The driver roared, but it was too late. An edge of the rattling wagon
laden with steel rails caught the limping boy and knocked him down. A
crowd gathered, and a helmeted policeman made his way through it.
Christian had just turned the corner when he saw the boy lying there.
He approached, and some women made room for him. As he bent over the
boy, he saw that the latter had only been stunned; he was stirring and
opened his eyes. Nor did he seem to be hurt. He peered anxiously about,
and asked after the money that he had had in his hand before he had
fallen. It had consisted of twenty or thirty nickel coins, which were
now scattered in the mud.
Christian helped the boy get up, and wiped the spattered face with his
white handkerchief. But to the boy the recovering of his money was of
greater importance, although he could not bend over and could hardly
stand. “Have patience until the wagon is gone,” Christian said to him,
and motioned the driver to proceed. The latter had become involved in a
violent altercation with the policeman. But when the policeman saw that
no great damage had been done, he also told the driver to go ahead,
and merely took down the man’s name as well as the boy’s. The boy was
Michael Hofmann, Ruth’s brother.
Christian bent over, and gathered the coins out of the mire. The
spectators were amazed that a well-dressed gentleman should bend over
in the street to gather nickel coins. Some recognized him. They said:
“He’s the one that lives back there with Gisevius.”
Now at last Ruth came hurrying. She had been frightened from her post
by Niels Heinrich Engelschall. She had waited on the stairs until he
had disappeared. Then she had come down and heard the hubbub in the
street, and had thought that it must be connected with the fellow who
had stared at her with such savage impudence. She had hesitated again
until a foreboding drove her forth.
She did not make much ado and hid her fright. She questioned her
brother in a cheerful voice. Her German was very pure and perfect, and
she spoke very swiftly, with a bird-like twitter in her throat.
When he had gathered the coins, Christian said: “Now let us count them
to be sure that they are all here.” Taking the boy by the arm, he led
him across the street and into the house. Ruth had taken her brother’s
other arm, and thus they mounted the stairs. They entered a room which
looked empty on account of its size, although it held two beds, a
table, and a wardrobe. It was the only room of that dwelling. A kitchen
adjoined it.
Michael sat down on the bed, still slightly stunned by his fall. He was
about fourteen, but his tense features and his passionate eyes had a
maturity far beyond his years.
Christian laid the coins on the table. They made no sound, so
encrusted were they with mud. Ruth looked at Christian, shook her head
compassionately, and hurried into the kitchen for a wet cloth with
which to clean his spattered garments. She kneeled down before him.
He drew back, but she did not perceive his motive and followed him on
her knees. So he resisted no longer, and felt a little foolish as she
eagerly and skilfully brushed his trousers.
Suddenly she raised her face to him. His glance had been resting on the
table, which was covered with many books. “Are those your books?” he
asked.
She answered: “To be sure they are.” And she looked at him with eyes
that were astonishingly bright with a frank spiritual recognition of
their inner kinship. The old arrogant expression with which he had been
wont to shield his soul melted from his face. But even as it did he
became aware of something that made him angry with himself, that seemed
unnatural and absurd to him, and filled him with the fear of something
evil and ghastly in his own eyes. For it seemed to him that he had seen
a bloody mark on the girl’s forehead.
In his fright he turned his eyes away, and resisted the impulse to
look again. But when he had regained his self-control and looked upon
her, there was nothing to be seen. He sighed with relief, but frowned
angrily at himself.