Yet I had certainly seen her; for I remembered particulars--the expression of her face, the surprise that had leapt into her eyes as they met mine, the opening of the lips in an exclamation.
And still I stood gazing at the window and nothing happened.
At last I came to myself, and I scanned the house. It was a large house of four stories, three gables in width. The upper stories jutted out; the beams on which they rested were finely carved, the gables were finished off with rich, wooden pinnacles. In each story, the lowest excepted, were three long, low windows of the common Nuremberg type, and the whole had a substantial and reputable air.
The window at which I had seen Marie was farthest from the door, on the first floor. To go to the door I had to lose sight of it, and perhaps for that reason I stood the longer. At last I went and knocked, and waited in a fever for some one to come. The street was a thoroughfare. There were a number of people passing. I thought that all the town would go by before a dragging foot at last sounded inside, and the great nail-studded door was opened on the chain. A stout, red-faced woman showed herself in the aperture.
'What is it?' she asked.
'You have a girl in this house, named Marie Wort,' I answered breathlessly. 'I saw her a moment ago at the window. I know her, and I wish to speak to her.'
The woman's little eyes dwelt on me stolidly for a space. Then she made as if she would shut the door. 'For shame!' she said spitefully. 'We have no girls here. Begone with you!'
But I put my foot against the door. 'Whose house is this?' I said.
'Herr Krapp's,' she answered crustily.
'Is he at home?'