radual spread of the
light, he made out that it bore an Austrian stamp, and directly he took
it in his hand, he recognised the writing. Heinz!--it was from Heinz!
He tore open the envelope with unsteady fingers; what could Heinz have
to write to him about? Instinctively, he connected it in some way with
the events of the afternoon. But it was a very brief note, covering
hardly a page of the paper. Standing beside the lamp, Maurice held the
sheet in the circle of light, and ran his eye over the few lines. He
took them in, in a flash, that is to say, he read them automatically;
but their sense did not penetrate his brain. He tried again, and still
he could not grasp what they meant; still again, and slowly, word by
word, till he could have repeated them by heart; but always without
getting at their inner meaning. Then, however, and all of a sudden, as
if some inner consciousness had understood them, and now gave bodily
warning of it; suddenly, his knees began to shake, and he was forced to
sit down. Sitting, he continued to stare at the page of writing before
him, with contracted pupils. He commenced to read again, and even said
the first line or two of the letter aloud, as if that might aid him.
But the paper fell from his hand, and he gazed, instead, into the flame
of the lamp, right into the inmost flame, till he was blind with it.
His head fell forward, and lay on his hands, and on the rustling sheet
of paper.

"God in Heaven!"

He heard himself say it, and was even conscious of the fact that, like
every mortal in the throes of a strong emotion, he, too, called on God.

A long and profound silence ensued. It went on and on, persisted, was
about to become eternal, when it was rudely broken by the sound of a
child's cry. He raised his head. The walls swam round him: in spite of
the coldness of the night and the fact that the room was unheated, he
was clammy with perspiration. The skin of his face, too, had a
peculiar, drawn feeling, as if it were a mask that was too tight for
it. He shivered. Then his eye fell on the letter lying open on the
table. Without a moment's hesitation, without waiting even to put the
lamp out, he seized it, and went headlong from the house.

But he was strangely unequal to exertion. He felt a craving for
stimulant, and entering a wine-shop, drank a couple of cognacs. His
strength came back to him; people moved out of his way; he had energy
enough to climb the stair, and to go through the b