He went to the writing-table. Then, as if disgusted, he pushed the papers away from himself. He turned back at the threshold. He threw a packet of letters into the fire. He put his watch and his empty purse on the table. No, he had nothing else on him.
In the garden the autumnal leaves rustled gently, as if somebody’s teeth chattered in the dark. Christopher slunk with bent back out of the gate ... only the two pillar-men looked after him.
“Just like a thief.” Somehow, he could not understand why, his grandfather’s funeral came to his mind. The mayor, the city councillors, the flags of the guilds. The priests sang and the bells tolled.... He leaned back, then he went on with his unsteady, heavy steps.
The night was dense. In the mist the city looked like a reflection in grey, murky water. The light of the gas lamps faded away into the air, the walls of the houses faded, the people’s faces faded. With a shudder Christopher turned up the collar of his coat.
He reached the Danube. He sought his way between the barrels and bags of the docks. Then he sat down on the lowest step, put his arms around his shins and leaned his forehead on his knees. He only wanted to rest for an instant. Just for a short time.
He opened his eyes. Why did he wait? All that was worth waiting for had gone.
In the damp air, the Danube seemed to rise.... It approached him with a soft black movement. He shrank back instinctively, as if to escape, and his hands clung in horror to the stones.
Suddenly this passed away. The great river became beautiful and calm. The lamps of the shore dipped swaying stairs of fire into the deep. The river ceased to be hostile to Christopher. It whispered to him and, as if recognising him, it called him, as it had called the Ulwings of old.
The tired soul of Christopher responded to the appeal and his body followed his soul.
After that he never came back again.