Towards Morning | Page 2

over to the window and threw open the
shutters and the light snatched the misty grey covers from the furniture
and left it stark and bleak in its ugliness. The Herr Amtschreiber stood
before the Venetian glass and peered anxiously over his spectacles at
the reflection of a little man with a small pale face and a fair straggling

moustache and round blue eyes. The eyes were young, but the face was
middle-aged and faded. The Herr Amtschreiber sighed. He jacked the
chocolate-coloured coat higher up on to 'the sloping shoulders and
wriggled his legs in the baggy trousers. The shot-silk tie had worked up
under one ear. He tied it carefully and fastened the low collar and
smoothed his thin fair hair. "Na es geht schon," he repeated sleepily.
The servant came back carrying a round tray with a white china coffee
pot and a plate of rusks which she set down at the head of the table. She
was tall and broadly built. Her body showed soft rounded lines under
the dark cotton dress, but her bare arms were strong and hard as a man's.
Her eyes were deeply shadowed and sad and beautiful and stupid as the
eyes of a patient, over-burdened animal.
"The breakfast is there, Herr Felde."
He grunted and came and sat down. He dipped a rusk into the coffee
and began to eat nervously. Every now and then he stopped crunching
to listen, his head a little on one side, his brows knitted.
"Is is it all right, Anna?"
"Oh, yes, yes, Herr Felde. The Sister says she has been asleep. She is
asleep now. It will all go splendidly--"
"Yes of course. I mustn't disturb her. I have got to be at the Bureau
early this morning. The Grand Duke is to open the new wing. I ought to
be gone now. Bring me my hat and coat. Good God what is it?"
He had leapt to his feet as though the cry from behind the closed double
doors had been the sting of a serpent. It was a terrible cry not loud but
pressed down and running over with agony. It was the cry of some one
unsuspecting who has opened a door and looked down suddenly into a
pit of horror. The Herr Amtschreiber stood trembling with clasped
hands, his mouth gaping. "What is it what is it?" he repeated helplessly.
The servant Anna looked at him. She too was pale, but also she was
smiling. The smile had some strange kinship with the cry that came

creeping up to them through the stillness in low, advancing waves. It
was world old. It lit the patient, stupid face with an unfathomable
wisdom.
"The Herr Amtschreiber shouldn't worry. It is just beginning that is all.
It must be gone through. It is always so."
"Always? It is impossible. Dear God in heaven, how do you know?"
"It is always so," she repeated stolidly. "My mother had ten children. I
was the fourth. Six times have I heard my mother cry like that."
He was walking up and down the room almost running like some
distraught hunted little animal with the vibrating, deepening cry at his
heels.
"Ten times! Ten times! It's incredible. Intolerable. Why isn't the doctor
here? Has the man no conscience. Doesn't he think he'll get his fees?
Anna how long how long can that go on?"
"It depends." She gathered the breakfast things together. "Some have it
more easily than others. The Frau Amtschreiber is not so young."
He stood still suddenly, close to the double door, his soft felt hat
squeezed between his nervous bony hands.
The round blue eyes peered blindly over the crooked spectacles.
"No no we are not young, either of us. Is that our fault? One can't be
reckless. One must do things decently in order standes gemasz a Grand
Ducal Official can't marry anyhow can he? One must wait But I didn't
know I thought nature oughtn't to punish people for doing things
decently Anna if I could see her for a minute--"
"The Herr Amtschreiber will be late--"
"Late? Yes and dear God in heaven His Royal Highness is visiting the
Rathaus himself. Some of us will get an Order. If only I But my
Bureau-Chef doesn't like me. I don't know why. I have always done my

best. One must be careful. It wouldn't do to be late. Anna if anything
anything happened you must come at once."
She helped him into his overcoat and brought him out into the dark
stuffy passage. The cry had become a whimper. It had lost dignity. The
revolt and passion had gone out of it. It was the pitiful, exhausted
protest of a spirit already broken.
The Herr Amtschreiber shook his head.
"It isn't right it