She no longer saw how, at the double opening of the street which led to the cathedral, the stream of dancers from Yoshiwara coincided with the roaring stream of workmen and women, did not hear the bestial shriek of the women at the sight of the girl who was riding along on the shoulders of a dancer—who was torn down, overtaken, captured and stamped to earth—did not see the short, ghastly hopeless conflict of the men in evening dress with the men in blue linen—nor the ridiculous fight of the half-naked women before the claws and fists of the workmen’s wives.
She lay in deep oblivion, in the great, mild solemnity of death, and from the depths of her unconsciousness she was not awakened even by the roaring voice of the mob which was erecting a bonfire for the witch, before the cathedral.
CHAPTER XX
“Freder—!!! Grot—!!! Freder—!!!”
Josaphat shouted so that his voice cracked, and raced with the bounds of a harried wolf, through passages, across steps of the great pump-works. His shouts were not heard. In the machine-rooms were wounded machines in agony, wanting to obey and not being able. The door was closed. Josaphat hammered against it with his fists, with his feet. It was Grot who opened it to him, revolver in hand.
“What in the name of seething hell....”
“Get out of the way—! Where’s Freder—?”
“Here! What’s the matter?”
“Freder, they’ve taken Maria captive—”
“What?”