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Updated: May 16, 2025
Zalia, the procession's going up the wall there.... Why don't you look?... It's so beautiful!... And I, I'm the only ugly one in it...." "He's wandering," whispered Treze. "And what's that chap doing here, Zalia?" "It's I, Zeen, I: Warten the spectacle-man." His eyes fell to again and his cheeks again blew the breath through the little slit of his mouth. It rattled; and the fever rose.
Their wooden shoes clattered softly in the powdery sand of the white road; when they had gone very far, their voices still rang loud and their figures looked like wandering pollards. In the east, a thin golden-red streak hung between two dark clouds. It was very cool. "Fine weather to-morrow," said Warten; and he trudged off to his goat-house. "Good-night, Zalia." "Good-night, Warten."
The sieve went on dragging. The women looked at Zeen, then at one another and then at the lantern. In the kitchen, the kettle sang drearily.... Warten came down from the loft with half a pailful of bran. Barbara poured the steaming water on it and flung in a handful of salt. They took the clothes off the bed and pulled his feet into the bran-water.
The door opened and from behind the screen came a great big fellow with a black beard: "What's up here? A whole gathering of people: is it harvest-treat to-day, Zalia? Why, here's Barbara and Mite and...." "Warten, Zeen is ill." "Zeen?... Ill?" "Yes, ill, man, and we're sitting up."
All that was pretty bad, and I did not know how to get away, my position being really a poor one in a strategic sense of the word. I had to escape without attracting too much attention. When I was thinking over how to do it a voice called: "Bist du dort, Swartz?" "Ja wohl!" I answered as nonchalantly as I could, having covered my mouth with my glove, "soll' ich noch warten?"
A bit of ribbon caught his eye; he picked it up and put it in his pocket it was a piece of evidence that she had once existed. By the mirror some pins were dropped about; a little powder had been spilled. He looked at his own disquiet face and thought, 'I've been cheated! The shoemaker's voice aroused him. "Tausend Teufel! Eilen Sie, nur! Zeit is Geld! Kann nich' Langer warten!"
"Hurry, hurry, Virginie: he's almost stopped breathing!" The cat jumped between Zalia and Treze on to the bed and went making dough with its front paws on the clothes; it looked surprised at all those people and purred softly. Warten drove it away with his cap. "Receive, O Lord, Thy servant Zeen into the place of salvation which he hopes to obtain through Thy mercy." "Amen," they all answered.
She was so tired, so worn out with that reaping; and it was so warm here, so stifling and it smelt queer: what a being could come to, when he was dead! Had she slept at all? She had been lying there so long ... and there was that smell! She wished she had sent Warten away and gone herself to lie in the goat-house; here, beside that corpse ... but, after all, it was Zeen....
He'll go off quickly, Barbara, it seems to me." "Not to-night," said Treze. "Warten, go to the loft, take the lamp and sift out a handful of maize; Zeen must have a bran bath at once." Warten went up the stair.
Knaus unwittingly wrote his character and his epitaph: "Ich kann warten." The forest of Les Errues was deathly still. Hunters and hunted both were as silent as the wild things that belonged there in those dim woods as cautious, as stealthy. A dim greenish twilight veiled their movements, the damp carpet of moss dulled sounds.
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