CHAPTER V
When he got outside Bertha’s house, Bertha waving to him from the window with tears in her eyes, he came in for the counter-attack.
One after the other the protesting masses of good sense rolled up.
He picked his way out of the avenue with a reasoning gesticulation of the body; a chicken-like motion of sensible fastidious defence in front of buffonic violence. At the gate he exploded in harsh laughter, looking bravely and railingly out into the world through his glasses. Then he walked slowly away in his short jacket, his buttocks moving methodically just beneath its rim.
“Ha ha! Ha ha! Kreisleriana!” he shouted without his voice.
The indignant plebs of his glorious organism rioted around his mind.
“Ha ha! Ha ha! Sacré farceur, where are you leading us?” They were vociferous. “You have kept us fooling in this neighbourhood so long, and now you are pledging us to your idiotic fancy for ever. Ha ha! Ha ha!”
“Be reasonable! What are you doing, master of our destiny? We shall all be lost!”