks were beginning to appear in the Nazi edifice. When people talked, it was behind locked doors. They all waited-against the dictates of logic-for some event to take shape and point the way to Freedom.

In her apartment on the Rue Julien Lacroix, Gertrude had established a friendly relationship with the mother a child she had taken in. It was particularly to the little girl, Denise, that her heart went out.

Both women learned through the Red Cross that their husbands had been captured and were now in a German prison camp. When the reports reached them, Gertrude sat gnawing her fingers, while Antoinette laughed ironically-almost jealous of the good fortune her husband was enjoying; doing nothing, getting his meals-while she had to work twelve hours a day to scrape together the necessities of life!

There was a vast difference between the two women. Gertrude worked hard and was sparing of every sou. The other seemed unable to fix her mind on serious things. Now that she was in Paris she had been seized by an inordinate appetite for articles and luxuries that cost a lot of money: silk stockings, perfume, powder, elegant hair-dresses. She dyed her hair a platinum blonde, and its tresses framed her rouged face. Her dresses became shorter showing her slim legs. Most evenings she would barge out of the house, disappearing into the darkened streets as mysteriously as a slinking cat. Gertrude was far from pleased with Antoinette's behavior, but there was nothing she could do. Paris was becoming more and more crowded with returning refugees as well as with the occupying forces. Rooms became scarce and expensive. It might be a good idea, she thought, to rent out her flat and stay with Anna and the children at the farm. She