The public here was also not elegant.

In front of one shop a mass of people was shoving and crowding.

He threw his glance over their shoulders to the brightly lit window and recoiled immediately, wanting to laugh out loud. For what he saw were pictures—”paintings”—of such fascinating richness of color and intoxicating beauty that they numbed the eye. This young, supernaturally handsome officer on whose breast snuggled his bride, sobbing with the grief of parting, while she fastened violets on his uniform that was already so very blue; this noble, old man in a slouch hat and full beard, with still-fiery eyes in his foolish sheep face; and then, there in the background, this Germania—the grand woman with sword and shield. It was overpowering! And the crowd did not budge or waver!

Holy smokes! he thought as he walked on, and an amused smile passed over his usually so serious face. If that is the taste of the Berliners!

He already had enough of this famous Passage but what he yet saw only made him leave all the faster. All around the sides figures were standing, suspicions-looking and not very likeable. Obviously they were bums and idlers, hard-up or shabby-elegant, who killed time here or carried on their dirty transactions. And again everywhere, remarkably many young faces lurked, as if waiting, yet squeezed into corners and shop fronts as if they did not wish to be seen.

He wanted out and pressed faster through the stream of humanity.

*

And then it happened:

In front of him, walking as hastily as he and obviously driven by the same wish to reach quickly the exit on the other end, was a boy of fifteen or sixteen years. His clothing—a crude, ill-fitting suit and heavy boots—did not agree with his light walk and his whole tender, still undeveloped figure. From his slender shoulders rose a thin neck with brown hair at the back. Oddly drawn against his will and suddenly at a loss, the young man was unable to take his gaze from the boy’s neck. In his wish not to lose the boy from sight and to see the face those shoulders bore, he shoved himself more quickly through the crowd.

They vanished, the shoulders—disappeared. He walked faster still and saw them again ahead of him just where the exit opened up.

He saw the boy pause indecisively, take off his new straw hat, and dry his hot forehead with a handkerchief balled into a dirty lump, which he removed from his pocket.

He must, he must see this face! Three steps farther and he was standing close in front of him.

The boy looked up. A pained expression of fright came over his features. Then abruptly the boy turned with a violent movement and, running more than walking, went over the sidewalk, across the street, and vanished across the way into the swarm of pedestrians, running and running as if pursued.

The young man stood transfixed. The spot where the boy had just stood was empty. The people around him pushed and crowded, and shoved him away.

Another face popped up close in front of him, a young, impudent face staring into his with an importunate grin, challenging and boldly questioning him. Was this one of the rude fellows from the entrance, who had followed him here?

Disgusting!—disgusting!—he thought, and scared the fellow away with an indignant gesture. His first feeling had been to cross the street and follow the strange boy. His second: impossible!

He was gone now—vanished there on the other side!

*

There was nothing left to do but walk on.

Still hesitant, he turned to the right into a quiet street and slowly walked down it.

His heart was beating. He felt himself trembling, like after a sudden scare. But why and from what? What had just happened? Nothing at all.

He visualized quite clearly the small, pale face, which for a fraction of a minute, for only a second, had popped up before him.

He saw it with complete clarity: the gray-blue eyes which had looked up at him with an expression—yes, but with what expres-sion?—of fear?—no, not exactly of fear, but with a visible alarm and obvious fright. He saw the full, red lips—the upper one had twitched so oddly—and the blond, almost brown, disheveled hair across the hot forehead—a small, shy face, scared by something!

He stopped and laid his hand over his eyes, as though to enable himself to recall the boy’s face more clearly. But in vain—he could remember no more. The second had been too fleeting. He let his hand fall again.

Then, still on the same spot, he felt a sudden pain. In his forehead? In his chest? It had already passed as he walked on.

But his thoughts continued to work, and as always when he was lost in thought he kept his head sunk as he walked along the street.

What had happened—why had he run away so suddenly? Why had he run away from him?

And—he could not get away from it—with what kind of expression had the boy looked up at him? Fright, no doubt, but there was something else in it. Something plaintive, begging, as if the boy were saying, “Leave me in peace! What have I done to you all that you won’t leave me in peace? Just what do you want from me?”

He could not make head nor tail of it—of the whole affair. Only one thing remained certain: the boy had obviously been a decent sort. A boy, strange to the area, who had strayed into the Passage, noticed where he was, and had wanted to escape as quickly as possible! That was quite clear.