For some time Eleanore had noticed that the baker's boy, instead of
carefully putting the rolls in the sack each morning as had always been
his custom, threw them through the lattice on to the ground.
The newspaper boy stopped speaking to her; the postman smiled
scornfully; and even the beggar, at least she thought so, asked for his
alms in a tone of impudence.
One day she was passing through Schmausen Street; a woman was leaning
out of the window. Seeing Eleanore coming, she called back into the
room, whereupon a young man and three half-grown girls rushed to the
window, began making remarks to each other, and gaped at her with looks
that made her turn deathly pale.
Another time Daniel brought her a free ticket to a concert. She went,
and as soon as she reached the hall she was struck by the discourteous
and indecent manner in which the bystanders looked at her. A
well-dressed woman moved away from her. Some men kept walking around
her, grinning at her. She found it intolerable, and went home.
Exercise in the open had often driven away the cares that chanced to be
weighing upon her: she went skating. As soon as the people saw her, they
began to whisper among themselves. She did not bother about them or
their remarks; she cut her beautiful figures on the ice as if she were
quite alone. A group of young girls pointed at her with their fingers.
She went up to them with pride glistening in her eyes, and they all ran
away. Those who had formerly paid homage to her avoided her now. Her
soul rebelled within her; meeting with so much unexpected and cowardly
vulgarity enflamed her sensibilities and ennobled her self-respect.
One day in December she crossed the Wine Market, and started to pass
through a narrow street that led to the Halle Gate. Standing at the
entrance to the alley were a number of men engaged in conversation. She
recognised Alfons Diruf among them. She thought they would step to one
side and let her pass, but not one of them moved. They gaped at her in
unmitigated shamelessness. She could have turned about and taken another
street, but that defiance on the part of those men made her insist upon
her rights to go the way she had originally decided upon. Impressed,
apparently, by the flaming blue of her eyes, the scoundrels at last
condescended to shift their lazy frames to one side. They formed an
espalier through which she had to walk. But worse than this were the
lewd looks that she knew were following her, and the laughter that
greeted her ears. It was the type of laughter ordinarily heard at night
when one passes a low dive, in which the scum of human society has
gathered to amuse itself by the telling of salacious stories.
She often had the feeling, particularly after dark, that some one was
following her. Once she looked around, and a man was behind her. He wore
a havelock; he turned quickly into a gate. A few days later she had a
similar experience, but this time she was frightened worse than ever,
for she thought it was Herr Carovius.
One evening as she was leaving the house she saw the same figure
standing by the church on the other side of the street. As she hesitated
and wondered whether she should go on, another person joined the first.
She thought it was Philippina. The two began to talk, but Eleanore could
not make out who they were; it was snowing, and there was no street lamp
nearby.
She could not tell why, but she was suddenly seized with anxiety for
Daniel; for him and for no one else. She felt that unless she went back
something dreadful would happen to him. She rushed up the steps to the
attic room, and knocked at his door; there was not a sound. She opened
the door and went in, but everything was dark. In the darkness, however,
standing out against the white background from the light of the snow,
she saw his body. He was sitting at the piano; he had his arms on the
lid, his head between his hands. Eleanore hastened up to him, and, with
a tone of sweet sadness in what she said, threw her arms around his
neck.
Daniel took her on his lap, pressed her head to his bosom, and laughed
with open month and shining teeth but without making a sound. He often
laughed that way now.