theroofs
of
the
quarter
.
His
little
shell
of
a
room
had
breasted
them
with
pretence
of
antique
adventure
.
The
old
boundless
yellow
lights
streamed
from
their
abstract
El
Dorado
.
They
were
a
Gulf
Stream
for
our
little
patch
of
a
world
,
making
a
people
as
quiet
as
the
English
.
Men
once
more
were
invited
to
be
the
motes
in
the
sunbeam
,
to
play
in
the
sleepy
surf
on
the
edge
of
remoteness
.
Now
,
from
within
,
his
windows
looked
as
suddenly
harsh
and
familiar
.
Unreasonable
limitation
gave
its
specific
colour
to
thin
glass
.
The
clock
was
striking
eight
.
Like
eight
metallic
glittering
waves
dashing
discordantly
together
in
a
cavern
,
its
strokes
rushed
up
and
down
in
Bertha’s
head
.
She
was
leaning
on
the
mantelshelf
,
head
sunk
forward
,
with
the
action
of
a
person
about
to
be
sick
.
She
had
struggled
up
from
the
bed
a
moment
before
—
the
last
vigour
at
her
disposal
being
spent
in
getting
away
from
the
bed
at
all
costs
.
“
Oh
schwein
!
schwein
!
Ich
hass
es
—
ich
hass
dich
!
Schwein
!
Schensal
!
schensslicher
Mensch
!
”
All
the
hatred
and
repulsion
of
her
being
,
in
a
raw
,
indecent
heat
,
seemed
turned
into
this
tearful
sonority
,
gushing
up
like
blood
.
An
exasperated
falling
,
deepening
singsong
in
the
“
schensslicher
Mensch
!
”
something
of
the
disgusting
sound
of
the
brutal
relishing
and
gobbling
of
food
.
Hatred
expresses
itself
like
the
satisfaction
of
an
appetite
.
The
outrage
was
spat
out
of
her
body
on
to
him
.
As
she
stood
there
she
looked
like
some
one
on
whom
a
practical
joke
had
been
played
,
of
the
primitive
and
physical
order
,
such
as
drenching
,
in
some
amusing
manner
,
with
dirty
water
.
She
had
been
decoyed
into
swallowing
something
disgusting
.
Her
attitude
was
reminiscent
of
the
way
people
are
seen
to
stand
bent
awkwardly
forward
,
neck
craned
out
,
slowly
wiping
the
dirt
off
their
clothes
,
or
spitting
out
the
remains
of
their
polluted
drink
,
cursing
the
joker
.
This
had
been
,
too
,
a
desperate
practical
joke
in
its
madness
and
inconsequence
.
But
it
was
of
the
solemn
and
lonely
order
.
At
its
consummation
there
had
been
no
chorus
of
intelligible
laughter
.
An
uncontrolled
Satyr-like
figure
had
leapt
suddenly
away
:
Bertha
,
in
a
struggle
that
had
been
outrageous
and
extreme
,
fighting
with
the
silence
of
a
confederate
beneath
the
same
ban
of
the
world
.
A
joke
too
deep
for
laughter
,
parodying
the
phrase
,
alienating
sorrow
and
tears
,
had
been
achieved
.
The
victim
had
been
conscious
of
an
eeriness
.
A
folded
blouse
lay
on
the
corner
of
Kreisler’s
trunk
.
Bertha’s
arms
and
shoulders
were
bare
,
her
hair
hanging
in
wisps
and
strips
,
generally
—
a
Salon
picture
was
the
result
.
For
purposes
of
work
(
he
had
asked
her
to
sit
for
him
)
,
the
blouse
had
been
put
aside
.
A
jagged
tear
in
her
chemise
over
her
right
breast
also
seemed
the
doing
of
a
Salon
artist
of
facile
and
commercial
invention
.
Kreisler
stood
at
the
window
.
His
eyes
had
a
lazy
,
expressionless
stare
,
his
lips
were
open
.
Nerves
brain
and
the
whole
body
were
still
spinning
and
stunned
,
his
muscles
teeming
with
actions
not
finished
,
sharp
,
when
the
actions
finished
.
He
was
still
swamped
and
strung
with
violence
.
His
sudden
immobility
,
as
he
stood
there
,
made
the
riot
of
movement
and
will
rise
to
his
brain
like
wine
from
a
weak
body
.
Satisfaction
had
,
however
,
stilled
everything
except
this
tingling
prolongation
of
action
.
The
inanity
of
what
had
happened
to
her
showed
as
her
unique
,
intelligible
feeling
.
Her
being
there
at
all
,
her
eccentric
conduct
of
the
last
week
,
what
disgusting
folly
!
Ever
since
she
had
known
Tarr
,
her
“
sentiment
”
had
been
castigating
her
.
A
watchful
fate
appeared
to
be
inventing
morals
to
show
her
the
folly
of
her
perpetual
romancing
.
And
now
this
had
happened
.
It
was
senseless
.
There
was
not
a
single
atom
of
compensation
anywhere
.
She
was
not
one
of
those
who
,
were
there
any
solid
compensation
of
sentiment
and
necessity
(
such
as
,
in
the
most
evident
degree
,
was
the
case
with
Tarr
)
,
would
draw
back
from
natural
conclusions
.
Then
conclusive
physical
matters
were
a
culmination
of
her
romance
,
and
not
a
separate
and
disloyal
gratification
.
It
never
occurred
to
her
that
they
could
be
arrived
at
without
traversing
the
romance
.
Was
this
to
be
explained
as
the
boulevard
incident
had
been
explained
by
her
?
Was
she
to
proceed
with
her
explanations
and
her
part
?
But
this
time
it
would
be
to
herself
that
the
explanations
would
have
to
be
made
.
That
was
a
different
audience
;
a
dim
feeling
found
its
way
into
her
,
with
a
sort
of
sickening
malice
.
She
had
a
glimpse
too
of
Kreisler’s
Bertha
—
the
woman
that
you
couldn’t
shake
oft
,
who
,
for
some
unimaginable
reason
,
was
always
hanging
on
to
you
.
She
even
had
the
strength
to
admit
,
distantly
,
the
logic
of
this
act
—
what
had
happened
to
her
—
still
more
disgusting
and
hateful
than
its
illogic
.
The
only
thing
that
might
have
been
found
to
mitigate
,
in
some
sense
,
the
dreary
,
sudden
madness
of
it
,
was
that
she
felt
practically
nothing
at
all
for
Kreisler
.
It
was
like
some
violent
accident
of
the
high
road
,
the
brutality
of
a
tramp
.
And
—
as
that
too
would
—
it
partook
of
the
unreality
of
nightmare
.
A
few
minutes
before
he
had
been
tranquilly
working
away
at
a
drawing
,
she
sitting
in
some
pose
she
had
taken
up
with
quick
ostentatious
intelligence
.
Startled
at
his
request
to
draw
her
shoulders
she
had
immediately
condemned
this
feeling
.
She
had
come
to
sit
for
him
;
the
mere
idea
that
there
was
any
danger
was
so
repulsive
that
she
immediately
consented
.
He
was
an
artist
,
too
,
of
course
.
While
he
was
working
they
had
not
talked
.
Then
he
had
put
down
his
paper
and
chalk
,
stretched
,
and
said
:
“
Your
arms
are
like
bananas
!
”
A
shiver
of
warning
had
penetrated
her
at
this
.
But
still
he
was
an
artist
:
it
was
natural
—
even
inevitable
—
that
he
should
compare
her
arms
to
bananas
.
“
Oh
!
I
hope
you’ve
made
a
good
drawing
.
May
I
see
?
”
She
intended
to
emphasize
the
reason
of
this
exposure
.
He
had
got
up
,
and
before
she
knew
what
he
was
doing
caught
hold
of
her
above
the
elbow
,
chafing
her
arm
,
saying
:
“
You
have
pins
and
needles
,
Fraulein
?
”
The
“
Fraulein
”
used
here
had
some
disquieting
sound
.
