He was extremely silent and reserved, and never talked with the other patients. His bearing expressed an inscrutable calm and an apparently quite natural pride. For days together he would favor no one with a glance. He would walk up and down the garden, very slowly, gazing scornfully at the flowers and trees, and every evening, if the weather permitted, he would sit apart on a bench and gaze at the sinking sun, turning his dark face toward it until it disappeared. And as he gazed at the setting sun, an obscure, wistful sorrow glowed in his dark eyes. For he saw palm trees, that seemed to melt into the sun, so that only their tops showed, edged with flame, while their trunks were invisible—and elephants, stepping proudly, with their little brown mahouts upon their necks—and glittering golden temples, and crowds of dark, half naked natives, trotting along with branches in their hands, and uttering shrill cries—and then too, he saw himself, going on board the steamer that was to carry him into exile, while the dark people threw themselves down on the quay and wept. The "Rajah's" soul was filled with deep and bitter sorrow, and he rose and held his broad shoulders more erect, as if he were bearing a heavy burden. And he bore it! The "Rajah" never complained, never showed despondency, nor did he ever show any sign of what was taking place within him.
Even in his own room he behaved tranquilly. Very rarely was he heard to speak, and only once in a while—in his sleep—would he utter a long-drawn singing cry, such as street venders use in the Orient.
As Dr. März entered the room, the little baldheaded lawyer bowed, with his cap in his hand, and stood modestly against the wall. His gratitude knew no bounds, because the Doctor allowed him to live quietly and peacefully among his flowers and birds, without ever asking him to pay anything. So today he did not even venture to ask Dr. März for crumbs for the birds nor to complain of the negligence of the maids in the kitchen, although he had fully determined to do so.
But the lawyer could not look at the "Rajah" who stood dark and unapproachable in the passageway, without feeling timid and slightly anxious. To express his respect, he bowed low to the "Rajah," and since the latter did not notice him, he bowed once more, moving his lips in a whisper. But the "Rajah" did not vouchsafe him a glance. For a moment the lawyer thought of approaching and kissing the "Rajah's" hand. For he recalled a circumstance that had been sharply impressed upon his memory: One evening he had met the "Rajah" in the corridor and had bowed to him. They had been quite alone. The "Rajah" had come toward him and had said in a deep, mysterious voice, "My loyal subject!" and had given him his hand to kiss. "Wait!" the "Rajah" had continued, "I will show my favor to you. I have very little of the treasure left, that I brought with me into exile, but—here, take this." And the "Rajah" had slipped a little gray stone into his hand.
Michael Petroff, on the contrary, looked smilingly and questioningly at Dr. März, while he stood politely back against the door. Meanwhile he tipped his head somewhat backward and sidewise and looked at the Doctor, as if he expected some very special news from him and as if he knew quite well that Dr. März had such news for him today. So confidently did he look at him, while a smile played about his pretty boyish mouth.
But Engelhardt, whose brows were drawn up with pain as if they were fastened with rivets, had half sat up in bed and was explaining his needs and his sufferings to the Doctor. He spoke in a guttural tone, rapidly, in a murmur that was hard to understand, and his voice sounded like the distant barking of a dog, heard on a still night.
He had come to the end of his strength—the moon was drawing at him!—in the night thousands of people had begged him on their knees not to give them up to destruction—only a new soul could give him back his strength—he felt that he was bending over more and more to the left and the whole universe might collapse at any moment: all this he muttered indistinctly, confusedly, his distressful eyes fixed pleadingly upon Dr. März.
Dr. März listened gravely, as did also Michael Petroff and even the "Rajah," who had stepped inside the door. And because they were all listening so earnestly—especially the "Rajah," whose large brilliant eyes were fixed upon Engelhardt—the little lawyer was once more seized with fear. He felt as if his legs were sinking through the floor, as if in a swamp, but just when this fear was about to overwhelm him like black darkness, a bird lit on the window-sill and chirped, and the lawyer seemed suddenly transformed.
"I am coming!" he whispered hurriedly.
"Don't go!" said Michael Petroff softly, taking hold of his arm. "Where are you going?"