.Bitzenko’s
next
move
was
to
go
to
his
rooms
,
put
a
gently
ticking
little
clock
,
with
an
enormous
alarum
on
the
top
,
under
his
arm
,
and
then
walk
round
once
more
to
Otto
Kreisler’s
.
He
informed
his
friend
of
these
last
arrangements
made
in
his
interests
.
He
suggested
that
it
would
be
better
for
him
to
sleep
there
that
night
,
to
save
time
in
the
morning
.
In
short
,
he
attached
himself
to
Kreisler’s
person
.
Until
it
were
deposited
in
the
large
cemetery
near
by
,
or
else
departed
from
the
Gare
du
Nord
in
a
deal
box
for
burial
in
Germany
,
it
should
not
leave
him
.
In
the
event
of
victory
,
and
he
being
no
longer
responsible
for
it
,
it
should
disappear
as
best
it
could
.
The
possible
subsequent
conflict
with
the
police
was
not
without
charm
for
Bitzenko
.
He
regarded
the
police
force
,
its
functions
and
existence
,
as
a
pretext
for
adventure
.
The
light
was
blown
out
.
Bitzenko
curled
himself
up
on
the
floor
.
He
insisted
on
this
.
Kreisler
must
be
fresh
in
the
morning
and
do
him
justice
.
The
Russian
could
hear
the
bed
shaking
for
some
time
.
Kreisler
was
trembling
violently
.
A
sort
of
exultation
at
the
thought
of
his
success
caused
this
nervous
attack
.
He
had
been
quite
passive
since
he
had
heard
that
all
was
well
.
At
about
half-past
four
in
the
morning
Kreisler
was
dreaming
of
Volker
and
a
pact
he
had
made
with
him
in
his
sleep
never
to
divulge
some
secret
,
which
there
was
never
any
possibility
of
his
doing
in
any
case
,
as
he
had
completely
forgotten
what
it
was
.
He
was
almost
annihilated
by
a
terrific
explosion
.
With
his
eyes
suddenly
wide
open
,
he
saw
the
little
clock
quivering
in
the
mantelpiece
beneath
its
large
alarum
.
When
it
had
stopped
Kreisler
could
hardly
believe
his
ears
,
as
though
this
sound
had
been
going
to
accompany
life
,
for
that
day
at
least
,
as
a
destructive
and
terrifying
feature
.
Then
he
saw
the
Russian
,
already
on
his
feet
.
His
white
and
hairy
little
body
had
apparently
risen
energetically
out
of
the
scratch
bedclothes
simultaneously
with
the
“
going
off
”
of
his
clock
,
as
though
it
were
a
mechanism
set
for
the
same
hour
.
They
both
dressed
without
a
word
.
Kreisler
wrote
a
short
letter
to
his
father
,
entrusting
it
to
his
second
.
Kreisler’s
last
few
francs
were
to
be
spent
on
a
taxi
to
take
them
to
the
place
arranged
on
,
outside
the
fortifications
.
They
found
the
other
second
sound
asleep
.
Bitzenko
more
or
less
dressed
him
.
They
set
out
in
their
taxi
to
the
rendezvous
by
way
of
the
Bois
.
The
chilly
and
unusual
air
of
the
early
morning
,
the
empty
streets
and
shuttered
houses
,
destroyed
all
feeling
of
reality
of
what
was
happening
for
Kreisler
.
Had
the
duel
been
a
thing
to
fear
it
would
have
had
an
opposite
effect
.
His
errand
did
not
appear
as
an
inflexible
reality
,
either
,
following
upon
events
that
there
was
no
taking
back
.
It
was
a
whim
,
a
caprice
,
they
were
pursuing
,
as
though
,
for
instance
,
they
had
woken
up
in
the
early
morning
and
decided
to
go
fishing
.
They
were
carrying
it
out
with
a
dogged
persistency
,
with
which
our
whims
are
often
served
.
He
kept
his
thought
away
from
Soltyk
.
He
seemed
a
very
long
way
off
;
it
would
be
fatiguing
for
the
mind
to
go
in
search
of
him
.
When
the
scientist’s
nature
,
with
immense
fugue
,
has
induced
a
man
to
marry
some
handsome
young
lady
—
this
feat
accomplished
,
Nature
leaves
him
practically
alone
,
only
coming
back
to
give
him
a
prod
from
time
to
time
—
assured
that
,
like
a
little
trickling
stream
,
his
life
will
go
steadily
on
in
the
bed
gauged
for
it
by
this
upheaval
.
Nature
,
in
Kreisler’s
case
,
had
done
its
work
of
another
description
.
But
she
had
left
the
Russian
with
him
to
see
that
all
was
carried
out
according
to
her
wishes
.
Kreisler’s
German
nature
that
craved
discipline
,
a
course
marked
out
,
had
got
more
even
than
it
asked
for
.
It
had
been
presented
with
a
mimic
Fate
.
But
Bitzenko
evidently
took
his
pleasure
morosely
.
The
calm
and
assurance
of
the
evening
before
had
given
place
to
a
brooding
humour
.
He
was
only
restored
to
a
silent
and
intense
animation
on
hearing
his
“
Browning
”
speak
.
He
produced
this
somewhere
in
the
Bois
,
and
insisted
on
his
principal
having
a
little
practice
as
they
had
plenty
of
time
to
'
spare
.
This
was
a
very
imprudent
step
.
It
might
draw
attention
to
their
movements
.
Kreisler
proved
an
excellent
shot
.
Then
the
Russian
himself
,
with
impassible
face
,
emptied
a
couple
of
chambers
into
a
tree-trunk
.
He
put
his
“
Browning
”
back
into
his
pocket
hastily
after
this
,
as
though
startled
at
his
own
self-indulgence
.
A
piece
of
waste
land
,
on
the
edge
of
a
wood
,
well
hidden
on
all
sides
,
had
been
chosen
for
the
duel
.
The
enemy
was
not
on
the
ground
.
Kreisler’s
passivity
still
subsisted
.
So
far
he
had
felt
that
Accident
had
been
dealt
a
shrewd
blow
and
brought
to
its
knees
.
He
was
in
good
hands
.
Until
this
was
all
over
he
had
nothing
to
worry
about
.
Fresh
compartment
.
The
duel
became
for
him
,
as
he
stood
on
the
damp
grass
,
conventional
.
It
was
a
duel
like
another
.
He
was
seeking
reparation
by
arms
.
He
had
been
libelled
and
outraged
.
“
A
beautiful
woman
”
was
at
the
bottom
of
it
.
Life
had
no
value
for
him
!
Tant
pis
for
the
other
man
who
had
been
foolhardy
enough
to
cross
his
path
.
His
coat-collar
turned
up
,
he
looked
sternly
towards
the
road
,
his
moustaches
blowing
a
little
in
the
wind
.
He
asked
Bitzenko
for
a
cigarette
.
That
gentleman
did
not
smoke
,
but
the
other
Russian
produced
a
khaki
cigarette
with
a
long
mouthpiece
.
He
struck
a
light
.
As
Kreisler
lit
his
cigarette
at
it
,
his
hand
resting
against
the
other’s
,
a
strange
feeling
shot
through
him
at
the
contact
of
this
flesh
.
He
moistened
his
lips
and
spat
out
a
piece
of
the
mouthpiece
he
had
bitten
through
.
The
hour
arranged
came
round
and
there
was
still
no
sign
of
anybody
.
The
possibility
of
a
hitch
in
the
proceedings
dawned
on
Kreisler
.
Personal
animosity
for
Soltyk
revived
.
That
idea
of
obstinacy
in
a
caprice
,
instead
of
merely
carrying
out
something
prearranged
and
unavoidable
,
despite
his
passivity
,
had
proved
really
the
wakefulness
of
his
will
.
He
looked
towards
his
companions
,
alone
there
on
the
ground
of
the
encounter
.
They
were
an
unsatisfactory
pair
,
after
all
.
They
did
not
look
a
winning
team
.
He
reproached
himself
for
having
hit
just
on
this
Russian
for
assistance
.