She
drew
herself
away
,
now
serious
and
on
the
defence
.
“
No
,
thank
you
.
Now
I
will
put
my
blouse
on
,
if
you
have
finished
.
”
They
had
looked
at
each
other
uncertainly
for
a
moment
,
he
with
a
flushed
rather
silly
fixed
smile
.
She
was
afraid
,
somehow
,
to
move
away
.
“
Let
me
rub
your
arm
.
”
Then
with
the
fury
of
a
man
waking
up
to
some
insult
,
he
had
seized
her
.
Her
tardy
words
,
furious
struggling
and
all
her
contradictory
emotions
disappeared
in
the
whirlpool
towards
which
they
had
,
with
a
strange
deliberateness
and
yet
aimlessness
,
been
steering
.
He
was
standing
there
at
the
window
now
as
though
wishing
to
pretend
that
he
had
done
nothing
;
she
“
had
been
dreaming
things
”
merely
.
The
long
silence
and
monotony
of
the
posing
had
prepared
her
for
the
strangeness
now
.
It
had
been
the
other
extreme
out
of
which
she
had
been
flung
and
into
which
,
at
present
,
she
was
again
flung
.
She
saw
side
by
side
and
unconnected
the
silent
figure
drawing
her
and
the
other
one
full
of
blindness
and
violence
.
Then
there
were
two
other
figures
,
one
getting
up
from
the
chair
,
yawning
,
and
the
present
lazy
one
at
the
window
—
four
in
all
,
that
she
could
not
bring
together
somehow
,
each
in
a
complete
compartment
of
time
of
its
own
.
It
would
be
impossible
to
make
the
present
idle
figure
at
the
window
interest
itself
in
these
others
.
A
loathsome
,
senseless
event
,
of
no
meaning
,
naturally
,
to
that
figure
there
.
It
had
quietly
,
indifferently
,
talked
:
it
had
drawn
:
it
had
suddenly
flung
itself
upon
her
and
taken
her
,
and
now
it
was
standing
idly
there
.
It
could
do
all
these
things
.
It
appeared
to
her
in
a
series
of
precipitate
states
.
It
resembled
in
this
a
switchback
,
rising
slowly
,
in
a
steady
insouciant
way
to
the
top
of
an
incline
,
and
then
plunging
suddenly
down
the
other
.
Or
a
mastiff’s
head
turning
indolently
for
some
seconds
and
then
snapping
at
a
fly
,
detached
again
the
next
moment
.
Her
fury
and
animal
hostility
did
not
last
more
than
a
few
minutes
.
She
had
come
there
,
got
what
she
did
not
expect
,
and
now
must
go
away
again
.
There
was
positively
nothing
more
to
be
said
to
Kreisler
.
She
had
spasmodic
returns
of
raging
.
They
did
not
pass
her
dourly
active
mind
.
There
never
had
been
anything
to
say
to
him
.
He
was
a
mad
beast
.
She
now
had
to
go
away
as
though
nothing
had
happened
.
It
was
nothing
.
After
all
what
did
it
matter
what
became
of
her
now
?
Her
body
was
of
little
importance
—
ghosts
of
romantic
consolations
here
!
What
was
the
good
(
seeing
what
she
knew
and
everything
)
of
storming
against
this
man
*
She
saw
herself
coming
there
that
afternoon
,
talking
with
amiable
affectation
of
interest
in
his
work
,
in
him
(
in
him
!
)
,
sitting
for
him
;
a
long
,
uninterrupted
stream
of
amiability
,
talk
,
suddenly
the
wild
few
minutes
,
then
the
present
ridiculous
hush
.
The
moral
,
heavily
,
too
heavily
,
driven
in
by
her
no
doubt
German
fate
,
found
its
mark
in
her
mind
.
What
Tarr
laughed
at
her
for
—
that
silly
and
vulgar
mush
,
was
the
cause
of
all
this
.
Well
!
She
had
done
up
her
hair
;
her
hat
was
once
more
on
her
head
.
She
went
towards
the
door
,
her
face
really
haggard
,
inevitable
consciousness
of
drama
too
in
it
.
Kreisler
turned
round
,
went
towards
the
door
also
,
unlocked
it
,
let
her
pass
without
saying
anything
,
and
,
waiting
a
moment
,
closed
it
indifferently
again
.
She
was
let
out
as
a
workman
would
have
been
,
who
had
been
there
to
mend
a
shutter
or
rectify
a
bolt
.
CHAPTER
IX
Bertha
made
her
way
home
in
a
roundabout
fashion
to
avoid
the
possibility
of
meeting
any
one
she
knew
.
The
streets
were
loftily
ignorant
of
her
affairs
.
Thin
walls
dyked
in
affairs
and
happenings
.
Ha
ha
!
the
importance
of
our
actions
!
Is
it
more
than
the
kissing
of
the
bricks
?
She
came
out
with
mixed
feelings
;
gratefulness
for
the
enormous
indifference
and
ignorance
flowing
all
round
us
;
anger
and
astonishment
at
finding
herself
walking
away
in
this
matter-of-fact
manner
;
suffering
at
the
fact
that
the
customary
street
scene
would
not
mix
with
the
obsession
of
her
late
experience
.
No
doubt
Nature
was
secret
enough
.
But
not
to
tell
this
experience
of
hers
to
anybody
also
would
be
shutting
her
in
with
Kreisler
,
somehow
for
good
.
She
would
never
be
able
to
escape
the
contamination
of
that
room
of
his
.
It
was
one
of
those
things
that
in
some
form
one
should
be
able
to
tell
.
She
had
a
growing
wish
to
make
it
known
at
once
somewhere
,
in
some
shape
.
That
is
,
at
bottom
,
she
still
was
inclined
to
continue
things
—
dreams
,
fancies
,
explanations
,
sacrifices
.
Would
nothing
cure
her
?
The
first
feeling
that
this
was
finally
the
end
of
those
things
,
that
there
was
nothing
further
to
be
said
or
thought
,
was
modified
.
She
did
not
definitely
think
of
telling
any
one
—
the
moral
was
wearing
off
more
quickly
than
it
should
.
But
the
thought
of
this
simple
,
unsensational
walking
away
and
ending
up
of
everything
in
connexion
with
Kreisler
irked
her
more
and
more
.
Anger
revived
spasmodically
.
Kreisler
,
by
doing
this
,
had
made
an
absolute
finishing
with
Kreisler
perhaps
impossible
.
There
was
nobody
now
in
any
sense
on
her
side
,
or
on
whose
side
she
could
range
herself
.
Kreisler
had
added
himself
to
the
worrying
list
of
her
women
friends
,
Tarr
,
etc.
,
in
a
disgusting
,
dumbfounding
way
,
the
list
of
people
preying
on
her
mind
and
pushing
her
to
perpetual
fuss
,
all
sorts
of
explicative
,
defiant
,
or
other
actions
.
She
had
stuck
Kreisler
up
as
a
“
cause
’
’
against
her
friends
.
In
a
manner
of
his
own
,
he
had
betrayed
her
and
placed
himself
beside
her
friends
.
In
any
case
,
he
had
carried
out
in
the
fullest
fashion
their
estimate
of
him
.
In
being
virtuous
a
libelled
man
can
best
attack
his
enemies
;
in
being
“
blackguardly
,
”
awaken
a
warmth
of
sympathy
in
corroborating
them
.
Kreisler
had
acted
satanically
for
her
friends
.
She
had
seen
Elsa
and
her
sister
twice
that
week
,
but
none
of
the
others
.
Ungregariousness
,
keeping
to
herself
,
was
explained
by
indisposition
.
Sorbert
was
meant
by
this
.
Her
continued
seeing
of
Kreisler
was
known
to
all
now
,
and
she
could
imagine
their
reception
of
that
news
.
Now
she
could
hardly
go
on
talking
about
Kreisler
.
This
would
at
once
be
interpreted
as
“
something
having
happened
.
