Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/298

Monique. Not, of course, the vulgar physical danger of the battlefield, or the foul-smelling hideout of some conspiratorial band preparing to launch an attack on the Nazi oppressors. The danger that attracted her was the romantic, heady peril of meetings in perfumed rooms; an exotic mixture of capriciousness, emotion and near-seduction in aristocratic surroundings.

This may have been her reason-subconsciously-for choosing to become the mistress of a Prefecture official who was a collaborationist, and an anti-Semite and Fascist to boot. For such was Clavelle-and in his wildest nightmares he would never have imagined that the girl he knew as Monique Cremieux was in reality Monique Levitan, a Jewess.

She smiled at the thought that here she was, the daughter of a Jewish tailor, among the highest circles of Paris society. She, who once was a stenographer, had clutched with her slender fingers at the silken ropes of wealth and power, and had held on with all her might. Anything that had the smell of pain and misery, of physical or spiritual strain-could not be for her. In every situation she managed to cling only to what was silken and comfortable, and to avoid anything that belonged to poverty, hardship and strife.

Yet, she kept some connections with the Resistance. Her contribution was in furnishing false passports, export certificates. Even here she had her whims; being willing to work only for "big shots," or English officers who had been shot down and managed to make their way to Resistance units. With ordinary people she would have nothing to do--and if Monique said no, it had to be no. She was not a member, she took no oath. If they tried to frighten her, she merely laughed at them.

She had shut her eyes to the agonies of her people; she neither knew about them, nor wanted to know. When news