same time he knew that if it were her face, and her eyes, the eyes that had shone at him the day before with so much passion, he would not, could not—and in reality did not, want to know. He gently laid the head back on the table. His eyes followed the moving flashlight, passing along the dead body. Was it her body?—the wonderful alluring body for which, only yesterday, he had felt such agonizing desire? Fridolin touched the forehead, the cheeks, the shoulders and arms of the dead woman, doing so as if compelled and directed by an invisible power. He twined his fingers about those of the corpse, and rigid as they were, they seemed to him to make an effort to move, to seize his hand. Indeed, he almost felt that a vague and distant look from underneath her eyelids was searching his face. He bent over her, as if magically attracted.
Suddenly he heard a voice behind him whispering: "What on earth are you doing?"
Fridolin regained his senses instantly. He freed his fingers from those of the corpse, and taking her thin wrists, placed the ice-cold arms alongside of the body very carefully, even a little scrupulously. It seemed to him that she had just at that moment died. He turned away, directed his steps to the door and across the resounding hallway back into the room which they had left a little while before. Doctor Adler followed in silence and locked the door behind them.
Fridolin stepped up to the wash-basin. "With your permission," he said and carefully washed his hands with disinfectant. Doctor Adler seemed anxious to continue his interrupted work without further ceremony. He switched on his microscope lamp, turned the micrometer screw and looked into the microscope. When Fridolin went up to him to say good-bye he was already completely absorbed.
"Would you like to have a look at this preparation?" he asked.
"Why?" asked Fridolin absent-mindedly.
"Well, to quiet your conscience," replied Doctor Adler—as if he assumed that, after all, the purpose of Fridolin's visit had been a medical-scientific one.
"Can you make it out?" he asked, as Fridolin looked into the microscope. "It's a fairly new staining method."
Fridolin nodded, without raising his eyes from the glass. "Perfectly ideal," he said, "a colorful picture, one might say."
And he inquired about various details of the new technique.
Doctor Adler gave him the desired explanations. Fridolin told him that the new method would most probably be very useful to him in some work he was planning for the next few months, and asked permission to come again to get more information.
"I'm always at your service," said Doctor Adler. He accompanied Fridolin over the resounding flagstones to the locked outer door, and opened it with his own key.
"You're not going yet?" asked Fridolin.
"Of course not," replied Doctor Adler. "These are the very best hours for work— from about midnight until morning. Then one is at least fairly certain not to be disturbed."
"Well"—said Fridolin, smiling slightly, as if he had a guilty conscience.
Doctor Adler placed his hand on Fridolin's arm reassuringly, and then asked, with some reserve: "Well—was it she?"
Fridolin hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, without saying a word. He was hardly aware that by this action he might be guilty of untruthfulness. It did not matter to him whether the woman—now lying in the hospital morgue—was the same one he had held naked in his arms twenty-four hours before, to the wild tunes of Nachtigall's playing. It was immaterial whether this corpse was some other unknown woman, a perfect stranger whom he had never seen before. Even if the woman he had sought, desired and perhaps loved for an hour were still alive, he knew that the body lying in the arched room—in the light of flickering gas-flames, a shadow among shadows, dark, without meaning or mystery as the shadows themselves—could only be to him the pale corpse of the preceding night, doomed to irrevocable decay.
7
FRIDOLIN hurried
Suddenly he heard a voice behind him whispering: "What on earth are you doing?"
Fridolin regained his senses instantly. He freed his fingers from those of the corpse, and taking her thin wrists, placed the ice-cold arms alongside of the body very carefully, even a little scrupulously. It seemed to him that she had just at that moment died. He turned away, directed his steps to the door and across the resounding hallway back into the room which they had left a little while before. Doctor Adler followed in silence and locked the door behind them.
Fridolin stepped up to the wash-basin. "With your permission," he said and carefully washed his hands with disinfectant. Doctor Adler seemed anxious to continue his interrupted work without further ceremony. He switched on his microscope lamp, turned the micrometer screw and looked into the microscope. When Fridolin went up to him to say good-bye he was already completely absorbed.
"Would you like to have a look at this preparation?" he asked.
"Why?" asked Fridolin absent-mindedly.
"Well, to quiet your conscience," replied Doctor Adler—as if he assumed that, after all, the purpose of Fridolin's visit had been a medical-scientific one.
"Can you make it out?" he asked, as Fridolin looked into the microscope. "It's a fairly new staining method."
Fridolin nodded, without raising his eyes from the glass. "Perfectly ideal," he said, "a colorful picture, one might say."
And he inquired about various details of the new technique.
Doctor Adler gave him the desired explanations. Fridolin told him that the new method would most probably be very useful to him in some work he was planning for the next few months, and asked permission to come again to get more information.
"I'm always at your service," said Doctor Adler. He accompanied Fridolin over the resounding flagstones to the locked outer door, and opened it with his own key.
"You're not going yet?" asked Fridolin.
"Of course not," replied Doctor Adler. "These are the very best hours for work— from about midnight until morning. Then one is at least fairly certain not to be disturbed."
"Well"—said Fridolin, smiling slightly, as if he had a guilty conscience.
Doctor Adler placed his hand on Fridolin's arm reassuringly, and then asked, with some reserve: "Well—was it she?"
Fridolin hesitated for a moment, and then nodded, without saying a word. He was hardly aware that by this action he might be guilty of untruthfulness. It did not matter to him whether the woman—now lying in the hospital morgue—was the same one he had held naked in his arms twenty-four hours before, to the wild tunes of Nachtigall's playing. It was immaterial whether this corpse was some other unknown woman, a perfect stranger whom he had never seen before. Even if the woman he had sought, desired and perhaps loved for an hour were still alive, he knew that the body lying in the arched room—in the light of flickering gas-flames, a shadow among shadows, dark, without meaning or mystery as the shadows themselves—could only be to him the pale corpse of the preceding night, doomed to irrevocable decay.
7
FRIDOLIN hurried
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