”
So
more
scandal
against
her
name
.
In
examining
likelihoods
of
the
future
she
concluded
that
she
would
have
to
break
still
more
with
her
friends
,
to
make
up
for
having
to
retire
from
her
Kreisler
positions
.
To
squash
and
counteract
their
satisfaction
she
must
accentuate
her
independence
in
their
direction
to
insult
and
contempt
.
The
last
half-hour
of
senseless
outrage
still
took
up
all
the
canvas
.
Attempts
to
adjust
her
mind
to
a
situation
containing
such
an
element
as
this
was
difficult
.
What
could
be
done
with
it
?
It
took
up
too
much
space
.
Everything
must
come
back
and
be
referred
to
that
.
She
wanted
to
tell
this
somewhere
.
This
getting
closed
in
with
Kreisler
—
a
survival
,
perhaps
,
of
her
vivid
fear
of
a
little
time
before
,
when
he
had
locked
the
door
,
and
she
knew
that
resisting
him
would
be
useless
—
must
be
at
all
costs
avoided
.
Who
could
she
tell
?
Clara
?
Madame
Vannier
?
Once
home
,
she
lay
down
and
cried
for
some
time
,
but
without
conjuring
any
of
her
trouble
.
Kreisler
seemed
to
have
suddenly
brought
confusion
everywhere
.
There
was
nothing
that
would
quite
fit
in
with
that
ridiculous
,
disgusting
event
.
He
had
even
,
in
the
end
,
driven
her
friends
out
of
her
mind
,
too
.
She
would
have
said
nothing
had
one
turned
up
then
.
Having
left
Kreisler
so
simply
and
undramatically
worried
her
.
Something
should
have
been
done
.
There
would
have
been
the
natural
relief
.
But
her
direct
human
feelings
of
revenge
had
been
paralysed
.
She
thought
of
going
back
at
once
to
his
room
.
She
could
not
begin
life
clearly
again
until
something
had
been
done
against
him
,
or
in
some
way
where
he
was
.
He
had
been
treated
by
her
as
a
cypher
,
as
something
vague
to
put
up
against
her
friends
.
All
along
for
the
last
week
he
had
been
a
shadowy
and
actually
unimportant
figure
.
He
had
shown
no
consciousness
of
this
.
Rather
dazed
and
machine-like
himself
,
Bertha
had
treated
him
as
she
had
found
him
.
Suddenly
,
without
any
direct
articulateness
,
he
had
revenged
himself
as
a
machine
might
do
,
in
a
nightmare
.
At
a
leap
he
was
in
the
rigid
foreground
of
her
life
.
He
had
absorbed
all
the
rest
in
an
immense
clashing
wink
.
But
the
moment
following
this
“
desperateness
”
he
stood
,
abstracted
,
distant
and
baffling
as
before
.
It
was
difficult
to
realize
he
was
there
.
Tarr
had
been
the
real
central
and
absorbing
figure
all
along
,
of
course
,
but
purposely
veiled
.
He
had
been
as
really
all-important
,
though
to
all
appearance
eliminated
,
as
Kreisler
had
been
of
no
importance
,
though
propped
up
in
the
foreground
.
Sorbert
at
last
could
no
longer
be
suppressed
and
kept
from
coming
forward
now
in
her
mind
.
But
his
presence
,
too
,
was
perplexing
.
She
had
become
so
used
to
regarding
him
,
though
seeing
him
daily
,
as
an
uncertain
and
departing
figure
,
that
now
he
had
really
gone
that
did
not
make
much
difference
.
His
proceedings
,
a
carefully
prepared
anaesthesia
for
himself
,
had
had
its
effect
on
her
as
well
,
serving
for
both
.
The
bell
rang
.
She
stood
up
in
one
movement
and
stared
towards
the
door
.
She
looked
as
though
she
were
waiting
for
the
bell
to
ring
two
or
three
times
to
find
resolution
in
that
,
one
way
or
the
other
.
It
rang
a
second
and
third
time
.
She
did
not
know
how
much
persistence
would
draw
her
to
the
door
.
But
she
knew
that
any
definite
show
of
energy
would
overcome
her
.
Was
it
Elsa
?
She
had
lighted
her
lamp
,
and
her
visitor
could
therefore
have
seen
that
she
was
at
home
.
Bertha
went
to
the
door
at
length
with
affected
alacrity
,
in
a
pretence
of
not
having
heard
the
bell
before
,
and
opened
it
sharply
.
Kreisler
was
there
.
The
opening
of
the
door
had
been
like
the
tearing
of
a
characterless
mask
off
a
face
.
Had
he
not
been
looking
at
her
through
it
all
the
time
?
There
did
not
seem
room
for
them
where
they
were
standing
.
He
looked
to
her
like
a
great
terrifying
poster
,
cut
out
on
the
melodramatic
stairway
.
She
remained
stone-still
in
front
of
him
with
a
pinched
expression
,
as
though
about
to
burst
out
crying
,
and
something
deprecating
in
her
paralysed
gesture
,
like
a
child
.
There
was
an
analogy
to
a
laugh
struck
dead
on
a
child’s
face
at
a
rebuff
,
souring
and
twisting
all
the
features
.
Caricatured
and
enlarged
to
her
eyes
,
she
wanted
to
laugh
for
a
moment
.
The
surprise
was
complete
.
“
What
,
what
—
—
”
Her
mind
formed
his
image
,
rather
like
a
man
compelled
to
photograph
a
ghost
.
Kreisler
!
It
was
as
though
the
world
were
made
up
of
various
animals
,
each
of
a
different
kind
and
physique
even
,
and
this
were
the
animal
Kreisler
,
whose
name
alone
conjured
up
certain
peculiar
dangerous
habits
.
A
wild
world
,
not
of
uniform
men
and
women
,
but
of
very
divergent
and
strangely
living
animals
—
Kreisler
,
Lipmann
,
Tarr
.
This
man
,
about
to
speak
to
her
again
,
on
the
same
square
foot
of
ground
with
her
:
he
was
not
an
apparition
from
any
remote
Past
,
but
from
a
Past
almost
a
Present
,
a
half-hour
old
,
much
more
startling
.
He
had
the
too
raw
and
too
new
colours
of
an
image
hardly
digested
,
much
less
faded
.
When
she
had
last
seen
him
she
had
been
still
in
the
sphere
of
an
intense
agitation
.
His
ominous
and
sudden
appearance
,
so
hardly
out
of
that
,
seemed
to
swallow
up
the
space
and
time
in
between
.
It
was
like
the
chilly
return
of
a
circling
storm
.
She
had
imagined
that
it
depended
on
her
to
see
him
or
not
,
that
he
was
pensive
except
when
persistently
approached
.
But
here
he
was
,
this
time
,
at
last
,
following
!
CHAPTER
X
He
took
a
step
forward
,
her
room
evidently
his
destination
.
“
Mistvich
!
”
Bertha
said
,
at
the
same
time
retreating
into
the
passage-way
.
—
“
Go
!
”
Got
into
the
room
,
he
did
not
seem
to
know
what
next
to
do
.
So
far
he
had
been
evidently
quite
clear
as
to
his
purpose
.
He
had
been
feeling
the
same
necessity
as
her
—
he
,
to
see
his
victim
.
He
had
not
known
what
he
wanted
with
her
,
but
the
obvious
pretext
and
road
for
the
satisfaction
of
this
impulse
was
the
seeking
of
pardon
.
She
had
a
moment
before
felt
that
she
must
see
him
again
,
at
once
,
before
going
further
with
her
life
.
—
He
,
more
vague
but
more
energetic
,
had
come
at
the
end
of
twenty
minutes
.
They
were
now
together
,
quite
tongue-tied
.
Once
he
was
there
,
the
pretext
appeared
unnecessary
.
The
real
reason
might
be
found
.
The
real
reason
no
doubt
was
an
intuition
not
to
lose
her
absolutely
,
the
wisdom
of
his
appetite
counselling
.