Bitzenko
,
on
the
other
hand
,
was
deep
in
thought
.
He
was
rehearsing
his
part
of
second
.
The
duel
in
which
he
had
blinded
his
adversary
was
a
figment
of
his
boyish
brain
,
confided
with
tears
in
his
voice
one
evening
to
a
friend
.
His
only
genuine
claim
to
activity
was
that
,
in
a
perfect
disguise
,
he
had
assisted
the
peasants
of
his
estate
to
set
fire
to
his
.
little
Manor
House
during
the
revolution
of
1906
for
the
fun
of
the
thing
and
in
an
access
of
revolutionary
sentiment
.
Afterwards
he
had
assisted
the
police
with
information
in
the
investigation
of
the
affair
,
also
anonymously
.
All
this
he
kept
to
himself
.
He
referred
to
his
past
in
Russia
in
a
way
that
conjured
up
more
luridness
than
the
flames
of
his
little
chateau
(
which
did
not
burn
at
all
well
)
warranted
.
Bitzenko
was
quite
in
his
element
climatically
;
whereas
Kreisler
felt
his
hands
getting
so
cold
that
he
thought
they
might
fail
him
in
the
duel
.
But
a
car
was
heard
beyond
the
trees
on
the
Paris
road
.
This
sound
in
the
listless
blur
of
nature
was
masterful
in
its
significance
.
It
struck
steadily
and
at
once
into
brutish
apathy
.
It
so
plainly
knew
what
it
wanted
.
It
had
perhaps
outstripped
men
in
that
.
Men
in
their
soft
bodies
still
contained
the
apathy
of
the
fields
.
Their
mind
had
burst
out
of
them
and
taken
these
crawling
pulps
up
on
its
rigid
back
.
It
was
Staretsky’s
car
.
With
its
load
of
hats
it
drew
up
.
The
four
members
of
the
other
party
came
on
to
the
field
,
the
fourth
a
young
Polish
doctor
.
They
walked
quickly
.
Bitzenko
went
to
meet
them
.
Staretsky
protested
energetically
that
the
duel
must
not
proceed
.
“
It
must
—
not
—
go
—
on
!
Should
anything
happen
—
you
must
allow
me
to
say
,
should
anything
happen
—
the
blood
of
whoever
falls
will
be
at
your
door
!
”
But
he
felt
all
the
same
that
the
prospect
of
having
a
little
pond
of
blood
at
his
door
was
an
alluring
one
for
Bitzenko
.
“
Has
not
your
principal
seen
that
in
accepting
this
duel
,
M
.
Soltyk
had
proved
his
respect
for
Herr
Kreisler’s
claim
?
The
attitude
your
principal
attributed
to
him
is
not
his
attitude
—
—
”
Bitzenko
stiffened
.
“
Is
there
anything
in
Herr
Kreisler
that
would
justify
M
.
Soltyk
in
considering
that
he
was
condescending
—
—
?
”
The
little
Russian
kept
up
his
cunning
and
baffling
wrangle
.
Soltyk’s
eyes
steadily
avoided
Kreisler’s
person
.
He
hoped
this
ridiculous
figure
might
make
some
move
enabling
them
to
abandon
the
duel
.
But
the
idea
of
a
favour
coming
from
such
a
quarter
was
repellent
.
His
stomach
had
been
out
of
order
the
day
before
—
he
wondered
if
it
would
surge
up
,
disgrace
him
.
He
might
be
sick
at
any
moment
.
He
saw
himself
on
tiptoe
,
in
an
ignominious
spasm
,
the
proceedings
held
up
,
friends
and
enemies
watching
.
He
kept
his
eyes
off
Kreisler
as
a
man
on
board
ship
keeps
his
eyes
off
a
dish
of
banana
fritters
or
a
poached
egg
.
Kreisler
,
from
twenty
yards
off
,
stared
through
his
glasses
at
the
group
of
people
he
had
assembled
,
as
though
he
had
been
examining
the
enemy
through
binoculars
.
Obediently
,
erect
and
still
,
he
appeared
rather
amazed
at
what
was
occurring
.
Soltyk
,
in
rear
of
the
others
,
struggled
with
his
bile
.
He
slipped
into
his
mouth
a
sedative
tablet
,
oxide
of
bromium
and
heroin
.
This
made
him
feel
more
sick
.
For
a
few
moments
he
stood
still
in
horror
,
expecting
to
vomit
at
every
moment
.
The
blood
rushed
to
his
head
and
covered
the
back
of
his
neck
with
a
warm
liquid
sheet
.
Kreisler’s
look
of
surprise
deepened
.
He
had
seen
Soltyk
slipping
something
into
his
mouth
,
and
was
puzzled
and
annoyed
,
like
a
child
.
What
was
he
up
to
?
Poison
was
the
only
guess
he
could
give
.
What
on
earth
—
—
?
Having
taken
part
in
many
mensurs
he
knew
that
for
this
very
serious
duel
his
emotions
were
hardly
adequate
.
His
nervous
system
was
as
quiescent
as
a
corpse’s
.
He
became
offended
with
his
phlegm
.
All
this
instinctive
resistance
to
the
idea
of
Death
,
the
indignity
of
being
nothing
,
was
rendered
empty
by
his
premature
insensitiveness
.
He
tried
to
visualize
and
feel
.
In
a
few
minutes
he
might
be
dead
!
That
had
so
little
effect
that
he
almost
laughed
.
Then
he
reflected
that
that
man
over
there
might
in
a
few
minutes
be
wiped
out
.
He
would
become
a
disintegrating
mess
,
uglier
than
any
vitriol
or
syphilis
could
make
him
.
All
that
organism
he
,
Kreisler
,
would
be
turning
into
dung
,
as
though
by
magic
.
He
,
Kreisler
,
is
insulted
.
The
sensations
and
energies
of
that
man
deny
him
equality
of
existence
.
He
,
Kreisler
,
lifts
his
hand
,
presses
a
little
bar
of
steel
,
and
the
other
is
swept
away
into
the
earth
.
Heaven
knows
where
the
insulting
spirit
goes
to
.
But
the
physical
disfigurement
at
least
is
complete
.
He
went
through
it
laboriously
.
But
it
fell
flat
as
well
.
He
was
too
near
the
event
to
benefit
by
his
fancy
.
Possibilities
were
weakened
by
the
nearness
of
Certainty
.
His
momentary
resentment
with
Bitzenko
survived
,
and
he
next
became
annoyed
at
being
treated
like
an
object
,
as
he
felt
it
.
He
was
not
deliberately
conscious
of
much
.
But
,
try
as
he
would
to
elude
the
disgraces
and
besmirchings
of
death
,
people
refused
to
treat
him
as
anything
but
a
sack
of
potatoes
.
There
four
or
five
men
had
been
arguing
about
him
for
the
last
five
minutes
,
and
they
had
not
once
looked
his
way
.
But
clearly
Bitzenko
was
defending
Ms
duel
.
Why
should
Bitzenko
go
on
disposing
of
him
in
this
fashion
?
He
took
everything
for
granted
;
he
never
so
much
as
appealed
to
him
,
even
once
.
Had
Bitzenko
been
commissioned
to
hustle
him
out
of
existence
?
But
Soltyk
.
There
was
that
fellow
again
slipping
something
into
his
mouth
!
A
cruel
and
fierce
sensation
of
mixed
real
and
romantic
origin
rose
hotly
round
his
heart
.
He
loved
that
man
!
But
because
he
loved
him
he
wished
to
plunge
a
sword
into
him
,
to
plunge
it
in
and
out
and
up
and
down
1
Why
had
pistols
been
chosen
?
He
would
let
him
off
for
two
pins
!
He
would
let
him
off
if
—
—
Yes
!
He
began
pretending
to
himself
that
the
duel
might
after
all
not
take
place
.
That
was
the
only
way
he
could
get
anything
out
of
it
.
He
laughed
;
then
shouted
out
in
German
:
“
Give
me
one
!
”
They
all
looked
round
.
Soltyk
did
not
turn
,
but
the
side
of
his
face
became
crimson
.
