Young Christopher did not get out of bed for a whole week. Sickly fright left its impression on his face. In daytime he lay speechless in a corner of the office. Fear prevented him from sleeping at night; and then he would slink to the windows.
The black chestnut trees stood gravely in the back garden. Now and then a distant flaring light would crown their summits with red. Their leaves, like flattened bleeding fingers, moved towards the sky. Between the bushes, something began to move. The pump handle creaked. A stable lantern appeared on the ground; in its light stood men carrying water to the attics. The builder was there too, working the pump handle in his shirt sleeves; he was relieved occasionally by John Hubert, who, however, wore a smart coat and white collar which shone in the dark. Then all went away to rest. The courtyard became empty.
Christopher was again afraid. He grasped his neck. He felt as if some fine strings were quivering in it; this had happened frequently since the great clap had dealt the house a blow. In his brain the vision of that incident cropped up incessantly. He wanted to push it away but something reached into his brain and pulled it back.
He would have liked to go to Anne to tell her all about it. But would she understand? He could not bear the idea of being laughed at. He threw himself on his bed and pressed his head between his two hands. Why could he not be like the others? Why had he to think forever of things that the others could not understand?
In the next room, Anne lay sleepless too. Uncle Sebastian, living up there in the castle, was never out of her mind since she had had a glimpse of the spire of Our Lady’s church through the side door, opened during the bombardment. The stairs felt cold under her feet and the door-handles creaked loudly through the silent house. Crossing the dining-room, she sank into a chair. She thought with terror of her grandfather. If he had heard it? He would never let her do it, yet, however much she was afraid, however much she trembled, it had to be done.
She reached the piano. She listened again, lit the candle, but dared not look round. Her teeth chattered pitifully while she opened the shutter. The window was broken. What if the wind blew the candle out? But the May night was deep and calm.
Anne felt in her arm a reminiscence of the old movement with which as a child she used to wave to Uncle Sebastian across the Danube. She waved her hand and closed the shutter behind the illuminated window.
Outside the window the light of the candle spread yellow into the night as if attempting to go across the river on the errand on which it had been sent.
In the mellow, shapeless darkness the castle formed a rigid compact shadow. No lamps burned in its steep streets. The houses were mute and fearful.