He
stood
leaning
on
his
cane
,
and
staring
in
front
of
him
.
—
Bertha
stood
quite
still
,
as
she
would
sometimes
do
when
a
wasp
entered
the
room
,
waiting
to
see
if
it
would
blunder
about
and
then
fly
out
again
.
He
was
a
dangerous
animal
,
he
had
got
in
there
,
and
might
in
the
same
manner
go
off
again
in
a
minute
or
two
.
Now
was
the
chance
she
had
been
fretting
for
to
wipe
out
in
some
way
what
had
happened
;
—
not
to
seem
,
anyhow
,
to
have
taken
it
all
as
a
matter
of
course
.
—
But
it
was
too
convenient
.
She
had
never
reckoned
on
his
actually
coming
and
putting
himself
at
her
disposition
in
this
way
.
He
stood
there
without
saying
anything
,
just
as
though
he
had
been
sent
for
and
it
were
for
her
to
speak
.
—
She
would
have
been
inclined
to
send
him
back
to
his
room
,
and
then
,
perhaps
,
go
to
him
.
Constantly
on
the
point
of
“
throwing
him
out
,
”
as
her
energetic
German
idiom
put
it
,
it
yet
evidently
would
then
,
in
the
first
place
,
be
the
same
as
before
.
Secondly
,
she
was
a
good
deal
intimidated
by
his
unexplained
presence
.
She
had
a
curiosity
about
him
,
—
curiosity
rather
as
to
how
what
had
happened
to
her
could
be
straightened
out
or
a
little
sense
in
some
way
got
into
it
.
The
material
of
this
modification
was
in
him
and
only
there
.
—
She
hated
him
thoroughly
now
.
But
this
new
and
distinct
feeling
gave
him
at
last
some
reality
.
—
Her
way
of
regarding
Kreisler
was
that
of
the
girl
a
man
“
has
got
into
trouble
,
”
and
to
whom
she
looks
to
get
her
out
of
it
.
So
she
stood
,
anxious
as
to
what
he
might
have
.
come
there
to
do
,
gradually
settling
down
into
a
“
proud
and
silent
indignation
,
”
behind
which
her
curiosity
might
wait
and
see
what
would
transpire
.
Kreisler
had
at
length
,
having
allowed
her
to
stay
unexplained
by
his
side
for
a
week
or
so
,
divined
some
complication
.
Her
case
might
possibly
be
similar
to
his
?
She
did
not
interest
him
any
the
more
for
this
.
But
communication
would
not
be
,
perhaps
,
absolutely
useless
.
His
only
possibility
of
action
at
present
was
to
act
violently
,
in
gusts
.
He
did
not
know
,
when
he
began
an
action
,
whether
he
would
be
able
to
go
through
with
it
.
—
He
could
not
now
prevail
upon
himself
to
go
through
the
senseless
form
of
apology
or
anything
else
.
He
had
got
there
,
that
would
have
to
be
sufficient
.
But
the
situation
for
Bertha
became
urgent
,
too
.
The
difficulty
was
that
there
was
nothing
adequate
to
be
done
,
that
she
could
think
of
,
in
any
way
in
proportion
to
the
enormity
of
the
occasion
.
Yet
,
to
escape
from
the
memory
of
Kreisler
,
what
had
happened
must
be
wiped
out
,
checkmated
,
by
some
action
.
She
was
still
stunned
and
overwhelmed
with
the
normal
feminine
feelings
proper
to
the
case
.
But
yet
even
here
there
was
an
irregularity
.
Another
source
of
infinite
discomfort
was
that
she
could
not
even
feel
,
as
she
should
normally
,
the
extent
of
the
outrage
,
although
it
was
evident
enough
.
She
had
an
hysterical
inclination
,
in
waves
of
astonishment
,
to
accept
its
paradoxical
and
persistent
appearance
.
This
appearance
Kreisler’s
peculiar
manner
,
her
own
present
mind
and
the
unexampled
circumstances
gave
it
.
It
was
nothing
,
—
a
bagatelle
!
—
Pooh
!
it
is
nothing
,
after
all
!
How
can
it
be
of
any
importance
,
seeing
that
—
—
?
—
This
was
one
of
those
things
that
seem
to
have
got
into
the
category
of
waking
by
mistake
.
It
had
nothing
to
do
with
life’s
context
.
And
yet
it
was
life
.
She
must
deal
with
it
.
She
had
wished
to
free
Sorbert
.
That
had
been
the
beginning
of
all
this
.
It
was
with
idea
of
sacrifice
in
her
mind
that
she
had
committed
the
first
folly
on
the
boulevard
.
—
Well
,
she
had
succeeded
.
What
did
Kreisler
mean
?
—
At
last
his
significance
was
as
clear
as
daylight
.
He
meant
always
and
everywhere
merely
that
she
could
never
see
Tarr
again
!
She
now
faced
him
with
fresh
strength
,
her
face
illuminated
with
happy
tragic
resolve
.
—
Supposing
she
had
given
herself
to
a
man
to
compass
this
sacrifice
?
As
it
was
,
everything
,
except
the
hatefulness
and
violence
of
the
act
,
had
been
spared
her
.
And
in
telling
Sorbert
that
there
was
something
,
now
,
between
them
,
she
had
been
driven
to
something
,
she
would
be
nobly
lying
,
and
turning
an
involuntary
act
into
a
voluntary
one
.
She
could
now
,
too
,
be
tragically
forbearing
even
with
Kreisler
.
Herr
Kreisler
,
I
think
I
have
waited
long
enough
.
Will
you
please
leave
my
room
?
”
He
stirred
gently
like
a
heavy
flower
in
a
light
current
of
wind
.
But
he
turned
towards
her
and
said
:
“
I
don’t
know
what
to
say
to
you
.
—
Is
there
nothing
I
can
do
to
make
up
to
you
—
?
I
shall
go
and
shoot
myself
,
Fraulein
!
I
cannot
stand
the
thought
of
what
I
have
done
I
”
This
was
perplexing
and
made
her
angry
.
He
appeared
to
possess
a
genius
for
making
things
complicated
and
more
difficult
.
“
All
I
ask
you
is
to
go
.
That
will
be
the
best
thing
you
can
do
for
me
.
”
’
“
Fraulein
,
I
can’t
!
—
Do
listen
to
me
for
a
moment
.
—
I
cannot
even
refer
to
what
has
happened
without
insult
in
the
mere
direction
of
the
words
.
—
I
am
mad
—
mad
—
mad
!
—
You
have
showed
yourself
a
good
friend
to
me
.
And
that
is
the
way
I
repay
you
!
Were
you
anywhere
but
here
and
unprotected
,
there
would
be
a
man
to
answer
to
for
this
outrage
.
I
will
be
that
man
myself
!
—
I
come
to
ask
your
permission
!
”
His
appetite
,
waking
afresh
,
was
the
only
directing
thing
in
Kreisler
at
present
.
With
hypocritical
—
almost
palpably
mock
—
eloquence
,
he
was
serving
that
.
This
talk
alone
would
have
been
of
little
use
or
consequence
to
Bertha
.
But
coming
in
conjunction
with
her
new
independent
reinforcement
,
which
alone
would
have
been
enough
to
shape
things
to
a
specious
ending
,
it
was
in
a
way
effective
.
—
The
new
contradiction
and
struggle
in
her
mind
was
between
her
natural
aversion
for
Kreisler
now
and
her
feeling
of
clemency
towards
him
in
his
now
beautiful
usefulness
.
She
was
very
dignified
,
wise
,
and
clement
when
she
answered
:
“
Let
us
leave
all
that
,
if
you
please
.
—
It
was
my
fault
.
—
I
should
have
known
better
what
I
was
doing
.
You
must
have
been
mad
,
as
you
say
.
But
if
you
wish
to
show
yourself
a
gentleman
now
,
the
only
obvious
thing
is
to
go
away
,
as
I
have
said
,
and
not
to
molest
or
remind
me
any
further
of
what
has
passed
.