Kreisler
felt
a
surge
of
active
passion
at
the
sight
of
the
blood
in
his
face
.
“
Give
me
one
,
”
Kreisler
shouted
again
,
putting
out
the
palm
of
his
hand
,
and
laughing
in
a
thick
,
insulting
,
hearty
way
.
He
was
now
a
Knabe
.
He
was
young
and
cheeky
.
His
last
words
had
been
said
with
quick
cleverness
.
The
heavy
coquetting
was
double-edged
.
“
What
do
you
mean
?
”
Bitzenko
called
back
.
“
I
want
a
jujube
.
Ask
Herr
Soltyk
!
”
They
all
turned
towards
the
other
principal
to
the
duel
,
standing
some
yards
on
the
other
side
of
them
.
Head
thrown
back
and
eyes
burning
,
Soltyk
gazed
at
Kreisler
.
It
was
genuine
,
but
not
very
strong
.
If
killing
could
be
embodied
in
the
organ
that
sees
—
a
new
function
of
expression
—
a
perfect
weapon
would
exist
.
Only
the
intensest
expression
being
effective
,
such
spiritual
blasting
powers
would
be
a
solution
of
the
arbitrary
decisions
of
force
.
Words
,
glances
,
music
are
at
present
as
indirect
as
hands
and
cannons
.
Such
music
might
be
written
,
however
,
that
no
fool
,
hearing
it
,
could
survive
.
Whether
it
throttled
him
in
a
spasm
of
disgust
or
of
shame
is
immaterial
.
Soltyk’s
battery
was
too
conventional
to
pierce
the
layers
of
putrifying
tragedy
,
Kreisler’s
bulwark
.
It
played
to
the
limit
of
its
power
.
His
cheeks
were
a
dull
red
:
his
upper
lip
was
stretched
tightly
over
the
gums
.
The
white
line
of
teeth
made
his
face
look
as
though
he
were
laughing
.
He
stamped
his
foot
on
the
ground
with
the
impetuous
grace
of
a
Russian
dancer
,
and
started
walking
hurriedly
up
and
down
.
He
glared
at
his
seconds
as
well
,
but
although
sick
with
impatience
made
no
protest
.
A
peal
of
drawling
laughter
came
from
Kreisler
:
“
Sorry
!
Sorry
!
My
mistake
,
”
he
shouted
.
Bitzenko
came
over
and
asked
Kreisler
if
he
still
,
for
his
part
,
was
of
the
same
mind
,
that
the
duel
should
go
on
.
The
principal
stared
impenetrably
at
the
second
.
“
If
such
an
arrangement
can
be
come
to
as
should
—
er
—
—
”
he
began
slowly
.
.
He
was
going
to
play
with
Bitzenko
too
,
against
whom
his
humour
had
shifted
.
A
look
of
deepest
dismay
appeared
in
the
Russian’s
face
.
“
I
don’t
understand
.
You
mean
—
—
?
”
“
I
mean
,
that
if
the
enemy
and
you
can
find
a
basis
for
understanding
—
—
”
and
Kreisler
went
on
staring
at
Bitzenko
with
his
look
of
false
surprise
.
“
You
seem
very
anxious
for
me
to
fight
,
Herr
Bitzenko
,
”
he
then
said
furiously
.
With
a
laugh
at
Bitzenko’s
miserable
face
and
evident
pleasure
at
his
quick-change
temperamental
,
facial
agility
,
he
left
him
,
walking
towards
the
other
assistants
.
Addressing
Staretsky
,
his
face
radiating
affability
,
stepping
with
caution
,
as
though
to
avoid
puddles
,
he
said
:
“
I
am
willing
to
forgo
the
duel
at
once
on
one
condition
.
If
Herr
Soltyk
will
give
me
a
kiss
,
I
will
forgo
the
duel
!
”
He
smiled
archly
and
expectantly
at
Staretsky
.
“
I
don’t
know
what
you
mean
!
”
“
Why
,
a
kiss
.
You
know
what
a
kiss
is
,
my
dear
sir
.
”
“
I
shall
consider
you
out
of
your
mind
,
if
—
—
”
“
That
is
my
condition
.
”
Soltyk
had
come
up
behind
Staretsky
.
“
What
is
your
condition
?
”
he
asked
loudly
.
Kreisler
stepped
forward
so
quickly
that
he
was
beside
him
before
Soltyk
could
move
.
With
one
hand
coaxingly
extended
towards
his
arm
,
he
was
saying
something
,
too
softly
for
the
others
to
hear
.
He
had
immobilized
everybody
by
his
rapid
action
.
Surprise
had
shot
their
heads
all
one
way
.
They
stood
,
watching
and
listening
,
screwed
into
astonishment
as
though
by
deft
Angers
.
His
soft
words
,
too
,
must
have
carried
sleep
.
Their
,
insults
and
their
honey
clogged
up
his
enemy
.
A
hand
had
been
going
up
to
strike
.
But
at
the
words
it
stopped
dead
.
So
much
new
matter
for
anger
had
been
poured
into
the
ear
that
it
wiped
out
all
the
earlier
impulse
.
Action
must
be
again
begun
right
down
from
the
root
.
Kreisler
thrust
his
mouth
forward
amorously
,
his
body
in
the
attitude
of
the
eighteenth-century
gallant
,
as
though
Soltyk
had
been
a
woman
.
The
will
broke
out
frantically
from
the
midst
of
bandages
and
a
bulk
of
suddenly
accruing
fury
.
Soltyk
tore
at
himself
first
,
writhing
upright
,
a
statue’s
bronze
softening
,
suddenly
,
with
blood
.
He
became
white
and
red
by
turns
.
His
blood
,
one
heavy
mass
,
hurtled
about
in
him
,
up
and
down
,
like
a
sturgeon
in
a
narrow
tank
.
All
the
pilules
he
had
taken
seemed
acting
sedatively
against
the
wildness
of
his
muscles
.
The
bromium
fought
the
blood
.
His
hands
were
electrified
.
Will
was
at
last
dashed
all
over
him
,
an
Arctic
douche
.
The
hands
flew
at
Kreisler’s
throat
.
His
nails
made
six
holes
in
the
flesh
and
cut
into
the
tendons
beneath
.
Kreisler
was
hurled
about
.
He
was
pumped
backwards
and
.
forwards
.
His
hands
grabbed
a
mass
of
hair
;
as
a
man
slipping
on
a
precipice
gets
hold
of
a
plant
.
Then
they
gripped
along
the
coat-sleeves
,
connecting
him
with
the
engine
he
had
just
overcharged
with
fuel
.
A
sallow
white
,
he
became
puffed
and
exhausted
.
“
Acha
—
acha
—
”
a
noise
,
the
beginning
of
a
word
,
came
from
his
mouth
.
He
sank
on
his
knees
.
A
notion
of
endless
violence
filled
him
.
“
Tchun
—
tchun
—
tchun
—
tchun
—
tchun
—
tchun
!
”
He
fell
on
his
back
,
and
the
convulsive
arms
came
with
him
.
The
strangling
sensation
at
his
neck
intensified
.
Meanwhile
a
breath
of
absurd
violence
had
smitten
everywhere
.
Staretsky
had
said
:
“
That
crapule
is
beneath
contempt
!
Pouah
!
—
I
refuse
to
act
.
Whatever
induced
us
—
—
”
Bitzenko
had
begun
a
discourse
.
Staretsky
turned
on
him
,
shrieking
,
“
Foute-moi
la
paix
,
imbecile
!
”
At
this
Bitzenko
rapped
him
smartly
on
the
cheek
.
Staretsky
,
who
spent
his
mornings
sparring
with
a
negro
pugilist
,
gave
him
a
blow
between
the
eyes
,
which
laid
him
out
insensible
.
Bitzenko’s
friend
,
interfering
when
he
saw
this
,
seized
Staretsky
round
the
waist
,
and
threw
him
down
,
falling
with
him
.
The
doctor
and
the
other
second
,
Wenceslas
Khudin
,
went
to
separate
Soltyk
and
Kreisler
,
scuffling
and
exhorting
.
