A quaint figure approached down the street. He crawled along the walls with careful, hesitating steps. He stopped every now and then and looked anxiously around. His purple tail-coat fluttered ridiculously, white stockings fell in thick folds over buckled shoes.
Anne felt embarrassed, afraid. She had never yet seen Uncle Sebastian like this in the street, in Pest. Involuntarily, she shrank behind the door. “Perhaps he won’t see me. Perhaps he will walk on....” And the thought of the feverish eyes, and the word she had connected with youth.... And the voice.... Uncle Sebastian was so old and so far away.
Anne cast her eyes down while the rusty buckles of a pair of clumsy shoes came slowly nearer and nearer on the pavement.
The student in the tree roared with laughter.
“What sort of scarecrow is this? What olden times are a-walking?”
Anne became sad and tears rose to her eyes.
“He is mine!” She sobbed in despair and opened her arms towards the old man.
Uncle Sebastian had noticed nothing of all this. He sat down on the bench in front of the bookshop, put his hat on the ground and wiped his forehead for a long time with his enormous gaudy handkerchief.
“I just came here in time. What an upheaval! What are we coming to! What will be the end of this?”
Again Anne felt a wide gulf between herself and the old man, and she moved all the closer up to him so that people who laughed at Uncle Sebastian might know that they belonged together.