There
is
nothing
more
to
say
,
is
there
?
—
Go
now
,
please
!
”
Kreisler
flung
himself
on
his
knees
,
and
seized
her
hand
,
she
receiving
this
with
astonished
,
questioning
protestation
.
“
Fraulein
,
you
are
an
angel
!
You
don’t
know
how
much
good
you
do
me
!
You
are
so
good
,
so
good
!
There
is
nothing
you
can
ask
of
me
too
much
.
I
have
done
something
I
can
never
undo
.
It
is
as
though
you
had
saved
my
life
.
—
Otto
Kreisler
you
can
always
count
on
!
—
The
greatest
service
you
can
do
me
,
that
I
humbly
beg
you
may
—
is
to
ask
some
service
of
me
,
the
more
difficult
the
better
!
—
Goodbye
,
Fraulein
.
”
Giving
her
hand
a
last
hug
,
he
sprang
up
,
and
Bertha
heard
him
next
stormily
descending
the
stairs
,
and
then
farther
away
passing
rapidly
down
the
avenue
.
Bertha
was
distinctly
affected
by
this
demonstration
.
It
put
a
last
brilliant
light
of
grateful
confusion
on
all
the
emotions
emanating
from
Kreisler
.
The
sort
of
notion
he
had
evoked
in
parting
that
they
had
been
doing
something
splendid
together
—
a
lifesaving
,
a
heroism
—
found
a
hospitable
ground
in
her
spirit
.
Taking
everything
together
,
things
had
been
miraculously
turned
round
.
Her
late
blackness
of
depression
and
perplexity
now
merged
in
steadily
growing
relieved
exaltation
.
CHAPTER
XI
Tarr
had
not
gone
to
England
.
Kreisler
had
not
been
sufficient
to
accomplish
this
.
He
still
persisted
in
his
self-indulgent
system
of
easy
stages
.
A
bus
ride
distant
,
he
would
be
able
to
keep
away
.
But
in
any
case
he
did
not
wish
to
go
to
England
,
nor
anywhere
else
,
for
that
matter
.
Paris
was
much
the
most
suitable
domicile
,
independently
of
Bertha
,
with
his
present
plans
.
In
the
neighbourhood
of
the
Place
Clichy
,
in
an
old
convent
,
he
found
a
room
big
enough
for
four
people
.
There
,
on
the
day
of
the
second
of
the
letters
,
he
arrived
in
a
state
of
characteristic
misgiving
.
It
was
the
habitual
indigestion
of
Reality
.
He
was
very
fond
of
reality
.
But
he
was
like
a
man
very
fond
of
what
did
not
agree
with
him
.
It
usually
ended
,
however
,
by
his
assimilating
it
.
The
insouciant
,
adventurous
,
those
needing
no
preparation
to
live
,
he
did
not
admire
,
but
felt
he
should
imitate
.
—
A
new
room
was
a
thing
that
had
to
be
fitted
into
as
painfully
as
a
foot
into
some
new
N
and
too
elegant
boot
.
The
things
deposited
on
the
floor
,
the
door
finally
closed
on
this
new
area
to
be
devoted
exclusively
to
himself
,
the
blankest
discomfort
descended
on
him
.
To
undo
and
let
loose
upon
the
room
his
portmanteau’s
squashed
and
dishevelled
contents
—
like
a
flock
of
birds
,
brushes
,
photographs
and
books
flying
to
their
respective
places
on
dressing-table
,
mantelpiece
,
shelf
or
bibliothèque
;
boxes
and
parcels
creeping
dog-like
under
beds
and
into
corners
,
taxed
his
character
to
the
breaking-point
.
The
unwearied
optimism
of
these
inanimate
objects
,
the
way
they
occupied
stolidly
and
quickly
room
after
room
,
was
appalling
.
Then
they
were
packed
up
things
,
with
the
staleness
of
a
former
room
about
them
,
and
the
souvenir
of
a
depressing
time
of
tearing
up
,
inspecting
,
and
interring
.
This
preliminary
discomfort
was
less
than
ever
spared
him
here
.
He
had
cut
his
way
to
this
decision
(
to
go
and
live
in
Montmartre
)
,
through
a
bristling
host
of
incertitudes
.
A
place
would
have
had
to
be
particularly
spacious
to
convince
him
.
This
large
studio-room
was
worse
than
any
desert
.
It
had
been
built
for
something
else
,
and
would
never
be
right
.
—
A
large
square
whitewashed
box
was
what
he
wanted
to
pack
himself
into
.
This
was
an
elaborate
carved
chest
of
a
former
age
.
He
would
no
doubt
pack
it
eventually
with
consoling
memories
of
work
.
He
started
work
at
once
,
in
fact
.
This
was
his
sovereign
cure
for
new
rooms
.
Half
an
hour
after
his
taking
possession
,
it
being
already
time
for
the
aperitif
,
he
issued
forth
into
the
new
quarter
.
There
were
a
few
clusters
of
men
.
The
Spanish
men
dancers
were
coloured
earth-objects
,
full
of
basking
and
frisking
instincts
;
the
atmosphere
of
the
harlot’s
life
went
with
them
,
and
Spanish
reasonableness
and
civility
.
He
chose
a
café
on
the
Place
Clichy
.
The
hideous
ennui
of
large
gimcrack
shops
and
dusty
public
offices
pervaded
other
groups
of
pink
,
mostly
dark-haired
Frenchmen
drinking
appetizers
.
They
responded
with
their
personalities
on
the
café
terraces
to
the
emptiness
of
the
boulevard
.
He
had
not
any
friends
in
Montmartre
.
But
he
had
not
been
at
the
café
above
a
few
minutes
,
when
he
saw
a
familiar
face
approaching
.
It
was
a
model
(
Berthe
,
by
name
,
though
bringing
no
reminder
with
her
of
the
other
“
Berthe
”
he
knew
)
with
an
English
painter
he
saw
for
the
first
time
,
but
whom
he
had
just
heard
about
in
connexion
with
this
girl
.
Berthe
knew
Tarr
very
slightly
.
But
she
chose
a
table
near
him
,
with
a
nod
,
and
shortly
opened
conversation
.
She
meant
to
talk
to
him
evidently
.
She
asked
about
one
or
two
people
Tarr
knew
.
“
Do
you
"
wish
me
to
present
you
?
”
she
said
,
looking
towards
her
protector
.
“
This
is
Mr.
Tarr
,
Dick
.
”
So
it
was
done
.
“
Why
don’t
you
come
and
sit
here
?
”
That
too
was
done
,
partly
from
inquisitiveness
.
The
young
Englishman
annoyed
Tarr
by
pretending
to
be
alarmed
every
time
he
was
addressed
.
He
had
a
wide-open
,
wondering
eye
,
fixed
on
the
world
in
timid
serenity
.
It
did
not
appear
at
first
to
understand
what
you
said
,
and
rolled
a
little
alarmedly
,
even
so
only
to
be
filled
the
next
moment
with
some
unexpected
light
of
whimsical
intelligence
.
It
had
understood
all
the
time
!
It
was
only
its
art
to
surprise
you
,
and
its
English
affectation
of
unreadiness
and
childishness
.
.
He
was
a
great
big
child
,
wandering
through
life
!
The
young
Latin
wishes
to
impress
you
with
his
ability
to
look
after
himself
.
General
idiocy
of
demeanour
,
on
the
other
hand
,
is
the
fashionable
English
style
.
This
young
man
was
six
feet
one
,
with
a
handsome
beak
in
front
of
his
face
,
meant
for
a
super-Emersonian
mildness
.
His
“
wide
awake
”
was
large
,
larger
than
Hobson’s
.
Innumerable
minor
Tennysons
had
planted
it
on
his
head
,
or
bequeathed
a
desire
for
it
to
this
ultimate
Dick
of
long
literary
line
.
