Laura flung herself into Herman’s arms. She wanted to flee away from something at any cost—as if she did not want to see anything or know anything.
The following day Hedvig came in to Peter, who was lying on the sofa with a pipe that had gone out in the corner of his mouth, feeling a little stale after the wedding celebrations which he and his companions had continued noisily until the early morning. Hedvig came slipping in and looking paler and more severe than ever. Peter felt really frightened of her. He felt like a big, swollen gland which has secreted the worst excretions of sin.
“You will have to get somebody else to nurse father,” said Hedvig, “I am not going to stay here any longer. There is nothing but dissipation and vileness. Nobody seems to think that we may be dead tomorrow. I am going to take a course in nursing and then I shall join the Red Cross.”
Peter began to fear new unforeseen expenses. He begged and prayed, he clumsily touched on all sorts of points. Finally he stretched out a finger and poked it into the region of her heart:
“Hedvig, dear, one fine day you will also get married.”
Peter stopped dead. He felt as if he had sandpaper in his throat. Hedvig stood motionless and stared at him, with loathing in her eyes:
“You are disgusting” she said, in a low voice. “I hate all men. I will never, never marry!”
And with that she left the room.
A fortnight later Hedvig had started as a probationer at a hospital. And she never put her foot inside Selambshof.
Peter did not know if he felt this as a loss or relief. Sometimes he felt as if his bad conscience had left him. Sometimes he felt a little alarmed. With the departure of Hedvig he seemed to have lost his last connection with “The Powers.”