The
field
was
filled
with
cries
,
smacks
,
and
harsh
movements
.
This
Slav
chaos
gradually
cleared
up
.
Soltyk
was
pulled
off
;
Staretsky
and
the
young
Russian
were
separated
.
Bitzenko
once
more
was
on
his
feet
.
Then
they
were
all
dusting
their
trousers
,
arranging
their
collars
,
picking
up
their
hats
.
Kreisler
stood
stretching
his
neck
to
right
and
left
alternately
.
His
collar
was
torn
open
;
blood
trickled
down
his
chest
.
He
had
felt
weak
and
unable
to
help
himself
against
Soltyk
.
Actual
fighting
appeared
a
contingency
outside
the
calculations
or
functioning
of
his
spirit
.
Brutal
by
rote
and
in
the
imagination
,
if
action
came
too
quickly
before
he
could
inject
it
with
his
dream
,
his
forces
were
disconnected
.
This
physical
melee
had
been
a
disturbing
interlude
.
He
was
extremely
offended
at
it
.
His
eyes
rested
steadily
and
angrily
on
Soltyk
.
This
attempt
on
his
part
to
escape
into
physical
and
secondary
things
he
must
be
made
to
pay
for
!
He
staggered
a
little
,
with
the
dignity
of
the
drunken
man
.
His
glasses
were
still
on
his
nose
.
They
had
weathered
the
storm
,
tightly
riding
his
face
,
because
of
Soltyk’s
partiality
for
his
neck
.
Staretsky
took
Soltyk
by
the
arm
.
“
Come
along
,
Louis
.
Surely
you
don’t
want
any
more
of
it
?
Let’s
get
out
of
this
.
I
refuse
to
act
as
second
.
You
can’t
fight
without
seconds
!
”
Soltyk
was
panting
,
his
mouth
opening
and
shutting
.
He
first
turned
this
way
,
then
that
.
His
,
action
was
that
of
a
man
avoiding
some
importunity
.
“
C’est
bien
,
c’est
bien
!
”
he
gasped
in
French
.
“
Je
sais
.
Laisse-moi
.
”
All
his
internal
disorganization
was
steadily
claiming
his
attention
.
“
Mais
dépêche-toi
done
!
Filons
.
Nous
avons
plus
rien
à
faire
ici
.
”
Staretsky
slipped
his
arm
through
his
.
Half
supporting
him
,
he
began
urging
him
along
towards
the
car
.
Soltyk
,
stumbling
and
coughing
,
allowed
himself
to
be
guided
.
Khudin
and
the
doctor
had
been
talking
together
,
as
the
only
two
men
on
the
field
in
full
possession
of
their
voices
and
breath
.
When
they
saw
their
friends
moving
off
,
they
followed
.
Bitzenko
,
recuperating
rapidly
,
started
after
them
.
Kreisler
saw
all
this
at
first
with
indifference
.
He
had
taken
his
handkerchief
out
and
was
dabbing
his
neck
.
Then
suddenly
,
with
a
rather
plaintive
but
resolute
gait
,
he
ran
after
his
second
,
his
eye
fixed
on
the
retreating
Poles
.
“
Hi
!
A
moment
!
Your
Browning
.
Give
me
your
Browning
!
”
he
said
hoarsely
.
His
voice
had
been
driven
back
into
the
safer
depths
of
his
body
.
It
was
a
new
and
unconvincing
one
.
Bitzenko
did
not
appear
to
understand
.
Kreisler
plucked
the
revolver
out
of
his
pocket
with
the
deftness
of
an
animal
.
There
was
a
report
.
He
was
firing
in
the
air
.
Staretsky
had
faced
quickly
round
,
dragging
Soltyk
.
Kreisler
was
covering
them
with
the
Browning
.
“
Halt
!
”
he
shouted
.
“
Stop
there
!
Not
so
quickly
!
I
will
shoot
you
like
a
dog
if
you
will
not
fight
!
”
Still
holding
them
up
,
he
ordered
Bitzenko
to
take
over
to
them
one
of
the
revolvers
provided
for
the
duel
.
“
That
will
be
murder
!
If
you
assist
in
this
,
sir
,
you
will
be
participating
in
a
murder
!
Stop
this
—
—
’
’
Staretsky
was
jabbering
at
Bitzenko
,
his
arm
through
his
friend’s
.
Soltyk
stood
wiping
his
face
with
his
hand
,
his
eyes
on
the
ground
.
His
breath
came
heavily
,
and
he
kept
shifting
his
feet
.
Bitzenko’s
tall
young
Russian
stood
in
a
twisted
attitude
,
a
gargoyle
Apollo
.
His
mask
of
peasant
tragedy
had
broken
into
a
slight
smile
.
“
Move
and
I
fire
!
Move
and
I
fire
!
”
Kreisler
kept
shouting
,
moving
up
towards
them
,
with
stealthy
grogginess
.
He
kept
shaking
the
revolver
and
pointing
at
them
with
the
other
hand
,
to
keep
them
alive
to
the
reality
of
the
menace
.
“
Don’t
touch
the
pistols
,
Louis
!
”
said
Staretsky
,
as
Bitzenko
came
over
with
his
leather
dispatch-case
.
He
let
go
of
Soltyk’s
arm
and
folded
his
own
.
“
Don’t
touch
them
,
Louis
.
They
daren’t
shoot
!
”
Louis
appeared
apathetic
both
as
to
the
pistols
and
the
good
advice
.
“
Leave
him
both
,
”
Kreisler
called
,
his
revolver
still
trained
on
Staretsky
and
Soltyk
.
Bitzenko
put
them
both
down
,
a
foot
away
from
Soltyk
,
and
walked
hurriedly
out
of
the
zone
of
fire
.
“
Will
you
take
up
one
of
those
pistols
,
or
both
?
”
Kreisler
said
.
“
Kindly
point
that
revolver
somewhere
else
,
and
allow
us
to
go
!
”
Staretsky
said
loudly
.
“
I’m
not
speaking
to
you
,
pig-face
!
It’s
you
I’m
addressing
.
Take
up
that
pistol
!
”
He
was
now
five
or
six
yards
from
them
.
“
Herr
Soltyk
is
unarmed
!
The
pistols
you
want
him
to
take
only
have
one
charge
.
Yours
has
twelve
.
In
any
case
it
would
be
murder
!
”
Kreisler
walked
up
to
them
.
He
was
very
white
,
much
quieter
,
and
acted
with
effort
.
He
stooped
down
to
take
up
one
of
the
pistols
.
Staretsky
aimed
a
blow
at
his
head
.
It
caught
him
just
in
front
of
the
ear
,
on
the
right
cheek-bone
.
He
staggered
sideways
,
tripped
,
and
fell
.
The
moment
he
felt
the
blow
he
pulled
the
trigger
of
the
Browning
,
which
still
pointed
towards
his
principal
adversary
.
Soltyk
threw
his
arms
up
:
Kreisler
was
struggling
towards
his
feet
:
he
fell
face
forwards
on
top
of
him
.
,
Kreisler
thought
this
was
a
new
attack
.
He
seized
Soltyk’s
body
round
the
middle
,
rolling
over
on
top
of
it
.
It
was
quite
limp
.
He
then
thought
the
other
man
had
fainted
;
ruptured
himself
—
—
?
He
drew
back
quickly
.
Two
hands
grasped
him
and
flung
him
down
on
his
stomach
.
This
time
his
glasses
went
.
Scrambling
after
them
,
he
remembered
his
Browning
,
which
he
had
dropped
.
He
shot
his
hands
out
to
left
and
right
—
forgetting
his
glasses
—
to
recover
the
Browning
.
He
felt
that
a
blow
was
a
long
time
in
coming
.
“
He’s
dead
!
He’s
dead
!
He’s
dead
!
”
Staretsky’s
voice
,
announcing
that
in
French
,
he
heard
at
the
same
time
as
Bitzenko’s
saying
:
“
What
are
you
looking
for
?
Come
quickly
!
”
“
Where
is
the
Browning
?
”
he
asked
.
At
that
moment
his
hand
struck
his
glasses
.
