As Time Goes By Read Free Page A

"Anger and jealousy are two emotions I choose to live without," he said. "Besides, how could I ever be angry with you when there is so much important work ahead?"
    "Yes, Victor," replied Ilsa. Did he not understand what she was trying to say, or was it impossible for him? "How could you?"
    For a while they sat together in silence. If the other passengers on the plane had noticed anything out of the ordinary about the handsome couple, they did not let their curiosity show. In wartime Europe, keeping one's curiosity private was always wise.
    Victor leaned his head close to Ilsa's. "When we get to Lisbon, my dear, I want you to do exactly as I tell you."
    "When have I ever not?" asked Ilsa, but Victor was still talking.
    "The slightest hesitation could be fatal for both of us. Until now, I've been unable to tell you very much about my mission." His voice softened a bit. "I couldn't breathe a word of it to anyone back in Casa blanca—not even you. I'm sure you understand."
    "I'm sure I do," replied Ilsa.
    The plane climbed above the Atlantic, buffeted by the winds. Once or twice Ilsa felt her stomach lurch, but Victor remained imperturbable. He had faced far worse dangers than a simple airplane trip, she knew, and she envied him his calm certitude. She wondered if that was an emotion she would ever experience for herself.
    "Even at this moment, I cannot confide in you the full details of our plan," Victor went on. "Indeed, I myself do not know them fully yet."
    Ilsa interrupted him by placing her hand on his forearm. He winced, and then she remembered the wound he had suffered back in Casablanca, when the police broke up the Underground meeting just before his ar rest. "It's very dangerous, isn't it?" she asked.
    "More dangerous than anything I've ever done," said Victor. "But don't worry, everything will work out. Our cause is just and theirs is not, and in the end we shall win. When even a man as blind to the fate of nations as Richard Blaine can see the difference be tween us and the Germans, the virtue of our cause must be clear to everyone."
    "What do you mean, Victor?"
    Laszlo gave his wife a small smile. "I mean simply that his action in giving us the transit letters was the mark of a man who has stopped running from himself. Who has finally realized, as you and I did long ago, that there are far more important things in this life than oneself or one's own happiness. Why do you suppose he did what he did back there? Why did he give us the letters of transit, when he might have kept them for himself?"
    "I'm sure I don't know," replied Ilsa. Her mind flashed back to the last time she had seen Rick alone, in his apartment above the cafe last night. She had been ready to sleep with him or shoot him, whatever it took to get the letters of transit that were her husband's pass port to freedom. She had not shot him.
    "When he might have turned me over to Major Stras ser as casually as swatting a fly," continued Victor. "When"—his face darkened a bit—"he might have tried to take you away with him."
    "Why, Victor?" breathed Ilsa.
    "Because your saloon keeper has finally become a man, and declared his willingness to join us in our fight," said her husband. "He knew that I must escape Casablanca, and he knew I needed you to come with me. Whatever his true feelings for you might be, they were of no moment. Because the cause is all."
    Their plane landed in Lisbon without incident. Victor and Ilsa passed through the border formalities easily. They took their rooms in the Hotel Aviz without question. They slept together that night without pas sion.
    The next morning Ilsa was startled to wakefulness by a soft knock at the door. Two years ago she never would have noticed it, not so softly and not so far away. Since 1939 no one in occupied Europe had slept well or soundly. Instinctively she reached for her husband, but he was not there. Up and dressed, he was just closing the bedroom door behind him.
    Outside she could hear voices. They