Wherein the shame and the disgrace consisted, why and before whom I felt ashamed, to this day I do not know. And yet, on account of the shame and the disgrace, I did not take the shortest way back to the soup-kitchen, but I went round by several streets.
At last I arrived.
The first room, the dining-room, was empty.
The Gehenna of day-time is cooling down, the steam rises higher and higher from the damp floor, and creates a new "heaven" and a new "firmament" between the waters below (from off the feet of the poor people) and the waters above (the drops formed by the vapor). Here and there the drops come raining through.
Thanks to a little window, I can see into the kitchen.
The drowsy cook with the untidy head leans with her left hand on the great kettle and lifts the big soup-spoon lazily to her mouth.
The second, the kitchen-maid, is shredding macaroni for to-morrow noon. She, too, looks sleepy. The superintendent is counting meal tickets distributed by the committee.
There is no one else visible. I cast a look under the tables—no trace of the little boy. I am too late!
"But at least," I think, as I leave the kitchen, "nobody saw me!"
Suddenly I remember that I have been walking the streets for several hours.