On the platform of the opposite track the red cap of the station master, the spiked helmets of policemen, and the silk hats of high functionaries indicated that an important person was awaited by the next train. And to be sure Croniamantal heard a little old man, with quick gestures, explaining to his fat wife who gaped with astonishment at the spiked helmets, the red cap, and the silk hats:
"Krupp... Essen... No orders... Italy."
Croniamantal followed the crowd of passengers who had come in on his train. He walked behind two girls, who must have been pigeon-toed, so much did their gait resemble that of the goose. They kept their hands concealed under short cloaks; the head of the first one was covered with a small black hat, from which there dangled a bouquet of blue roses, as well as some straight, black feathers, with the stem trimmed except at the tip, which trembled as if with cold. The hat of the other girl was of a soft, almost brilliant felt, an enormous knot of satinette shrouding her with ridicule. They were probably two servant maids out of a job, for they were pounced upon at the exit by a group of strait-laced and ugly ladies wearing the ribbon of the Catholic Society for the Protection of Young Girls. The ladies of the Protestant Society for the same purpose stood a little further off. Croniamantal following behind a stout man with a short, hard and russet beard, dressed in green, descended the stairway that led to the vestibule of the station.
Outside he saluted the Dome, solitary in the midst of the irregular square which it filled with its bulk. The station heaped its modern mass close to the huge cathedral. Hotels spread their signs in hybrid languages and appeared to hold their respectful distance from the gothic colossus. Croniamantal sniffed the odour of the town for a long time. He seemed to be disappointed.
"She is not here," he said to himself, "my nose would smell her, my nerves would vibrate, my eyes would see her."
He crossed the town, passed the fortifications on foot as if driven by un unknown force along the main road, downstream, on the right bank of the Rhine. And in truth, Tristouse and Paponat had arrived the night before in Cologne, taken an automobile and continued their journey; they had taken the right bank of the Rhine in the direction of Coblenz, and Croniamantal was following their trail.
Christmas eve came. An old prophet of a rabbi from Dollendorf, just as he was venturing upon the bridge which links Bonn with Buel, was repulsed by a violent gust of wind. The snow fell in a great rage. The sound of the gale drowned all the Christmas songs, but the thousand lights of the trees glittered in each house.
The old Jew swore:
"Kreuzdonnerwetter... I shall never get to Haenchen... Winter, my old friend, thou canst avail nothing against my old and joyous carcass, let me cross without hindrance this old Rhine which is as drunken as thirty-six drunkards. As to myself, I bend my steps toward the noble tavern frequented by the Borussians only to tipple in company with those white bonnets and at their cost, like a good Christian, although I am a Jew."
The sound of the gale doubled in fury, strange voices made themselves heard. The old rabbi shivered and raised his head crying: