“Oh, oh, oh!” moaned Dorothea. In half a minute she had her dress on. “Out of this place and away,” she said, as she looked for her gloves and umbrella.
Frau Hadebusch appeared in the hall, wringing her hands. Behind her stood Philippina. Two men forced their way in, ran up to Daniel and the American, and tried to separate them. But they had bitten into each other like two mad dogs; and it was necessary to call for help. A soldier and the milkman gave a hand; and finally two policemen appeared on the scene.
“I must go home,” cried Dorothea, while the other women shrieked and carried on. “I must go home, and get my things and leave.”
With the face of one possessed and at the same time dumb, Philippina stole out from among the excited crowd and followed Dorothea. She did not feel that she was walking; she could not feel the pavement under her feet; she was unconscious of the air. That wild inspiration returned to her which she had experienced once before in her life—the time she went up in the attic and saw Gertrude’s lifeless body hanging from a rafter.
Her veins pulsed with a hot lust for destruction. “Swing the torch!” That was the cry she heard running through her brain. “Swing the torch!” But she wanted to do something much more pretentious this time than merely start a fire in some rubbish. The farther she went the more rapidly she walked. Finally she began to run and sing with a loud, coarse voice. Her cloak was not buttoned; it flew in the air. The people who saw her stopped and looked at her, amazed.
VIII
Herr Carovius and Jordan were sitting in the Paradise Café.
“How things change, and how everything clears up and straightens out!” remarked Jordan.
“Yes, the open graves are gaping again,” said Herr Carovius cynically.
“So far as I am concerned,” continued Jordan, without noticing the aversion his affability had aroused in Herr Carovius, “I can now face death with perfect peace of mind. My mission is ended; my work is done.”