But would he reach the city--
alive? Was he dying? He could not see . . . Yet again he shut
his jaws and drew on his entire strength. He was keeping in the
saddle by will power alone. If the horse faltered he was lost.
To Gertrude; she could use them. And after all he loved her. If
he died she would be provided for.
The first of the city lamps. He sobbed. Into this street he
turned, into that, expecting each moment to be challenged, for
the white saddle blanket of the cuirassiers stood out
conspicuously. At last he had but a corner to turn. He stopped,
slid from the saddle and gave the animal a cut across the face.
The horse reared, then plunged forward at a wild gallop. Johann
staggered along the street, fumbling in his pockets for his keys.
Gertrude of the opera company was usually in the ballet. To-
night she had left the stage after the first dance. She had
complained of a severe headache, and as the manager knew her
worth he had permitted her withdrawal from the corps. She lived
off the Frohngarten, in an apartment on the second floor, over a
cheap restaurant. She was bathing her temples in perfumed
ammonia water, when she heard footsteps in the corridor, and
later the rasp of a key in the lock.
Pages:
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391