o 3b3e7475144cf77c

large incomes to a few chosen individuals, in order that they may be free to attend fashion

shows and constitute themselves models of elegance and refinement.

VIII

"Oh, by the way," said the daughter of Jerusalem, all at once; "I understand that you were in

Germany not long ago."

"Just before Christmas," replied Lanny.

"I do wish you would tell me about it. It must be dreadful."

"In some ways, and for some people. Others hardly notice it."

"Oh, Monsieur Budd," said Olivie, lowering her voice, "may I tell you something without its

going any farther? I'm really not supposed to talk, but we are all so worried."

"You may be sure that my wife and I will respect your confidence, Madame."

"We have just learned that the Nazis have arrested my Uncle Solomon. You know him,

possibly?"

"I had the pleasure of meeting him at the home of Johannes Robin. Also, I am one of his

depositors in Berlin."

"They have trumped up some charge against him, of sending money out of Germany. You

know, of course, that a banker cannot help doing that; especially a family like ours, doing

business in Austria and Czechoslovakia and Rumania, and so many other countries."

"Of course, Madame."

"We Jews hear the most dreadful stories—really, it makes you quite sick."

"I am sorry to say that many of them are true. They tell you thatsuch things happen in

violent social overturns. But I doubt if the Nazis would do physical harm to a man like your

uncle. They would be more likely to assess him a very large fine."

"It is all so bewildering, Monsieur Budd. Really, my father cannot be sure whether it would

be safe for him to go into Germany to see about it."

"I will make a suggestion, Madame, if you don't mind."

"That is just what I was hoping you might do."

"I ask you to consider it confidential, just as you have asked me. Tell your mother and father,

but nobody else."

"Certainly, Monsieur Budd."

"I suggest their sending somebody to interview General Göring. He has a great deal of

influence and seems to understand these matters."

"Oh, thank you!" exclaimed Olivie Hellstein. "I am so glad I thought to ask you about it."

Irma put in: "Send somebody who is dignified and impressive-looking, and tell him to be

dressed exactly right, and not forget any of the Minister-Prasident General's titles."

IX

Out of duty to the memory of Marie de Bruyne, Lanny made an effort to see her younger

son, but found it impossible. Charlot was meeting somewhere with the leaders of his society,

and the inquiries of strangers were not welcomed. This Tuesday, the sixth of February, was to

be the great night in which all the organizations of the Right in France would "demonstrate"

against the government. Marching orders had been published in all the opposi tion papers,

under the slogan: "À bas les voleurs! Down with the thieves!" At twilight Charlot would

emerge from his hiding place, wearing his tricolor armband with the letters F.C.F., which meant

that he was a Son of the Cross of Fire. He would be singing the Marseillaise; an odd

phenomenon, the battle-song of one revolution becoming the anti-song of the next! In between

singing, Charlot and his troop of patriotic youths would be yelling the word

"Démission!"— which meant the turning out of the Daladier government. Less politely they

would cry: "Daladier аи poteau!" meaning that they wished to burn him alive.

Lanny drove his wife to the Chamber, going by a circuitous route because the Pont de la

Concorde was blocked by gendarmes. For an hour the couple sat in the public gallery and

listened to an uproar which reminded Lanny of what he had heard on the floor of the New

York Stock Exchange at the height of the panic. Daladier couldn't make his speech; his political

enemies hurled at him every abusive name in the extensive French vocabulary, while at the

same time the Communists sang the Internationale.

When this became monotonous, the Americans went out to have a look at the streets. They

couldn't see much from a car, for fear of being caught in fighting, and decided that the best

place from which to witness a Paris démonstration was from the windows of their hotel suite.

Robbie, sensible fellow, was in his rooms, talking business with the head of a French building

concern which sometimes bought ascenseurs. The two younger people stood on the balcony of

their drawing-room, which looked over the great Place de la Concorde, brilliantly lighted, and

with an obelisk in the center having floodlights on it. Directly across the Place was the bridge

over the Seine to the Palais-Bourbon, where the deputies met; a building in Roman style with

many tall pillars brightly shining.

There must have been a hundred thousand people in the Place, and more pouring in by every

street. They were trying to get across the bridge, but the police and troops had blocked it with

patrol-wagons. The mob started throwing things, and soon there was a pitched battle, with