Free The Siren of Paris by David Leroy Page A

as well.”
    “Marc, you are overreacting. France is in no danger. I will marry you when there is no threat of running away. Not just to run away.”
    “Then, you accept. We are engaged.” Marc looked at her.
    “Yes, of course I do. I love you, but I do not want to do this just to run away. After the war, like your parents,” she smiled at him. Marc cherished the promise. It pleased him to think that he had found her at last and now he knew eventually they would marry. He also took a certain pleasure that his life would follow, in a sense, his parents’ lives. “But, for now, we must tell no one. It is a promise, for later, Marc. For later, after this war.”

Chapter 11
    “I t is a classic overreach,” Nigel said when Germany invaded Norway.
    “I suspect they must have overlooked the country,” Dora said when Germany invaded Denmark.
    “Thank you, Marc. You have no idea what this means for me,” David said as he left for Italy with the ticket Marc had bought for him.
    “They have now taken on a fight they cannot win,” Allen said to Marc when Germany invaded Belgium on May 10, 1940.
    “No, no, nothing serious. I want to see the Walt Disney parade. It seems like everyone has seen it now in Paris. Please, we can see something more serious next time,” Marie said, using just the right tone of voice that would win her case that Wednesday afternoon of May 15.
    “If there is a bunch of kids cutting up in the theater, remember, I told you so. What about
Goodbye, Mr. Chips
? I hear it is very interesting, but it might be in English.”
    “I can understand English. I have not heard of it before. You are just so stubborn about French.” She poked him and he leaned in to kiss her. “No, I want to see a cartoon.”
    “Then let’s. It will be good for me, too,” he decided. They bought the tickets at the box office and walked inside for the show.
    The theater had an art deco interior. People of various dress packed the rear part of the theater to take in the daily newsreels, which were free so long as the viewers did not sit down. One newsreel had just finished as Marc and Marie seated themselves in a pair of seats in the middle.
    “I am looking forward to this weekend.” Marc took her hand and squeezed it.
    “I have created a monster in you,” she whispered into his ear and nudged her nose against his earlobe.
    “You have indeed,” he turned and gave her a long kiss, then said in a childish voice, “I love you.”
    The screen of the theater came to life with the black-and-white headlines of the newsreel. People in the back of the theater jostled to see if the headlines were new or old.
    “Militiamen follow in fathers footsteps” flashed over the screen as two lines of soldiers marched in the snow. “The twenty-ones have reached France. And on the snow-clad surfaces where their fathers once tread, they stride out with weary step.”
    “My God, this is so old. I can’t believe they are still showing this one,” Marc complained to Marie. She had never seen this newsreel, because it was produced for the British. Her eyes took in the sight of the young, cocky British striding across snow-covered fields, rifles in hand.
    “Roll out the barrel, we’ll have a barrel of fun! Roll out the barrel, we’ve got the blues on the run,” the men sang with hearty voices. Some in the audience joined in the chorus. “Zing, boom, tararrel, ring out a song of good cheer. Now’s the time to roll the barrel, for the gang’s all here.”
    “The British sure love their songs,” Marie leaned over into Marc. He leaned into her closer, a smile on his face.
    “That’s the song of this war, the song that these militiamen will be remembered by when they are veterans. They are a splendid type of fellow and it is funny to think that twenty-one years ago, they were called war babies.” Marc could not wait for this tired newsreel from February to be over. He never liked it and each time it played, he liked it even less.