Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/299

reached her that Mary, her cousin, had been deported, she thrust the information out of her mind. She convinced herself that Mary was no real cousin of hers, not in the inner, psychological sense. Besides, such things are bound to happen in time of war. As for herself, she was ready to forget her origin and make hay while the sun shone.

Not out of fear did Monique try to tear herself away from her kind. It simply was not convenient to be known as a Jewess. Someone had put the brand of inferiority on the Jews. Well, that wasn't her problem. She had found a way out by a back door, believing that in so doing, she would rid herself of the unpleasant stigma of her ancestry.

First she had seen to it that her mother and father were safely out of the country, then she changed her name. Who, to look at her, would ever dream that she was anything but the most Aryan of Aryans? Aware of this, Monique glided through the circles of high society like a ballet dancer on waxen boards.

The chance sight of Lepetit's name in the newspaper had made her a little nervous this evening, causing her to forget her usually good manners. First of all, she had shrieked so unexpectedly. And now, at Heinz' remark about the laughter of women, she again interrupted the intimate conversation between Clavelle and Herr Opfenmundt with an exaggerated outburst.

"Pardon me." She tried to stifle her laughter with a silken handkerchief. "Monsieur Heinz is so witty." In vain she tried to conceal her excitement. The face behind the powdered mask flushed and paled by turn. The image of Monsieur Lepetit would not leave her mind. How had he come to be held as a hostage? Surely he was no Communist, no rebel-and certainly not a Jew. Poor devil, she thought, and a film of grief veiled her eyes for a moment. After all, he