His
family
was
allied
to
much
Victorian
talent
.
But
,
alas
,
thought
Tarr
,
how
much
worse
it
is
when
the
mind
gets
thin
than
when
the
blood
loses
its
body
,
in
merely
aristocratic
refinement
.
Intellectual
aristocracy
in
the
fifth
generation
!
—
but
Tarr
gazed
at
the
conclusive
figure
in
front
of
him
,
words
failing
.
Words
failed
,
too
,
for
maintaining
conversation
with
it
.
He
soon
got
up
,
and
left
,
his
first
aperitif
at
Montmartre
unsatisfactory
.
He
did
not
take
possession
of
his
new
life
with
very
much
conviction
.
After
dinner
he
went
to
a
neighbouring
music
hall
,
precariously
amused
,
soothed
by
the
din
.
But
he
eventually
left
with
a
headache
.
The
strangeness
of
the
streets
,
cafes
,
and
places
of
entertainment
depressed
him
deeply
.
Had
it
been
an
absolutely
novel
scene
,
he
would
have
found
stimulus
in
it
.
But
it
was
like
a
friend
grown
indifferent
,
or
something
perfectly
familiar
with
the
richness
of
habit
taken
out
of
it
.
Tarr
was
gregarious
in
the
sense
that
usually
he
liked
his
room
and
some
familiar
streets
with
their
traces
of
familiar
men
.
And
where
more
energetic
spirit
suggested
some
truer
solitude
to
him
,
he
would
never
have
sought
it
where
a
vestige
of
inanimate
friendship
remained
.
Here
,
where
he
had
chosen
to
live
,
he
appeared
as
though
fallen
in
some
intermediate
negative
existence
.
Unusually
for
him
,
he
felt
alone
.
To
be
alone
was
essentially
a
nondescript
,
lowered
,
and
unreal
state
for
him
.
The
following
morning
Tarr
woke
,
his
legs
rather
cramped
and
tired
,
and
not
thoroughly
rested
.
But
as
soon
as
he
was
up
,
work
came
quite
easily
.
He
got
his
paints
out
,
and
without
beginning
on
his
principal
canvas
,
took
up
a
new
and
smaller
one
by
way
of
diversion
.
Squaring
up
a
drawing
of
three
naked
youths
sniffing
the
air
,
with
rather
worried
Greek
faces
and
heavy
nether
limbs
,
he
stuck
it
on
the
wall
with
pins
and
drew
his
camp
easel
up
alongside
it
.
He
squared
up
his
canvas
on
the
floor
with
a
walking-stick
,
and
fixed
it
on
the
easel
.
To
get
a
threadlike
edge
a
pencil
had
to
be
sharpened
several
times
.
By
the
end
of
the
afternoon
he
had
got
a
witty
pastiche
on
the
way
.
Two
colours
principally
had
been
used
,
mixed
in
piles
on
two
palettes
:
a
smoky
,
bilious
saffron
,
and
a
pale
transparent
lead
.
The
significance
of
the
thing
depended
first
on
the
psychology
of
the
pulpy
limbs
,
strained
dancers’
attitudes
and
empty
faces
;
secondly
,
the
two
colours
and
the
simple
yet
contorted
curves
.
Work
over
,
his
depression
again
grasped
him
,
like
an
immensely
gloomy
companion
who
had
been
idling
impatiently
while
he
worked
.
He
promenaded
this
companion
in
“
Montmartre
by
Night
,
”
without
improving
his
character
.
Nausea
glared
at
him
from
every
object
met
.
Sex
surged
up
and
martyrized
him
,
but
he
held
it
down
rather
than
satisfy
himself
with
its
elementary
servants
.
The
next
day
,
meme
jeu
.
He
sat
for
hours
in
the
fatiguing
evening
among
a
score
of
relief
ships
or
pleasure
boats
,
hesitating
,
but
finally
rejecting
relief
or
pleasure
.
And
the
next
day
it
was
the
same
thing
.
Meantime
his
work
progressed
.
But
to
escape
these
persecutions
he
worked
excessively
.
His
eyes
began
to
prick
,
and
on
the
sixth
day
he
woke
up
with
a
headache
.
He
was
sick
and
unable
to
work
.
Tarr
decided
he
had
been
mistaken
in
remaining
in
Paris
.
The
fascination
of
the
omnibuses
bound
for
the
Rive
gauche
was
almost
irresistible
.
Destiny
had
granted
him
the
necessary
resolution
to
break
.
He
could
have
gone
away
—
anywhere
,
even
.
His
will
had
then
offered
him
a
free
ticket
,
as
it
were
,
to
any
end
of
the
earth
.
Or
simply
,
and
most
sensibly
,
to
London
.
And
yet
he
had
decided
to
go
no
farther
than
Montmartre
,
in
the
unwisdom
of
his
sense
of
energy
and
freedom
of
that
moment
.
Now
the
“
free
ticket
”
was
not
any
more
available
.
His
Will
had
changed
.
It
offered
all
sorts
of
different
bus
tickets
,
merely
,
which
would
conduct
him
,
avec
and
sans
correspondence
,
in
the
direction
of
the
Quartier
du
Paradis
.
Why
not
go
back
again
,
simply
,
in
fact
?
The
mandates
of
the
governing
elements
in
our
nature
,
resolves
,
etc.
,
were
childish
enough
things
.
His
resentment
against
Bertha
,
and
resolve
to
quit
,
would
always
be
there
.
There
was
room
in
life
for
the
satisfaction
of
this
impulse
,
and
the
equally
strong
one
to
see
her
again
.
The
road
back
to
the
Quartier
du
Paradis
would
probably
have
been
taken
quite
soon
,
only
it
needed
in
a
way
as
much
of
an
effort
in
the
contrary
direction
to
get
back
as
it
had
to
get
away
.
He
did
not
know
what
might
await
him
either
.
She
might
really
have
given
him
up
and
changed
her
life
.
He
had
not
the
necessary
experience
to
dismiss
that
possibility
.
But
at
last
one
evening
he
did
go
.
He
went
deliberately
up
to
an
omnibus
“
Clichy
—
St.
Germain
,
”
and
took
his
seat
under
its
roof
.
He
was
resolved
to
glut
himself
,
without
any
atom
of
self-respect
or
traces
of
“
resolve
”
remaining
,
in
what
he
had
been
wanting
to
do
for
a
week
.
He
would
go
to
Bertha’s
rooms
,
even
find
out
what
had
been
happening
in
his
absence
.
He
might
even
,
perhaps
,
hang
about
a
little
outside
,
and
try
to
surprise
her
in
some
manner
.
Then
he
would
behave
en
maître
,
there
would
be
no
further
question
of
his
having
given
her
up
and
renounced
his
rights
.
He
would
behave
just
as
though
he
had
never
gone
away
or
the
letters
been
sent
.
He
would
claim
her
again
with
all
the
appeals
he
knew
to
her
love
for
him
.
He
would
conduct
himself
without
a
scrap
of
dignity
or
honesty
.
Once
the
“
resolution
”
and
pride
of
his
retiring
had
been
broken
down
,
it
was
thenceforth
immaterial
to
what
length
he
went
.
In
fact
,
better
be
frankly
weak
and
unprincipled
in
his
actions
and
manner
,
go
the
whole
length
of
his
defeat
and
confusion
.
In
such
completeness
there
remains
a
grain
of
superiority
and
energy
.
But
once
started
in
his
bus
,
a
wave
of
excitement
and
anxiety
surged
in
him
with
hot
gushes
.
—
What
awaited
him
?
He
fancied
all
sorts
of
strange
developments
.
—
Perhaps
,
after
all
,
his
journey
would
not
satisfy
his
weaker
movement
,
but
confirm
and
establish
definitely
his
more
sensible
resolves
.
Perhaps
weaknesses
would
find
at
last
the
door
closed
against
them
.
He
smiled
at
the
city
as
they
passed
through
it
,
with
the
glee
of
a
boy
on
a
holiday
excursion
.
