But a furious roar answered her. Like a collapsing wall, the mass hurled itself forward, shook itself loose and began to tear along, roaring loudly.
“There she is—! There she is—! The bitch, who is to blame for it all—! Take her—! Take her—!”
The women’s voices shrieked:
“The witch—! Kill the witch—! Burn her before we all drown!”
And the trampling of running feet filled the dead street, through which the girl fled, with the din of hell broken loose.
The houses flashed by in a whirl. She did not know the way in the dark. She sped on, running aimlessly, in a blind horror, which was the deeper for her not knowing its origin.
Stones, cudgels, fragments of steel, flew at her from behind. The mob roared in a voice which was no longer human:
“After her—! After her—! She’ll escape us—! Quicker—!! Quicker—!!”
Maria could no longer feel her feet. She did not know if she was running on stones or water. Her panting breath came through lips which stood apart as those of one drowning. Up streets, down streets.... A twirling dance of lights was staggering across the way, far ahead of her.... Far away, at the end of the enormous square, in which Rotwang’s house also lay, the mass of the cathedral rested upon the earth, weighty and dark, yet showing a tender, reassuring shimmer, which fell through cheerful stained-glass windows and through open portal, out into the darkness.
Suddenly breaking out into sobs, Maria threw herself forward with her last, entirely despairing strength. She stumbled up the cathedral steps, stumbled through the portal, perceived the odour of incense, saw little, pious candles of intercession before the image of a gentle saint who was suffering smilingly, and collapsed on to the flags.