Page:Storm Over Paris.pdf/96

People with principles have a determined, single-tracked world outlook, a forward-looking gaze that admits of no doubts. Yes, sir!"-he thrust his bespectacled eyes close to Kurt's smooth-shaven face-"Our Fuehrer is the most significant factor in the whole confused picture of world politics. Do you understand, my friend?" He looked searchingly Kurt. "Hitler is not an 'if' or a 'but'-he's a buttress, a pillar of German strength, a rock standing firm in the water, a dogma to cling to."

"I'd rather cling to Gerta just now," grinned Kurt as the orchestra struck up a tango. He took Gerta by the hand and led her off to the dance floor.

The strains of the music beat mercilessly against Eric's brain. The same tango that he had danced with her! Bent over his glass he went on sipping slowly. Oh, if he could only tell her how deeply she was imprinted on his heart, how clearly he now understood her doubts and fears, so clearly that he was ready to leave Europe forever with all its turmoils, even his own Vaterland with its new ideologies, the Third Reich and its Fuehrer-leave all of it behind him and fulfill himself in their mutual happiness. "My own happiness!" The phrase seemed to capture his imagination. As though obeying some inner impulse he got up from the table and left. Riding the tides of his romantic illusion, he was swept out of the hot stuffy night club into the cool, dark air that vibrated sensuously beneath a full, yellow moon.

After the dance Kurt and Gerta came back to the table. Finding Eric gone, they asked what had happened to him.

"Jew trouble," Elsa remarked with a sarcastic laugh, and her face showed a quick glimpse of hatred.

"Ach, still that slim brunette!" There was a note of excitement in Gerta's usually controlled voice.