Then she stood for a while on one of the leading streets, and stared in bewilderment at the throngs of people surging by. It was all so cruelly real.
She thought of whom she might go to next. A wave of purple flashed across her face as she thought of Eberhard. Involuntarily she made a passionate, deprecating gesture, as if she were saying: No, no, not to him! The first ray of this hope was also the last. Her conscience struck her; but she was helpless. Here was a feeling impervious to reason; armed ten times over against encouragement. Anyhow, he was not at home. She thought of this with a sigh of relief.
Would Daniel go to the Baroness? No; that could not be thought of for a minute.
She could no longer endure the city nor the people in it. She walked through the park out into the country. She could not stand the sight of the sky or the distant views; she turned around. She came back to The Füll, entered the Carovius house, and rang Frau Benda’s bell. She knew the old lady was away, and yet, as if quite beside herself, she rang four times. If Benda would only come; if the good friend were only sitting in his room and could come to the door.
But there was not a stir. From the first floor the sounds of a piano floated out the window; it was being played in full chords. Down in the court Cæsar was howling.
She started back home with beating heart. At the front gate she saw Philippina.
“I have heard all about your misfortune,” said Philippina in her shrill voice. “Nobody can help you but me.”
“You? You can help?” stammered Eleanore. The whole square began to move, it seemed, before her.
“Word of honour—I can. I must simply have a talk with Daniel first. Let’s lose no time. Is he upstairs?”