PART
V
A
MEGRIM
OF
HUMOUR
CHAPTER
I
Some
days
later
,
in
the
evening
,
Tarr
was
to
be
found
in
a
strange
place
.
Decidedly
his
hosts
could
not
have
explained
how
he
got
there
.
He
displayed
no
consciousness
of
the
anomaly
.
He
had
introduced
himself
—
now
for
the
second
time
—
into
Fraulein
Lipmann’s
aesthetic
saloon
,
after
dining
with
her
and
her
following
at
Flobert’s
Restaurant
.
As
inexplicable
as
Kreisler’s
former
visits
,
these
ones
that
Tarr
began
to
make
were
not
so
perfectly
unwelcome
.
There
was
a
glimmering
of
meaning
in
them
for
Bertha’s
women
friends
.
He
had
just
walked
in
two
nights
before
,
as
though
he
were
an
old
and
established
visitor
there
,
shaken
hands
and
sat
down
.
He
then
listened
to
their
music
,
drank
their
coffee
and
went
away
apparently
satisfied
.
Did
he
consider
that
his
so
close
connexion
with
Bertha
entitled
him
to
this
?
It
was
at
all
events
a
prerogative
he
had
never
before
availed
himself
of
,
except
on
one
or
two
occasions
at
first
,
in
her
company
.
The
women’s
explanation
of
this
eccentric
sudden
frequentation
was
that
Tarr
was
in
despair
.
His
separation
from
Bertha
(
or
her
conduct
with
Kreisler
)
had
hit
him
hard
.
He
wished
for
consolation
or
mediation
.
Neither
of
these
guesses
was
right
.
It
was
really
something
absurder
than
that
that
had
brought
him
there
.
Only
a
week
or
ten
days
away
from
his
love
affair
with
Bertha
,
Tarr
was
now
coming
back
to
the
old
haunts
and
precincts
of
his
infatuation
.
He
was
living
it
all
over
again
in
memory
,
the
central
and
all
the
accessory
figures
still
in
exactly
the
same
place
.
Suddenly
,
everything
to
do
with
“
those
days
,
”
as
he
thought
of
a
week
or
two
before
(
or
what
had
ended
officially
then
)
had
become
very
pleasing
.
Bertha’s
women
friends
were
delightful
landmarks
.
Tarr
could
not
understand
how
it
was
he
had
not
taken
an
interest
in
them
before
.
They
had
so
much
of
the
German
savour
of
that
life
lived
with
Bertha
about
them
!
But
not
only
with
them
,
but
with
Bertha
herself
he
was
likewise
carrying
on
this
mysterious
retrospective
life
.
He
was
so
delighted
,
as
a
fact
,
to
be
free
of
Bertha
that
he
poetized
herself
and
all
her
belongings
.
On
this
particular
second
visit
to
Fraulein
Lipmann
's
he
met
Anastasya
Vasek
.
She
,
at
least
,
was
nothing
to
do
with
his
souvenirs
.
Yet
,
not
realizing
her
as
an
absolute
new-comer
at
once
,
he
accepted
her
as
another
proof
of
how
delightful
these
people
in
truth
were
.
He
had
been
a
very
silent
guest
so
far
.
They
were
curious
to
hear
what
this
enigma
should
eventually
say
,
when
it
decided
to
speak
.
“
How
is
Bertha
?
”
they
had
asked
him
.
“
She
has
got
a
cold
,
”
he
had
answered
.
It
was
a
fact
that
she
had
caught
a
summer
cold
several
days
before
.
—
“
How
strange
!
”
they
thought
.
—
“
So
he
sees
her
still
!
”
“
She
hasn’t
been
to
Flobert’s
lately
,
”
Renée
Lipmann
said
.
“
I’ve
been
so
busy
,
or
I’d
have
gone
round
to
see
her
.
She’s
not
in
bed
,
is
she
?
”
“
Oh
,
no
,
she’s
just
got
a
slight
cold
.
She’s
very
well
otherwise
,
”
Tarr
answered
.
Bertha
disappears
.
Tarr
turns
up
tranquilly
in
her
place
.
Was
he
a
substitute
?
What
could
all
this
mean
?
Their
first
flutter
over
,
their
traditional
hostility
for
him
reawakened
.
He
had
always
been
an
arrogant
,
eccentric
,
and
unpleasant
person
:
“
Homme
egoiste
!
Homme
sensuel
!
”
in
Van
Bencke’s
famous
words
.
On
seeing
him
talking
with
new
liveliness
,
not
displayed
with
them
,
to
Anastasya
,
suspicions
began
to
germinate
.
Even
such
shrewd
intuition
,
a
development
from
the
reality
,
as
this
:
“
Perhaps
getting
to
like
Germans
,
and
losing
his
first
,
he
had
come
here
to
find
another
.
”
Comfortable
in
his
liberty
,
he
was
still
enjoying
,
by
proxy
or
otherwise
,
the
satisfaction
of
slavery
.
The
arrogance
implied
by
his
infatuation
for
the
commonplace
was
taboo
.
He
must
be
more
humble
,
he
felt
,
and
take
an
interest
in
his
equals
.
He
had
been
“
Homme
egoiste
”
so
far
,
but
“
Homme
sensuel
”
was
an
exaggeration
.
His
concupiscence
had
been
undeveloped
.
His
Bertha
,
if
she
had
not
been
a
joke
,
would
not
have
satisfied
him
.
She
did
not
succeed
in
waking
his
senses
,
although
she
had
attracted
them
.
There
was
no
more
reality
in
their
sex
relations
than
in
their
other
relations
.
He
now
had
a
closer
explanation
of
his
attachment
to
stupidity
than
he
had
been
able
to
give
Lowndes
.
It
was
that
his
artist’s
asceticism
could
not
support
anything
more
serious
than
such
an
elementary
rival
,
and
,
when
sex
was
in
the
ascendant
,
it
turned
his
eyes
away
from
the
highest
beauty
and
dulled
the
extremities
of
his
senses
,
so
that
he
had
nothing
but
rudimentary
inclinations
left
.
But
in
the
interests
of
his
animalism
he
was
turning
to
betray
the
artist
in
him
.
For
he
had
been
saying
to
himself
lately
that
a
more
suitable
lady-companion
must
be
found
;
one
,
that
is
,
he
need
not
be
ashamed
of
.
He
felt
that
the
time
had
arrived
for
Life
to
come
in
for
some
of
the
benefits
of
Consciousness
.
Anastasya’s
beauty
,
bangles
,
and
good
sense
were
the
very
thing
.
Despite
himself
,
Sorbert
was
dragged
out
of
his
luxury
of
reminiscence
without
knowing
it
,
and
began
discriminating
between
the
Bertha
enjoyment
felt
through
the
pungent
German
medium
of
her
friends
,
and
this
novel
sensation
.
Yet
this
sensation
was
an
intruder
.
It
was
as
though
a
man
having
wandered
sentimentally
along
an
abandoned
route
,
a
tactless
and
gushing
acquaintance
had
been
discovered
in
unlikely
possession
.
Tarr
asked
her
from
what
part
of
Germany
she
came
.
“
My
parents
are
Russian
.
I
was
born
in
Berlin
and
brought
up
in
America
.
We
live
in
Dresden
,
”
she
answered
.
This
accounted
for
her
jarring
on
his
maudlin
German
reveries
.
“
Lots
of
Russian
families
have
settled
latterly
in
Germany
,
haven’t
they
?
”
he
asked
.
“
Russians
are
still
rather
savage
.
The
more
bourgeois
a
place
or
thing
is
the
more
it
attracts
them
.
German
watering
places
,
musical
centres
and
so
on
,
they
like
about
as
well
as
anything
.
They
often
settle
there
.
”
“
Do
you
regard
yourself
as
a
Russian
—
or
a
German
?
”
“
Oh
,
a
Russian
.