He
put
them
on
and
got
to
his
feet
.
At
Bitzenko’s
words
he
had
a
feeling
of
a
new
order
of
things
having
set
in
,
that
he
remembered
having
experienced
once
or
twice
before
in
life
.
They
came
in
a
fresh
surprising
tone
.
It
was
as
though
they
were
the
first
words
he
had
heard
that
day
.
They
seemed
to
imply
a
sudden
removal
,
a
journey
,
novel
conditions
.
“
Come
along
,
I’ve
got
the
Browning
.
There’s
no
time
to
lose
.
”
It
was
all
over
;
he
must
embrace
practical
affairs
.
The
Russian’s
voice
was
businesslike
.
Something
had
finished
for
him
,
too
.
Kreisler
saw
the
others
standing
in
a
peaceful
group
;
the
doctor
was
getting
up
from
beside
Soltyk
.
Staretsky
rushed
over
to
Kreisler
,
and
shook
his
fist
in
his
face
and
tried
to
speak
.
But
his
mouth
was
twisted
down
at
the
corners
,
and
he
could
hardly
see
.
The
palms
of
his
hands
pressed
into
each
of
his
eyes
,
the
next
moment
he
was
sobbing
,
walking
back
to
his
friends
.
Bitzenko’s
bolt
was
shot
.
Kreisler
had
been
unsatisfactory
.
All
had
ended
in
a
silly
accident
,
which
might
have
awkward
consequences
for
his
second
.
It
was
hardly
a
real
corpse
at
all
.
But
something
was
sent
to
console
him
.
The
police
had
got
wind
of
the
duel
.
Bitzenko
,
his
compatriot
and
Kreisler
were
walking
down
the
field
,
intending
to
get
into
the
road
at
the
.
farther
end
,
and
walk
to
the
nearest
station
.
The
taxi
had
been
sent
away
,
Kreisler
having
no
more
money
,
and
Bitzenko’s
feeling
in
the
matter
being
that
should
Kreisler
fall
,
a
corpse
can
always
find
some
sentimental
soul
to
look
after
it
.
And
there
was
always
the
Morgue
,
dramatic
and
satisfactory
.
They
were
already
half-way
along
the
field
when
a
car
passed
them
on
the
other
side
of
the
hedge
at
full
tilt
.
The
Russian
was
once
more
in
his
element
.
His
face
cleared
.
He
looked
ten
years
younger
.
In
the
occupants
of
the
car
he
had
recognized
members
of
the
police
force
!
Calling
“
Run
!
”
to
Kreisler
he
took
to
his
heels
,
followed
by
his
young
fellow-second
,
whose
neck
shot
in
and
out
,
and
whose
great
bow-legs
could
almost
be
heard
twanging
as
he
ran
.
They
reached
a
hedge
,
ran
along
the
farther
side
of
it
.
Bitzenko
was
bent
double
as
though
to
escape
a
rain
of
bullets
.
Eventually
he
was
seen
careering
across
an
open
space
quite
near
the
river
,
which
lay
a
couple
of
hundred
yards
beyond
the
lower
end
of
the
field
.
There
he
lay
ambushed
for
a
moment
,
behind
a
shrub
.
Then
he
darted
forward
again
,
and
eventually
disappeared
along
the
high
road
in
a
cloud
of
dust
.
His
athletic
young
friend
made
straight
for
the
railway
station
,
which
he
reached
without
incident
and
returned
at
once
to
Paris
.
Kreisler
conformed
to
Bitzenko’s
programme
of
flight
.
He
scrambled
through
the
hedge
,
crossed
the
road
and
escaped
almost
unnoticed
.
The
truth
was
that
the
Russian
had
attracted
the
attention
of
the
police
to
such
an
extent
by
his
striking
flight
,
that
without
a
moment’s
hesitation
they
had
bolted
helter-skelter
after
him
.
They
contented
themselves
with
a
parting
shout
or
two
at
Kreisler
.
Duelling
was
a
very
venial
offence
;
capture
in
these
cases
was
not
a
matter
of
the
least
moment
.
But
they
were
so
impressed
by
the
Russian’s
businesslike
way
of
disappearing
that
they
imagined
'
this
must
have
been
a
curiously
immoral
sort
of
duel
.
That
he
was
the
principal
they
did
not
doubt
for
a
moment
.
So
they
went
after
him
in
full
cry
,
rousing
two
or
three
villagers
in
their
passage
,
who
followed
at
their
heels
,
pouring
with
frantic
hullabaloo
in
the
direction
of
Paris
.
Bitzenko
,
however
,
with
great
resourcefulness
,
easily
outwitted
them
.
He
crossed
the
Seine
near
St.
Cloud
,
and
got
back
to
Paris
in
time
to
read
the
afternoon
newspaper
account
of
the
duel
and
flight
with
infantile
solemnity
and
calm
.
CHAPTER
VI
Five
days
after
this
,
in
the
morning
,
Otto
Kreisler
mounted
the
steps
of
the
police-station
of
a
small
town
near
the
German
frontier
.
He
was
going
to
give
himself
up
.
Bitzenko
had
pictured
his
principal
,
in
the
event
of
his
succeeding
against
Soltyk
,
seeking
rapidly
by
train
the
German
frontier
,
disguised
in
some
extraordinary
manner
.
Had
the
case
been
suggested
to
him
of
a
man
in
this
position
without
sufficient
money
in
his
pocket
to
buy
a
ticket
,
he
would
then
have
imagined
a
melodramatic
figure
hurrying
through
France
,
dodging
and
dogged
by
the
police
,
defying
a
thousand
perils
.
Whether
Kreisler
were
still
under
the
spell
of
the
Russian
or
not
,
this
was
the
course
,
more
or
less
,
he
took
.
He
could
be
trusted
not
to
go
near
Paris
.
That
city
dominated
all
his
maledictions
.
The
police
disturbing
the
last
act
of
his
sanguinary
farce
was
a
similar
contretemps
to
Soltyk’s
fingers
in
his
throat
.
At
the
last
moment
everything
had
begun
to
go
wrong
.
He
had
not
prepared
for
it
,
because
,
as
though
from
cunning
,
the
world
had
shown
no
tendency
up
till
then
to
interfere
.
Soltyk
had
died
when
his
back
was
turned
,
so
to
speak
.
He
got
the
contrary
of
comfort
out
of
the
thought
that
he
could
claim
to
have
done
the
deed
.
.
The
police
had
rushed
in
and
broken
things
off
short
,
swept
everything
away
,
ended
the
banquet
in
a
brutal
raid
.
A
deep
sore
,
a
shocked
and
dislocated
feeling
remained
in
Kreisler’s
mind
.
He
had
been
hurried
so
much
!
He
had
never
needed
leisure
,
breathing
space
,
so
much
.
The
disaster
of
Soltyk’s
death
was
raw
on
him
!
Had
he
been
given
time
—
only
a
little
time
—
he
might
have
put
that
to
rights
.
(
This
sinister
regret
could
only
imply
a
possible
mutilation
of
the
corpse
.
)
A
dead
man
has
no
feeling
.
He
can
be
treated
as
an
object
and
hustled
away
.
But
a
living
man
needs
time
!
—
time
!
Does
not
a
living
man
need
so
much
time
to
develop
his
movements
,
to
lord
it
with
his
thoughtful
body
,
to
unroll
his
will
?
Time
is
what
he
needs
!
As
a
tramp
being
hustled
away
from
a
cafe
protests
,
at
each
jerk
the
waiter
gives
him
,
that
he
is
a
human
being
,
probably
a
free
human
being
—
yes
,
probably
free
;
so
Kreisler
complained
to
his
fate
that
he
was
a
living
man
,
that
he
required
time
—
that
above
all
it
was
time
he
needed
—
to
settle
his
affairs
and
withdraw
from
life
.
But
his
fate
was
a
harsh
Prussian
gendarme
.
He
whined
and
blustered
to
no
effect
.
He
was
superstitious
as
well
in
the
usual
way
about
this
decease
.
