Maria heard the chattering of her teeth. She pushed herself across on her knees towards the motionless heap of humanity. With infinite care, she grasped the hand which lay, as a steel bolt, across the trap-door. She felt the coldness of death proceeding from this hand. She pressed her teeth into her white lips. As she pushed back the hand with all her strength, the heap of humanity rolled over on its side, and the grey face appeared, staring upwards....
Maria tore open the trap-door. She swung herself down, into the black square. She did not leave herself time to close the door. Perhaps it was that she had not the courage, once more to emerge from the depths she had gained, to see what lay up there, at the edge of the trap-door. She felt the steps under her feet, and felt, right and left, the damp walls. She ran through the darkness, thinking only half-consciously: If you lose your way in the City of the Dead....
The red shoes of the magician occurred to her....
She forced herself to stand still, forced herself to listen....
What was that strange sound which seemed to be coming from the passages round about?... It sounded like yawning—it sounded as though the stone were yawning. There was a trickling ... above her head a light grating sound grew audible, as though joint upon joint were loosening itself. Then all was still for a while. But not for long. Then the grating sound began again....
The stone was living. Yes—the stone was living.... The stones of the City of the Dead were coming to life.
The shock of extreme violence shook the earth on which Maria was standing. Rumbling of falling stones, trickling, silence.
Maria was pitched against the stone wall. But the wall moved behind her. Maria shrieked. She threw up her arms and raced onwards. She stumbled over stones which lay across her way, but she did not fall. She did not know what was happening but the rustle of mystery which the storm drives along before it—the proclamation of a great evil, hung in the air above her, driving her forward.
There—a light in front of her! She ran towards it. An arched vault.... Great burning candles.... Yes, she knew the place. She had often stood here and spoken to those whom she called “brothers”.... Who, but she, had the right to light these candles? For whom had they burnt to-day? The flames blew sideways in a violent draught of air; the wax dropped.
Maria seized a candle and ran on with it. She came to the background of the arched vault. A coat lay on the floor. None of her brothers wore such a coat over his blue linen uniform. She bent down. She saw, in the thousand-year-old dust of the arched vault, a trail of dark drops. She stretched out her hand and touched one of the drops. The tip of her finger was dyed red. She straightened herself up and closed her eyes. She staggered a little and a smile passed over her face as though she hoped she were dreaming.