I
—
—
”
“
I’m
glad
of
that
,
”
said
Tarr
,
quite
forgetting
where
he
was
,
and
forgetting
the
nature
of
his
occupation
.
“
Don’t
you
like
Germans
then
?
”
“
Well
,
now
you
remind
me
of
it
,
I
do
:
—
very
much
,
in
fact
,
”
He
shook
himself
with
self-reproach
and
gazed
round
benignantly
and
comfortably
at
his
hosts
.
“
Else
I
shouldn’t
be
here
!
They’re
such
a
nice
,
modest
,
assimilative
race
,
with
an
admirable
sense
of
duty
.
They
are
born
servants
;
excellent
mercenary
troops
,
I
understand
.
They
should
always
be
used
as
such
.
”
“
I
see
you
know
them
à
fond
.
”
She
laughed
in
the
direction
of
the
Lipmann
.
He
made
a
deprecating
gesture
.
“
Not
much
.
But
they
are
an
accessible
and
friendly
people
.
”
“
You
are
English
?
”
“
Yes
.
”
He
treated
his
hosts
with
a
warm
benignity
which
sought
,
perhaps
,
to
make
up
for
past
affronts
.
It
appeared
only
to
gratify
partially
.
He
was
treating
them
like
part
and
parcel
of
Bertha
.
They
were
not
ready
to
accept
this
valuation
,
that
of
chattels
of
her
world
.
The
two
Kinderbachs
came
over
and
made
an
affectionate
demonstration
around
and
upon
Anastasya
.
She
got
up
,
scattering
them
abruptly
,
and
went
over
to
the
piano
.
“
What
a
big
brute
!
”
Tarr
thought
.
“
She
would
be
just
as
good
as
Bertha
to
kiss
.
And
you
get
a
respectable
human
being
into
the
bargain
!
”
He
was
not
intimately
convinced
that
she
would
be
as
satisfactory
.
Let
us
see
how
it
would
be
;
he
considered
.
This
larger
machine
of
repressed
,
moping
senses
did
attract
.
To
take
it
to
pieces
,
bit
by
bit
,
and
penetrate
to
its
intimacy
,
might
give
a
similar
pleasure
to
undressing
Bertha
!
Possessed
of
such
an
intense
life
as
Anastasya
,
women
always
appeared
on
the
verge
of
a
dark
spasm
of
unconsciousness
.
With
their
organism
of
fierce
mechanical
reactions
,
their
self-possession
was
rather
bluff
.
So
much
more
accomplished
socially
than
men
,
yet
they
were
not
the
social
creatures
,
but
men
.
Surrender
to
a
woman
was
a
sort
of
suicide
for
an
artist
.
Nature
,
who
never
forgives
an
artist
,
would
never
allow
her
to
forgive
.
With
any
“
superior
”
woman
he
had
ever
met
,
this
feeling
of
being
with
a
parvenu
never
left
him
.
Anastasya
was
not
an
exception
.
On
leaving
,
Tarr
no
longer
felt
that
he
would
come
back
to
enjoy
a
diffused
form
of
Bertha
there
.
The
prolongations
of
his
Bertha
period
had
passed
a
climax
.
On
leaving
Renée
Lipmann’s
,
nevertheless
,
Tarr
went
to
the
café
de
l’Aigle
,
some
distance
away
,
but
with
an
object
.
To
make
his
present
frequentation
quite
complete
,
it
only
needed
Kreisler
.
Otto
was
there
,
very
much
on
his
present
visiting
list
.
He
visited
him
regularly
at
the
Café
de
l’Aigle
,
where
he
was
constantly
to
be
found
.
This
is
how
Tarr
had
got
to
know
him
.
CHAPTER
II
Tarr
had
arrived
at
Bertha’s
place
about
seven
in
the
evening
on
his
first
return
from
Montmartre
.
He
hung
about
for
a
little
.
In
ten
minutes’
time
he
had
his
reward
.
She
came
out
,
followed
by
Kreisler
.
Bertha
did
not
see
him
at
first
.
He
followed
on
the
other
side
of
the
street
,
some
fifteen
yards
behind
.
He
did
this
with
sleepy
gratification
.
All
was
well
.
Relations
with
her
were
now
,
it
must
be
clear
,
substantially
at
an
end
.
A
kind
of
good
sensation
of
alternating
jealousy
and
regret
made
him
wander
along
with
obedient
gratitude
.
Should
she
turn
round
and
see
him
,
how
uncomfortable
she
would
be
!
How
naturally
alike
in
their
mechanical
marching
gait
she
and
the
German
were
!
He
was
a
distinct
third
party
.
Being
a
stranger
,
with
very
different
appearance
,
thrilled
him
agreeably
.
By
a
little
manoeuvre
of
short
cuts
he
would
get
in
front
of
them
.
This
he
did
.
Bertha
saw
him
as
he
debouched
from
his
turning
.
She
stopped
dead
,
and
appeared
to
astonished
Kreisler
to
be
about
to
take
to
her
heels
.
It
was
flattering
in
a
way
that
his
mere
presence
should
produce
this
effect
.
He
went
up
to
her
.
Her
palm
a
sentimental
instrument
of
weak
,
aching
,
heavy
tissues
,
she
gave
him
her
hand
,
face
fixed
on
him
in
a
mask
of
regret
and
reproach
.
Fascinated
by
the
intensity
of
this
,
he
had
been
staring
at
her
a
little
too
long
,
perhaps
with
some
of
the
reflection
of
her
expression
.
He
turned
towards
Kreisler
.
He
found
a
,
to
him
.
conventionally
German
indifferent
countenance
.
“
Herr
Kreisler
,
”
Bertha
said
with
laconic
energy
,
as
though
she
were
uttering
some
fatal
name
.
Her
“
Herr
Kreisler
”
said
hollowly
,
“
It’s
done
!
”
It
also
had
an
inflexion
of
“
What
shall
I
do
?
”
A
sick
energy
saturated
her
face
,
the
lips
were
indecently
compressed
,
the
eyes
wide
,
dull
,
with
red
rims
.
Tarr
bowed
to
Kreisler
as
Bertha
said
his
name
.
Kreisler
raised
his
hat
.
Then
,
with
a
curious
feeling
of
already
thrusting
himself
on
these
people
,
he
began
to
walk
along
beside
Bertha
.
She
moved
like
an
unconvinced
party
to
a
bargain
,
who
consents
to
walk
up
and
down
a
little
,
preliminary
to
a
final
consideration
of
the
affair
.
“
Yes
,
but
walking
won’t
help
matters
,
”
she
might
have
been
saying
.
Kreisler’s
indifference
was
absolute
.
There
was
an
element
of
the
child’s
privilege
in
Tarr’s
making
himself
of
the
party
(
“
Sorbet
,
tu
es
si
jeune
”
)
.
There
was
the
claim
for
indulgence
of
a
spirit
not
entirely
serious
!
The
childishness
of
this
turning
up
as
though
nothing
had
happened
,
with
such
wilful
resolve
not
to
recognize
the
seriousness
of
things
,
Bertha’s
drama
,
the
significance
of
the
awful
words
,
“
Herr
Kreisler
!
”
and
so
on
,
was
present
to
him
.
Bertha
must
know
the
meaning
of
his
rapid
resurrection
—
she
knew
him
too
well
not
to
know
that
.
So
they
walked
on
,
without
conversation
.
Then
Tarr
inquired
if
she
were
“
quite
well
.
”
'
“
Yes
,
Sorbert
,
quite
well
,
”
she
replied
,
with
soft
tragic
banter
.
As
though
by
design
,
he
always
found
just
the
words
or
tone
that
would
give
an
opening
for
this
sentimental
irony
of
hers
.
But
the
least
hint
that
he
had
come
to
reinstate
himself
must
not
remain
.
It
must
be
clearly
understood
that
Kreisler
was
the
principal
figure
now
.
He
,
Tarr
,
was
only
a
privileged
friend
.
With
unflattering
rapidity
