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If I want to I can make him turn a somersault, believe me.” He shoved his fat hand a little farther along, as if it were some dangerous engine and his solitaire a signal lamp. “I can make the whole pack of you dance whenever I want to. Can’t I, sweetheart? Capito? Comprenez-vous?” Eleanore looked into Alfons Diruf’s smeary eyes with unspeakable amazement.
“Herr Diruf would like to speak to you,” said Herr Zittel coldly. Eleanore entered Herr Diruf’s private office; her face was pale. He kept on writing for about three minutes before he took any notice of her.
She went, nevertheless, to the office, took her place among the clerks, and wrote as usual. Herr Zittel’s eyes shone through the lenses of his spectacles like two poison flasks. But she did not make much progress; time dragged; it dragged even more heavily and slowly than Herr Diruf’s feet, as he made his rounds through the room. Eleanore looked up.
His clothes were made in Paris, and on the ring finger of his left hand was a brilliant diamond. Since the Prudentia had introduced the so-called workmen’s insurance, the number of clerks on its payroll had been increased by about twenty-five thousand. Of these eighty-four were under Diruf’s direct supervision. They were located in three rooms of a house in Fürther Street.
“I don’t know; I simply do not want to see anybody,” said Eleanore, and smiled again as she had smiled in Diruf’s office. It was Daniel, to be sure.
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