She spied around with cowardly, superstitious eyes. She was afraid of the old inspector, as she would have been afraid of an invincible magician. For such cases she had a number of formulas at her tongue’s end. She murmured: “Put earth in, close the lid, hold your thumbs, spit on your shoe.” She spat on her shoe.
She then began to examine the cabinet, for she believed that it contained all of Jordan’s secrets. But she could not open the lock, try as she might. She then went at the writing desk; she was angry. There she found, in plain wooden frames, the pictures of Gertrude and Eleanore. She ran out, got a large needle, came back, and stuck it in the picture of Eleanore right between the eyes. Then she took Gertrude’s picture, and after she had held it for a while, looking at it with her gloomy eyes, she noticed that it was spotted with blood. The plaster had come off her finger, and the finger had started to bleed.
“Come now, Philippina,” she said to herself, “go and see how Gertrude is making out.” Entering Gertrude’s room, she found her asleep. Creeping up to her bed on her tiptoes, she took a chair, straddled it, leaned her chin on the back, and stared fixedly at the face of the young woman, now just barely visible in the darkness of the room.
Gertrude dreamed that a black bird was hovering over her and picking at her breast with its pointed beak. She screamed and woke up.
Shortly after this Gertrude had to send for the midwife.
During the night, Gertrude gave birth to a girl; she had suffered terrible pains. Philippina had seen and heard it all. She had run back and forth, from the kitchen to the bedroom and from the bedroom to the kitchen, for hours; she was like an insane person; she kept mumbling something to herself. What she mumbled no one knew.
Gertrude had called in vain for Daniel; in vain had she waited for him the whole day.
“Where in the world can Daniel be?” cried Philippina, “where can Daniel be with his damned Eleanore?” She sat in the corner with her hands folded, her hair tangled and knotted, her face distorted with the grimaces of madness. The midwife was still busy with Gertrude; the new-born child was crying pitifully.
VI
Daniel held the child in his arms, and looked at it carefully but without love. “You little worm, what do you want in this world?” he said to his daughter. He still had his hat on; so had Eleanore. Both of them were dressed just as they came from the station; they were embarrassed and excited at what had happened. Eleanore was exceedingly pale; her great eyes looked dreamy; her body seemed of almost boyish slenderness. At times she smiled; then the smile died away, as if she did not have the courage to appear so cheerful.