Further on there was a block in the traffic. The scaffoldings of new-built houses encroached on the pavement. Damp smell of lime mixed with the summer’s dust. Under the scaffoldings hurrying figures with drawn-up shoulders. Sudden shouts. A jet of water sprayed the hot pavement in a broad sheaf.
A mounted policeman lifted his white-gloved hand. For an instant everything stopped, then the crowd became untangled and rolled on like a stream.
Anne’s eyes passed vaguely over the signs of the shops. She found no familiar name. The Jörgs, Münster, Walter, were nowhere. Other names, other people. And the Ulwings?
A forgotten corner lamp, an old tree surviving in the row of young trees bordering the streets, a condemned, quaint old house, uncouthly timid among the powerful new buildings ... these might possibly know something of Ulwing the builder but men knew him no more.
The carriage reached its destination. It stopped at the railway station.
In the smoky hall Florian and Mamsell Tini sat on the luggage. Somewhere a bell was rung and a voice proclaimed the names of unknown places that people went to ... lived in.
Anne, standing on the platform, saw a dark van coupled to the train. They had to wait a long time ... the train started late. People came hurrying. Only he who travelled in the black van to Ille was in no hurry.
The furious bell sounded again.
Anne leaned out of her carriage door though she wanted to see no more; all was over for her and far, far away. Her tired aimless look was suddenly arrested.
Someone came to her, came to her out of the past ... from far away.