order
once more.

I seated myself at the table, and set to work at my allegory; it
progressed swimmingly, better than it had done for a long time; not
very fast, 'tis true, but it seemed to me that what I did was
altogether first-rate. I worked, too, for the space of an hour without
getting tired.

I am sitting working at a most crucial point in this Allegory of a
Conflagration in a Bookshop. It appears to me so momentous a point,
that all the rest I have written counted as nothing in comparison. I
was, namely, just about to weave in, in a downright profound way, this
thought. It was not books that were burning, it was brains, human
brains; and I intended to make a perfect Bartholomew's night of these
burning brains.

Suddenly my door was flung open with a jerk and in much haste; my
landlady came sailing in. She came straight over to the middle of the
room, she did not even pause on the threshold.

I gave a little hoarse cry; it was just as if I had received a blow.

"What?" said she, "I thought you said something. We have got a
traveller, and we must have this room for him. You will have to sleep
downstairs with us tonight. Yes; you can have a bed to yourself there
too." And before she got my answer, she began, without further
ceremony, to bundle my papers together on the table, and put the whole
of them into a state of dire confusion.

My happy mood was blown to the winds; I stood up at once, in anger and
despair. I let her tidy the table, and said nothing, never uttered a
syllable. She thrust all the papers into my hand.

There was nothing else for me to do. I was forced to leave the room.
And so this precious moment was spoilt also. I met the new traveller
already on the stairs; a young man with great blue anchors tattooed on
the backs of his hands. A quay porter followed him, bearing a sea-chest
on his shoulders. He was evidently a sailor, a casual traveller for the
night; he would therefore not occupy my room for any lengthened period.
Perhaps, too, I might be lucky tomorrow when the man had left, and have
one of my moments again; I only needed an inspiration for five minutes,
and my essay on the conflagration would be completed. Well, I should
have to submit to fate.

I had not been inside the family rooms before, this one common room in
which they all lived, both day and night--the husband, wife, wife's
father, and four children. The servant lived in the kitchen, where she
also slept at night. I appr