The great river breathed heavily, coolly. The stars spent themselves in the firmament. Christopher turned from the fishmarket to the embankment of the Danube. Now and then he stopped, then he walked on wearily, unsteadily under the slumbering houses. He went on, full of contempt. Was that all? So the grown-ups’ great secret was no more than that? He pulled his hat over his eyes. He was afraid of someone looking into them.
Florian just opened the gate. His broom swished with uniform, equal sounds over the stones of the pavement. When the servant had finished and had retired to the house, Christopher slunk in unobserved by the side entrance.
He looked anxiously for a minute towards the stairs. Candle-light descended from above, step by step. He did not realize at once what it meant. He only felt danger and hid in the wooden recess of the cellar stairs.
Heavy, firm steps came downward. They came irresistibly and their sound seemed to tread on him. He crouched down trembling. He saw his grandfather. He was going to work. He carried a candle in his hand. His shadow was of superhuman height on the white wall. He himself looked superhuman to the shrinking boy. Under the porch his shadow extended. It reached the courtyard. It continued over the wall. It must have dominated the houses too, the whole town. Christopher looked after it; he could not see its end and in his dark recess he felt himself infinitely small and miserable beside the great shadow.
Staggering with exhaustion he stole upstairs. On tiptoe. Along the corridor. One of the big stone steps was loose. He knew it well. He avoided it like a traitor.
He stopped for a moment before Anne’s door. In the clear tranquillity he felt as if some dirt stuck to his face, his hand, his whole body; degrading, shameful dirt.
Later on, he lay for a long time with open eyes in the dark, as he used to in olden times when he was still a child. The darkness was as empty as his heart. What he had longed for was gone. All that remained in his blood was disgust and fatigue.
He was waked by the noise of the clatter of heavy carts under the porch. The steps of workmen were going towards the timber yard. Ulwing the builder was not contented to buy land and houses. Now everything was cheap. He bought building material from the ruined contractors. Enormous quantities of timber, so that his firm might be ready when work started.
Christopher took no interest in this. At this time nothing interested him. Even when he heard that Sophie Hosszu had become the bride of Ignace Hold he remained indifferent. He just thought of the cornelian horse-head which dangled and touched Sophie.
A week passed away. Christopher spoke practically to nobody in the house, but whenever he addressed Anne, his expression was sarcastic, as if he wanted to vent on her his contempt for all that was woman. He had never felt so strong and independent as now.