In
his
spiritless
and
brooding
tramp
he
questioned
if
it
were
not
he
that
had
died
and
not
Soltyk
,
and
if
it
were
not
his
ghost
that
was
now
wandering
off
nowhere
in
particular
.
One
franc
and
a
great
many
coppers
remained
to
him
.
As
he
jumped
from
field
to
road
and
road
to
field
again
,
in
his
flight
,
they
rose
and
fell
in
a
little
leaden
wave
in
his
pocket
,
breaking
dully
on
his
thigh
.
This
little
wave
rose
and
fell
many
times
,
till
he
began
to
wait
for
it
,
and
its
monotonous
grace
.
It
was
like
a
sigh
.
It
heaved
and
clashed
down
in
a
foiled
way
.
He
spent
the
money
that
evening
on
a
meal
in
a
village
.
The
night
was
dry
and
was
passed
in
an
empty
barge
.
Next
day
,
at
four
in
the
afternoon
,
he
arrived
at
Meaux
.
Here
he
exchanged
his
entire
wardrobe
for
a
very
shabby
workman’s
outfit
,
gaining
seven
francs
and
fifty
centimes
on
the
exchange
.
He
caught
the
early
train
for
Rheims
,
travelling
thirty-five
kilometres
of
his
journey
at
a
sou
a
kilometre
,
got
a
meal
near
the
station
,
and
took
another
ticket
to
Verdun
.
Believing
himself
nearer
the
frontier
than
he
actually
was
,
he
set
out
on
foot
.
At
the
next
large
town
,
Pontlieux
,
he
had
too
hearty
a
meal
.
He
had
exhausted
his
stock
of
money
long
before
the
frontier
was
reached
.
For
two
days
he
had
eaten
hardly
anything
;
and
tramped
on
in
a
dogged
and
careless
spirit
.
The
nearness
of
the
German
frontier
began
to
rise
like
a
wall
in
front
of
him
.
This
question
had
to
be
answered
:
Did
he
want
to
cross
it
after
all
?
His
answer
was
to
mount
the
steps
of
the
local
gendarmerie
.
His
Prussian
severity
of
countenance
,
now
that
he
was
dressed
in
every
point
like
a
vagabond
,
without
hat
and
his
hair
disordered
,
five
days’
beard
on
his
chin
—
this
sternness
of
the
German
warrior
gave
him
the
appearance
of
a
scowling
ruffian
.
The
agent
on
duty
,
who
barred
his
passage
brutally
before
the
door
of
the
inner
office
,
scowling
too
,
classed
him
as
a
depraved
cut-throat
vagabond
,
and
considered
his
voluntary
entrance
into
the
police-station
as
an
act
not
only
highly
suspicious
and
unaccountable
in
itself
,
but
of
the
last
insolence
.
“
Qu’est-ce
qu’il
te
faut
?
”
“
Foir
le
Commissaire
,
”
returned
Kreisler
.
“
Tu
ne
peux
pas
le
voir
.
Il
n’y
est
pas
.
”
A
few
more
laconic
sentences
followed
,
the
agent
reiterating
sulkily
that
the
magistrate
was
not
there
.
But
he
was
eyeing
Kreisler
doubtfully
and
turning
something
over
in
his
mind
.
The
day
before
,
two
Germans
had
been
arrested
in
the
neighbourhood
as
spies
,
and
were
now
locked
up
in
this
building
until
further
evidence
should
be
collected
on
the
affair
.
It
is
extremely
imprudent
for
a
German
to
loiter
on
the
frontier
on
entering
France
.
It
is
much
wiser
for
him
to
push
on
at
once
—
neither
looking
to
right
nor
left
—
pretending
especially
not
to
notice
hills
,
unnatural
military
looking
protuberances
,
ramparts
,
etc.
—
to
hurry
on
as
rapidly
as
possible
to
the
interior
.
But
the
two
men
in
question
were
carpenters
by
profession
,
and
both
carried
huge
foot-rules
in
their
pockets
.
The
local
authorities
on
this
discovery
were
in
a
state
of
the
deepest
consternation
.
They
shut
them
up
,
with
their
implements
,
in
the
most
inaccessible
depths
of
the
local
police-station
.
And
it
was
in
the
doorway
of
this
building
—
all
the
intermittent
inhabitants
of
which
were
in
a
state
of
hysterical
speculation
,
that
Kreisler
had
presented
himself
.
The
agent
,
who
had
recognized
a
German
by
his
accent
and
manner
,
at
last
turned
and
disappeared
through
the
door
,
telling
him
to
wait
.
He
reappeared
with
several
superiors
.
All
of
them
crowded
in
the
doorway
and
surveyed
Kreisler
blankly
.
One
asked
in
a
voice
of
triumphant
suspicion
:
“
And
what
are
you
doing
there
,
my
good
fellow
?
”
“
I
had
tuel
,
and
killed
the
man
;
I
have
walked
for
more
days
—
”
“
Yes
,
we
know
all
about
that
!
”
“
So
you
had
a
duel
,
eh
?
”
asked
another
,
and
they
all
laughed
with
nervous
suddenness
at
the
picture
of
this
vagabond
defending
his
honour
at
twenty
paces
.
“
Well
,
is
that
all
you
have
to
say
?
”
“
I
would
eat
.
”
“
Yes
!
your
two
friends
inside
also
have
big
appetites
.
But
come
to
the
point
.
Have
you
anything
to
tell
us
about
your
compatriots
inside
there
?
”
Since
his
throttling
by
Soltyk
,
Kreisler
had
changed
.
He
knew
he
was
beaten
.
There
was
nothing
to
do
but
to
die
.
His
body
ran
to
the
German
frontier
as
a
chicken’s
does
down
a
yard
,
headless
,
from
the
block
.
Kreisler
did
not
understand
the
official
.
He
muttered
that
he
was
hungry
.
He
could
hardly
stand
.
Leaning
his
shoulder
against
the
wall
,
he
stood
with
his
eyes
on
the
ground
.
He
was
making
himself
at
home
!
“
What
a
nerve
!
”
“
Va
t’en
!
If
you
don’t
want
to
tell
us
anything
,
clear
out
.
Be
quick
about
it
!
A
pretty
lot
of
trouble
you
cursed
Germans
are
giving
us
.
You’ll
none
of
you
speak
when
it
comes
to
the
point
.
You
all
stand
staring
like
boobies
.
But
that
won’t
pay
here
.
Off
you
go
!
”
They
all
turned
back
into
the
office
,
and
slammed
the
door
.
The
agent
stood
before
it
again
,
looking
truculently
at
Kreisler
,
He
said
:
“
Passez
votre
chemin
!
Don’t
stand
gaping
there
!
”
.
Then
,
giving
him
a
shake
,
he
hustled
him
to
the
top
of
the
steps
.
A
parting
shove
sent
him
staggering
down
into
the
road
.
Kreisler
walked
on
for
a
little
.
Eventually
,
in
a
quiet
square
,
near
the
entrance
to
the
town
,
he
fell
on
a
bench
,
drew
his
legs
up
and
went
to
sleep
.
At
ten
o’clock
,
the
town
lethargically
retiring
,
all
its
legs
moving
slowly
,
like
a
spent
insect
,
heavily
boarding
itself
in
,
an
agent
came
gradually
along
the
square
.
Kreisler’s
visit
to
the
police-station
was
not
known
to
this
one
.
He
stopped
opposite
the
sleeping
Kreisler
,
surveying
him
with
lawful
indignation
.
“
En
voila
un
joli
gigolo
!
”
He
swayed
energetically
up
to
him
.
“
Eh
!
le
copain
!
Tu
voudrais
coucher
a
la
belle
étoile
?
”
He
shook
him
.
“
Oh
,
la
!
Tu
ne
peux
pas
dormir
ici
!
Houp
!
Dépêches-toi
.
Mets-toi
debout
!
”
Kreisler
responded
only
by
a
tired
movement
as
though
to
bury
his
skull
in
the
bench
.
A
more
violent
jerk
rolled
him
on
the
ground
.
He
woke
up
and
protested
in
German
,
with
a
sort
of
dull
asperity
.
He
got
on
to
his
feet
.
