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the gloom, and terror spoke to him out of
wide-open eyes, and the desperate grasp
of a hand implored him for help.
Night came at last with its blessed hush
of silence.
He bent over the white faces on the floor,
and as often as not he did not know where
this silence meant sleep and where it meant
death.
Some of them looked as if they did not
know it themselves, as if unaware that their
sleep was the sleep of eternity. The luthier
lay there with the crucifix in his hands, calm
and serene as if listening to the vibrating
voice of the beloved violin his long, delicate
fingers had just moulded out of some piece
of dumb wood. The other, who had been
lying there for three days and nights staring
out of his darkness for the sun to rise at
last, now looked as if he could see better than
anybody else, as if he saw straight into
heaven. Close by lay Josephine’s boy hero
on his white sheet, immaculate from
pollution and blood, immune from bullets and
wounds, beautiful and flower-crowned like
a young god!
“Where is the German officer who stole
the greatcoat from the soldier next to him?”
said the Doctor to the hunchback.
“I have not heard his cursed voice for
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