They were sitting out-of-doors, in the rear of the tents and the booths, with an awning stretched out over their heads to protect them from the sun, which was shining fiercely and brightly. Close by stood the circus-wagon—painted green, with variegated red and white trimmings. A canary's cage stood upon the platform, between flower-pots, and the yellow bird was singing merrily.
Johannes thought it fine and good now to be among people. There sat the bright little being with the pale face, the large grey eyes, and the ash-blonde hair—braided and wound like a diadem about her head. It seemed to Johannes as if a brilliant light streamed out from her; a light which tasted sweet, and smelled sweet also. And could she not ride a horse, and spring through hoops, and with those slender hands throw plates up high, and catch and balance them? And she looked often at Johannes, and seemed to find him a nice little boy.
Beside her, calm and serious, his head bent forward, his dark hair curling in his neck, sat Markus, eating. This made him seem to Johannes still more dear and intimate.
Next, sat Marjon's sister. Johannes felt a little uneasy in her presence. She sat close by him, and ate very audibly. She shoveled food upon Johannes' plate, and now and then patted him on the shoulder, to encourage him to eat. Then she looked at him, kindly enough, but with a cold penetration as if with some fixed purpose. Her eyes seemed almost black, and her glossy hair was as black as ebony. But her skin was waxy white. Whenever she stirred, something in her clothing always creaked, and there was a heavy odor of perfumery about her.
Beyond Marjon sat the little monkey, watching the movements of the steel forks with his sharp, earnest eyes. Occasionally Marjon spoke to him, and then he whined in eager expectation of something to eat.
That quarter of an hour was delightful! Johannes looked repeatedly at Marjon, trying to think who she looked like, and why it seemed as if he must have known her a long time. And he found it pleasant and adorable when she spoke to him, and was as confidential as if with a friend. Yes, he remembered something of that old sensation with Windekind—the feeling of friendship and intimacy. But he could well see that she did not resemble Windekind. He noticed that her nails were not very clean, and admitted that she did make use of coarse and profane language. Yet her speech was not flat, but musical—with a foreign accent; and her bearing was nearly always winsome, although she did things considered bad manners—things never permitted him.
The afternoon which now followed, filled with the same sort of work—continually running back and forth across the sunny streets—seemed hard indeed. At last he could not think any more, and his feet burned fiercely. Sad and perplexed he sat down on a stone stoop as the shadows grew deeper and cooler, and thought of the gloomy garret where he was again to sleep.
"Come, Johannes. The day's money is nearly earned, and then we go to Vrouw Schimmel's for our supper."
"How much have we earned?" asked Johannes; expecting to hear, to his consolation, of the riches which he had procured by his hard work.
"Two guldens, forty-seven cents," said Markus.