At
the
sound
of
the
familiar
gutturals
of
the
neighbouring
Empire
,
the
agent
became
differently
angry
.
Kreisler
stood
there
,
muttering
partly
in
German
and
partly
in
French
;
he
was
very
tired
.
He
was
telling
bitterly
of
his
attempt
to
get
into
the
police-station
,
and
of
his
inhospitable
reception
.
The
agent
understood
several
words
of
German
—
notably
“
ja
”
and
“
lager
beer
”
and
“
essen
.
”
The
consequence
was
that
he
always
thought
he
understood
more
than
was
really
said
in
that
language
.
However
much
might
be
actually
intended
on
any
given
occasion
by
the
words
of
that
profound
and
teeming
tongue
,
it
could
never
equal
in
scope
,
intensity
,
and
meaning
what
he
heard
.
So
he
was
convinced
that
Kreisler
was
threatening
an
invasion
,
and
scoffed
loudly
in
reply
.
He
understood
Kreisler
to
assert
that
the
town
in
which
they
stood
would
soon
belong
to
Germany
,
and
that
he
would
then
sleep
,
not
on
a
bench
,
but
in
the
best
bed
their
dirty
little
hole
of
a
village
could
offer
.
He
approached
him
threateningly
.
And
eventually
the
functionary
distinctly
heard
himself
apostrophized
as
a
“
sneaking
‘
flic
’
,
”
a
“
dirty
peeler
.
”
At
that
he
laid
his
hand
on
Kreisler’s
collar
,
and
threw
him
in
the
direction
of
the
police-station
.
He
had
miscalculated
the
distance
.
Kreisler
,
weak
for
want
of
food
,
fell
at
his
feet
;
but
,
getting
up
,
scuffled
a
short
time
.
Then
,
it
occurring
to
him
that
here
was
an
unhoped
for
way
of
getting
a
dinner
,
and
being
lodged
after
all
in
the
bureau
de
police
,
he
suddenly
became
passive
and
complaisant
.
Arrived
at
the
police-station
—
with
several
revolts
against
the
brutal
handling
to
which
he
was
subjected
—
he
was
met
at
the
door
by
the
same
inhospitable
man
.
Exasperated
beyond
measure
at
this
unwelcome
guest
turning
up
again
,
the
man
sent
his
comrade
into
the
office
to
report
,
while
he
held
Kreisler
.
He
held
him
as
a
restive
horse
is
held
,
and
jerked
him
several
times
against
the
wall
,
as
if
he
had
been
showing
signs
of
resistance
.
Two
men
,
one
that
he
had
formerly
seen
,
came
and
looked
at
him
.
No
effort
was
made
to
discover
if
he
were
really
at
fault
or
not
.
By
this
time
they
were
quite
convinced
that
he
was
a
desperate
character
,
and
if
not
a
spy
,
then
anyway
a
murderer
,
although
they
were
inclined
to
regard
him
as
a
criminal
mystery
.
At
all
events
they
no
longer
could
question
his
right
to
a
night’s
lodging
.
Kreisler
was
led
to
a
cell
,
given
some
bread
and
water
at
his
urgent
request
,
and
left
alone
.
On
the
following
morning
he
was
taken
up
before
the
commissaire
de
police
.
When
Kreisler
was
brought
in
,
this
gentleman
had
just
finished
cross-examining
for
the
fifteenth
time
the
two
German
carpenters
who
were
retained
as
spies
.
They
were
not
let
alone
for
an
instant
.
They
would
be
dragged
out
of
their
cells
three
times
in
the
course
of
an
afternoon
,
as
often
as
a
new
and
brilliant
idea
should
strike
one
of
the
numerous
staff
of
the
police-station
.
They
would
be
confronted
with
their
foot-rules
,
and
watched
in
breathless
silence
;
or
be
keenly
cross-questioned
,
confused
and
contradicted
as
to
the
exact
hour
at
which
they
had
lunched
the
day
before
their
arrest
.
The
commissaire
was
perspiring
all
over
with
the
intensity
of
his
last
effort
to
detect
something
.
Kreisler
was
led
in
,
and
prevented
from
finishing
any
sentence
or
of
becoming
in
any
way
intelligible
during
a
quarter
of
an
hour
by
the
furious
interruptions
of
the
enraged
officer
.
At
last
he
succeeded
in
asserting
that
he
was
quite
unacquainted
with
the
two
carpenters
;
moreover
,
that
all
he
needed
was
food
;
that
he
had
decided
to
give
himself
up
and
await
the
decision
of
the
Paris
authorities
as
regards
the
deed
.
If
they
were
not
going
to
take
any
action
,
he
would
return
to
Paris
—
at
least
,
as
soon
as
he
had
received
a
certain
letter
;
and
he
gave
his
address
.
The
commissaire
considered
him
with
exhausted
animosity
and
he
was
sent
back
to
his
cell
.
He
slept
the
greater
part
of
the
day
,
but
the
next
he
spent
nervous
and
awake
.
In
the
afternoon
a
full
confirmation
of
his
story
reached
the
authorities
.
It
was
likely
that
the
following
morning
he
would
be
sent
to
Paris
.
It
meant
,
then
,
that
he
was
going
to
be
tried
as
a
kind
of
murderer
.
He
could
not
allege
complete
accident
.
The
thought
of
Paris
,
the
vociferous
courts
,
the
ennuis
of
a
criminal
case
about
this
affair
,
so
thoroughly
ended
and
boringly
out
of
date
,
disturbed
him
extremely
.
Then
the
Russian
—
he
would
have
to
see
him
again
.
Kreisler
felt
that
he
was
being
terribly
worried
once
more
.
Sorrow
for
himself
bowed
him
down
.
This
journey
to
Paris
resembled
his
crossing
of
the
German
frontier
.
He
had
felt
that
it
was
impossible
to
see
his
father
.
That
represented
an
effort
he
would
do
anything
to
avoid
.
Resentment
against
his
parent
had
vanished
.
It
was
this
that
made
a
meeting
so
difficult
.
It
was
a
stranger
,
with
an
ill
will
that
had
survived
his
own
,
awaiting
him
.
Noise
,
piercing
noise
,
effort
,
awaited
him
revengefully
.
He
knew
exactly
what
his
father
would
do
and
say
.
If
there
had
been
a
single
item
that
he
could
not
forecast
!
—
But
there
was
not
the
least
item
.
Paris
was
the
same
.
The
energy
and
obstinacy
of
the
rest
of
the
world
,
the
world
that
would
question
him
and
drag
him
about
,
these
frightened
him
as
something
mad
.
Bitzenko
appealed
most
to
this
new-born
timidity
.
Bitzenko
was
like
some
favourite
dish
a
man
has
one
day
eaten
too
much
of
,
and
will
never
be
able
again
to
enjoy
,
or
even
support
.
On
the
other
hand
,
he
became
quite
used
to
his
cell
.
His
mind
was
sick
,
and
this
room
had
a
clinical
severity
.
It
had
all
the
economical
elements
of
a
place
in
which
a
human
operation
might
be
performed
.
He
became
fond
of
it
as
patients
get
an
appetite
for
the
leanness
of
convalescent
life
.
He
lay
on
his
bed
.
He
turned
over
the
shell
of
many
empty
and
depressing
hours
he
had
lived
.
He
took
particular
pleasure
in
these
listless
concave
shapes
.
His
“
good
times
”
were
avoided
.
Days
spent
with
his
present
stepmother
,
before
his
father
knew
her
,
gave
him
a
particularly
numbing
and
nondescript
feeling
.
He
sat
up
,
listening
to
the
noises
from
the
neighbouring
rooms
and
corridors
.
It
began
to
sound
to
him
like
one
steady
preparation
for
his
removal
.
Steps
bustled
about
getting
this
ready
and
getting
that
ready
.
The
police-station
had
cost
him
some
trouble
to
enter
.
But
they
had
been
attracted
to
each
other
from
the
start
.
Something
in
the
form
of
an
illicit
attachment
now
existed
between
them
.
Buildings
are
female
.
There
is
no
such
thing
as
a
male
building
.
