35

When Therese returned from the delivering of poor Wilhelm’s confession, she was hardly able to get out from the cab. Her flesh was cold and numb. An overpowering sickness engrossed her whole stern attention. She walked into her house with a feeble step, as though she had become blind. Tears seemed to flood her heart, but none rose to her eyes. She fell into a chair, and her head dropped on her breast.

Old Lotte found her there, in the dark hallway, still in her hat and coat. Her muff had fallen to the floor. Her arms drooped as though she had fainted. Her attitude was one of profound prostration and collapse.

“Frau Doctor!” cried Lotte, frightened. Therese did not answer. Lotte removed the hat and saw Therese’s face. She cried out again. The little servant came running from the kitchen, and Lotte shouted to her to bring some wine. When it was brought, Lotte forced the wine between Therese’s white lips. Therese drank mechanically, like a sick child, her face ghastly in the gloom of the hallway.

“You are ill. Let me help you to your room,” said Lotte, trembling.

Therese forced herself to smile. “Do not worry about me, Lotte. I am just a little tired.” She made herself sit up, touched her disordered hair with shaking hands. “Just a little tired,” she repeated. Her voice was hoarse.

Lotte wrung her hands in her apron. She tried to find something comforting to say. “Doctor Erlich has returned. He is in his room.”

She started back a little, for suddenly Therese’s face had become almost horrible. Rage and fury had started into her eyes, and even hatred. She visibly trembled. She clenched her hands on the arms of her chair and pushed herself to her feet. Standing there, she fought with her faintness. A fire raged in her, a furious and deadly fire. Then, without looking at Lotte again, she went up the stairway, walking swiftly as though with an ominous purpose. Lotte, terrified, watched her go.

Therese went down the hallway to Karl’s study. Red lightning flashed before her eyes. She knew now the urge to kill, to destroy. She flung open the closed door with a loud crash. She stood on the threshold, panting.

Karl was sitting quietly before a new fire, watching the flames. He looked up at Therese. Had she been less agitated, less enraged, she might have seen what was there to be seen. But she did not see it. She saw only a man she hated and despised. Her breathing was loud and hoarse. Between the masses of her fair disordered hair her face was thin and white and almost mad. Karl’s own face swam before her in a red mist.

“There you are!” she cried, loudly yet shrilly. “There you are, you fool, you madman, you murderer! There you have been, for months, dreaming your idiotic dreams, plotting your imbecile plots, when better men are dying all around you!”

Karl sat up. His pale face paled even more. “Therese,” he said.

But she made a wild gesture. “What do you know of anything, you fool and coward, you traitor! Do you know that Herman Muehler is dead, and Felix Traub, and your own nephew, Wilhelm? Do you know that men like you have killed them? Do you know what is happening? Do you know that all Germany is a graveyard, full of vultures? Do you know that everything is dying? Germany, the whole world.…” She flung out her arms, and burst into the most dreadful tears.

She advanced towards him as though she would strike him. She raised her clenched fists.

“But what does that matter to you, you coward and fool? What does it matter, so long as you have your silly dreams, so long as you can hide yourself? You and your imbecile wooden dolls?” She laughed suddenly, shortly, madly. “Well, let me tell you something: I have known all along what you have been doing. You have been trying to kill your miserable brother! You have pushed a nail into a shameful doll’s head! But I should not have expected anything else from you. Yes, Kurt is dying, and calling for you. But you have not killed him! Do you hear me? You have not killed him, I changed the dolls, a long time ago. The doll with his name is not the doll …”

She choked. Her breath twisted in her throat. She gasped. She pressed her hands against her breast to stop the agonizing and mortal pain in it. The room swirled about her. She felt some one take her arm and hold her firmly. When she could see again, she saw that it was Karl who was holding her. She saw his sunken face, his strange fixed eyes.

“Kurt—is dying?” he asked.

She tried to throw off his hand. He saw her loathing and detestation. He stepped back and regarded her without speaking again.

“Yes!” she screamed. “Are you not happy? Why do you not smile with your madman’s glee?” All at once she could not control herself any longer. She lifted her hand and struck him savagely across his face. Not once, but several times. And he stood before her, not moving, only gazing at her intently.

“Therese,” he said, gently. “My poor Therese.”

But she hardly heard him. She fell back. She caught the back of a chair to steady herself. Her tears ran down her cheeks. She sobbed hoarsely.

She averted her head. “Go away,” she groaned. “Go away. Never let me see you again.”

She closed her eyes. Her head fell on her breast. Her sobbing fillled the silent room. Her body bowed itself over the chair she clutched. She sobbed as though all her life and blood were draining out of her veins.

Finally, she could weep no more. She lifted her head and looked about her. She was all alone, Karl was gone. She had vented her fury. There was only a sick emptiness left. “Karl,” she called, faintly.

There was no answer. The firelight leaped up, mockingly. She tried to take a step, but her limbs would not move. She looked at the fire. Then for the first time she saw a curious object in the fire. It was the half-consumed wooden doll, burning steadily. It must have been thrown there before she had entered the room.

She stared at it. Her eye-sockets widened. Revelation like a sword of lightning ran through her. She staggered forward, bent, gazed at the doll. The flames leaped up, shining redly on her wet face.

Then she stood up. “Karl!” she called loudly. “Karl!”

She ran to the window. Only the dusky snow-filled street met her eyes. She ran down the stairs, calling wildly. Lotte appeared, with renewed fear.

“The Herr Doctor left the house a few minutes ago,” she stammered.

Therese stood on the stairs, clutching the bannister. She stared at Lotte emptily. “I have driven him away again,” she said, in a dull voice.

Lotte’s old frightened face enlarged, blurred, before her. She uttered a faint sinking cry. She staggered. She heard Lotte scream.

Then, she knew nothing else.