She
would not permit herself to define the cold sensation that already
pressed her heart quietly but powerfully. It grew and rose in her
throat, filling her mouth with a dry, bitter taste, and compelling
her to turn around and look once more. As she turned he carefully
shifted from one foot to the other, standing on the same spot; it
seemed he wanted something, but could not decide what. His right
hand was thrust between the buttons of his coat, the other he kept
in his pocket. On account of this the right shoulder seemed higher
than the left.
Without hastening, she walked to the bench and sat down carefully,
slowly, as if afraid of tearing something in herself or on herself.
Her memory, aroused by a sharp premonition of misfortune, quickly
presented this man twice to her imagination--once in the field
outside the city, after the escape of Rybin; a second time in the
evening in the court. There at his side stood the constable to
whom she had pointed out the false way taken by Rybin. They knew
her; they were tracking her--this was evident.
"Am I caught?" she asked, and in the following second answered
herself, starting: "Maybe there is still--" and immediately forcing
herself with a great effort, she said sternly: "I'm caught.
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