Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/71

Yaska, my beloved, let us walk together. The sky is blue and the air is mild. The last rays of the moonlight are fading before the morning sky. On the other bank of the Seine the blueness of the night is yielding to the dawn, yielding like the sleepless, longing eyes of a dearly beloved. . . What shall we talk about, Yaska dear, when the fresh morning air has cooled my body, when that amorous pair in the next room have at last fallen asleep, when I am cold and my soul is empty and my tired limbs draw me back to bed? Forgive me, Yaska, I am so restless, so moody.

• * *

The following day was Saturday. Dreading the hostility of the alien world, Anna locked herself in, concentrating on her meeting with Eric. An aphorism popular on the heights of Montmartre intrigued her: "Better to take a false step forward than stay forever in one place." It justified the deepest yearning of her being and therefore she repeated it monotonously like a broken record.

There was a sudden knock at the door; Anna held her breath, but as the knocking became persistent, she flushed with shame, "I mustn't hide," she thought. She was determined to defend her own private world. She opened the door-and there stood Yaska.

"So you're up already, your highness," he exclaimed in mock gallantry. "Come on, let me shake your hand. You might at least ask me to sit down. I suppose I'm the last person you expected to see, certainly not an ordinary creature like me. Well, it's not for nothing they say there's no justice in the world. My, my! Look at this place! A palace!" He shook his head in make-believe awe. "Looks just right for one of those fine bourgeois ladies, or at least, for some old millionaire's mistress. And just take a look at that elegant