Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/40

Suddenly Gertrude's shoulders drooped and she bit her lips. Morris, noticing the change in her, felt a wave of heat flooding his face. The discoloration at his right ear flamed red, like a warning signal. Gertrude's tears always drove him to a feeling of desperation. He felt as if he were being crowded against a wall with no avenue of escape. He tried to master his feelings, but felt his spirits drowning in an ocean of gloom. He had an impulse to grab a dish and dash it to the floor, to spit contemptuously in the world's face, to tear the hair out of his head, to perish where he stood, dying in an alien world to which he did not belong. Instead he kicked savagely at the chair, grabbed his hat and coat, and went to the door.

Gertrude blocked his way. "It's no use, I've got to tell you," she said. "I'm caught again." She made an attempt at a feeble smile.

Morris remained standing where he was, motionless and bewildered. He threw a quick glance at his wife's pale lips, at the faint crow's feet at the corners of her eyes, at her tired breasts. There was something he wanted to say, but he couldn't find the words. He turned his face away, went over to the window and looked out. From the courtyard came the sound of children's voices, but Morris did not hear them. It was as though his senses were paralyzed. He leaned against the window frame and stood without moving a muscle. Gradually the children's voices aroused him and brought him back to awareness. He heard his son Paul's commanding voice-"Left, march!" And he saw a troop of children marching in step across the court. There was Robert, too, his shoulders drawn back like a soldier's, dragging his worn shoes along with the others.

Morris turned from the window and, with a slow step, went over to Gertrude. Quietly he put his arms about her