More than half an hour had passed in this complete stillness when
Christian arose to light the lamp. The base and the chimney tinkled
in his trembling hands. He feared the very functioning of his
senses--sight, hearing, smell. Every perception was like a wound in
consciousness and dripped like poison into the core of life. Slowly the
turbid outlines reformed an image of reality.
Both from within and from without everything drove and pressed toward a
decision.
Convulsively bent over, leaning back in the chair, he saw that man
whose face had no colour for which there is a name. The eyes were
closed, the mouth half-open. The decayed teeth and the limp droop of
the beard gave him an expression of bestiality. The sharp-fingered
hands with the blue, swollen veins stirred like reptiles. The forehead
was covered all over with sweat. Like drops from the cover of an
overheated vessel filled with liquid, thus the sweat oozed out and
stood in thick beads on that forehead.
His aspect was so frightful that Christian took his handkerchief, and
with a careful gesture wiped that forehead and those temples. And as he
did so he felt his own brow become moist. He hesitated to use the same
cloth for himself. But at that moment Niels Heinrich opened his eyes
and looked at him--sombre, deep, cold. He conquered his aversion, and
wiped his own brow with the same cloth.
There came a knocking at the door. Niels Heinrich started as though a
heavy blow had struck him, and stared wildly with pale and empty eyes.
Christian opened the door. It was Michael and Johanna who were
returning.
Reeling, Niels Heinrich sought his cap with his eyes. Christian gave it
to him with all his impenetrable courtesy of demeanour, and prepared
himself to accompany Niels Heinrich. The latter had an expression of
dullness and of being utterly puzzled. Then he pulled up his shoulders
and, followed by Christian, walked first falteringly, then with
increasing firmness, toward the threshold.