pact group with their hands in their pockets, smiling with their white lips as if currying favour, and stepping out in such a manner as if somebody was just going to strike them with a long stick under their knees from behind. But one of them walked at a short distance from the others, calm, serious, Without a smile, and when my eyes met black ones I saw bare open hatred in them. I saw clearly that he despised me and thought me capable of anything; if I were to begin killing him, unarmed as he was, he would not have cried out or tried to defend or right himself—he considered me capable of anything.
I ran along together with the crowd, to meet his gaze once more; and only succeeded as they were entering a house. He went in the last; letting his companions pass before him, and glanced at me once more. And then I saw such pain, such an abyss of horror and insanity in his big black eyes, as if I had looked into the most wretched soul on earth.
"Who is that with the eyes?" I asked of a soldier of the escort.
"An officer—a madman. There are many such."
"What is his name?"
"He does not say. And his countrymen don't know him. A stranger they picked up. He has been saved from hanging himself once already, but what is there to be done!" . . . and the soldier made a vague gesture and disappeared in the door.
And now, this evening I am thinking of him. He is alone amidst the enemy, who, in his opinion, are capable