This
practical
and
pretentious
small
modern
edifice
was
having
its
romance
.
Otto
Kreisler
was
its
romance
.
It
was
now
warning
him
.
It
echoed
sharply
and
insistently
the
feet
of
its
policemen
.
After
his
evening
meal
he
took
up
his
bed
in
his
arms
and
placed
it
on
the
opposite
side
of
the
cell
,
under
the
window
.
He
sat
there
for
some
time
as
though
resting
after
this
effort
.
The
muttering
of
two
children
on
a
doorstep
in
the
street
below
came
to
him
on
the
evening
light
with
melodramatic
stops
and
emptiness
.
It
bore
with
it
an
image
,
like
an
old
picture
,
bituminous
and
with
a
graceful
,
queer
formality
.
It
fixed
itself
before
him
like
a
mirage
.
He
watched
it
muttering
.
He
began
slowly
drawing
off
his
boots
.
He
took
out
the
laces
,
and
tied
them
together
for
greater
strength
.
Then
he
tore
several
strips
off
his
shirt
,
and
made
a
short
cord
of
them
.
He
went
through
these
actions
deliberately
and
deftly
,
as
though
it
were
a
routine
and
daily
happening
.
He
measured
the
drop
from
the
bar
of
the
ventilator
,
calculating
the
necessary
length
of
cord
,
like
a
boy
preparing
the
accessories
of
some
game
.
It
was
only
a
game
,
too
.
He
realized
what
these
proceedings
meant
,
but
shunned
the
idea
that
it
was
serious
.
Just
as
an
unmoral
man
with
a
disinclination
to
write
a
necessary
letter
takes
up
the
pen
,
resolving
to
begin
it
merely
and
writes
more
and
more
until
it
is
,
in
fact
,
completed
,
so
Kreisler
proceeded
with
his
task
.
Standing
on
his
bed
,
he
attached
the
cord
to
the
ventilator
.
He
tested
its
strength
by
holding
it
some
inches
from
the
top
,
and
then
,
his
shoulders
hunched
,
swaying
his
whole
weight
languidly
on
it
for
a
moment
.
Adjusting
the
noose
,
he
smoothed
his
hair
back
after
he
had
slipped
it
over
his
head
.
He
made
as
though
to
kick
the
bed
away
,
playfully
,
then
stood
still
,
staring
in
front
of
him
.
The
last
moment
must
be
one
of
realization
.
He
was
not
a
coward
.
His
caution
was
due
to
his
mistrust
of
some
streaks
of
him
,
the
sex
streak
the
powerfullest
.
A
sort
of
heavy
confusion
burst
up
as
he
withdrew
the
restraint
.
It
reminded
him
of
Soltyk’s
hands
on
this
throat
.
The
same
throttling
feeling
returned
.
The
blood
bulged
in
his
head
.
He
felt
dizzy
;
it
was
the
Soltyk
struggle
over
again
.
But
,
as
with
Soltyk
,
he
did
not
resist
.
He
gently
worked
the
bed
outwards
from
under
him
,
giving
it
a
last
steady
shove
.
He
hung
,
gradually
choking
,
the
last
thing
he
was
conscious
of
,
his
tongue
.
The
discovery
of
his
body
caused
a
deep-felt
indignation
among
the
staff
at
the
police-station
.
They
remembered
the
persistence
with
which
this
unprincipled
and
equivocal
vagrant
(
as
which
they
still
regarded
him
)
had
attempted
to
get
into
the
building
.
And
it
was
clear
to
their
minds
that
his
sole
purpose
had
been
to
hang
himself
on
their
premises
.
He
had
mystified
them
from
the
first
.
Now
their
vague
suspicions
were
bitterly
confirmed
,
and
had
taken
an
unpardonable
form
.
Each
man
felt
that
this
corpse
had
personally
insulted
and
made
a
fool
of
him
.
They
thrust
it
savagely
into
the
earth
,
with
vexed
and
disgusted
faces
.
Herr
Kreisler
paid
without
comment
what
was
claimed
by
the
landlord
in
Paris
for
his
son’s
room
;
and
writing
to
the
authorities
at
the
frontier
town
about
the
burial
,
paid
exactly
the
sum
demanded
by
this
town
for
disposing
of
the
body
.
CHAPTER
VII
The
sight
of
Bertha’s
twistings
and
turnings
,
her
undignified
rigmarole
,
had
irritated
Anastasya
.
This
was
why
she
had
brutally
announced
,
as
though
to
cut
short
all
that
,
that
Kreisler’s
behaviour
was
due
simply
to
the
fact
that
he
fancied
himself
in
love
with
her
,
Anastasya
.
“
He
was
not
worrying
about
Fraulein
Lunken
.
He
was
in
love
with
me
;
”
the
statement
amounted
to
that
.
There
was
no
disdainful
repudiation
or
self-reference
in
her
statement
;
only
a
piece
of
information
.
Bertha’s
intuitions
and
simplifications
had
not
been
without
basis
.
This
“
hostile
version
”
had
contained
a
certain
amount
of
hostile
intention
.
But
Anastasya
had
another
reason
for
this
immodest
explicitness
.
She
personally
liked
Kreisler
.
The
spectacle
of
Bertha
excusing
herself
,
and
in
the
process
putting
Kreisler
in
a
more
absurd
and
unsatisfactory
light
,
annoyed
her
extremely
.
How
could
Tarr
consort
with
Bertha
,
she
questioned
?
Her
aristocratic
woman’s
sense
did
not
appreciate
the
taste
for
a
slut
,
a
miss
or
a
suburban
queen
.
The
apache
,
the
coster
girl
,
fisher-lass
,
all
that
had
character
,
oh
,
yes
.
Her
romanticism
,
in
fact
,
was
of
the
same
order
as
Butcher’s
only
better
.
Two
days
after
the
duel
she
met
Tarr
in
the
street
.
They
agreed
to
meet
at
Lejeune’s
for
dinner
.
The
table
at
which
she
had
first
come
across
Kreisler
was
where
they
sat
.
“
You
knew
Soltyk
,
didn’t
you
?
”
he
asked
her
.
“
Yes
.
It
was
a
terrible
affair
.
Poor
Soltyk
!
”
She
looked
at
Tarr
doubtfully
.
A
certain
queer
astonishment
in
her
face
struck
Tarr
.
It
was
the
only
sign
of
movement
beneath
.
She
spoke
with
a
businesslike
calm
about
his
death
.
There
was
no
sign
of
feeling
or
search
for
feeling
.
She
refused
to
regard
herself
as
the
“
woman
in
the
affair
.
”
She
knew
people
referred
to
her
as
that
.
Soltyk
possessed
a
rather
ridiculous
importance
,
being
dead
;
a
cadaveric
severity
in
the
meaning
of
the
image
,
Soltyk
,
for
her
.
The
fact
was
bigger
than
the
person
.
He
was
like
a
boy
in
his
father’s
clothes
.
Kreisler
,
on
the
other
hand
,
she
abominated
.
To
have
killed
,
he
to
have
killed
!
—
and
to
have
killed
some
one
she
knew
!
It
was
a
hostile
act
to
bring
death
so
near
her
.
She
knew
it
was
hostile
.
She
hoped
he
might
never
come
back
to
Paris
.
She
did
not
want
to
meet
Kreisler
.
But
these
feelings
were
not
allowed
to
transpire
.
She
recognized
them
as
personal
.
She
was
so
fastidious
that
she
refrained
from
using
them
in
discussing
the
affair
when
they
would
have
given
a
suspect
readiness
and
“
sincerity
”
to
her
expression
.
She
rather
went
to
the
other
extreme
.
“
They
say
Soltyk
was
not
killed
in
a
duel
,
”
Tarr
continued
.
“
Kreisler
is
to
be
charged
with
murder
,
or
at
least
manslaughter
.
”
“
Yes
,
I
have
heard
that
Kreisler
shot
him
before
he
was
ready
or
something
—
”
-
“
I
heard
that
he
was
shot
when
he
was
unarmed
.
There
was
no
duel
at
all
.
