you not perceive a smell of burning? There is a fire in the theatre."
He had enough power of will and good sense not cry out. His face grew pale, his eyes starting out of their sockets and almost protruding over his cheeks, enormous as bladders, but he did not cry out. He rose quietly and, without even thanking me, walked totteringly towards the entrance, convulsively keeping back his steps. He was afraid of the others guessing about the fire and preventing him getting away—him, the only one worthy of being saved.
I felt disgusted and left the theatre also; besides I did not want to make known my incognito too soon. In the street I looked towards that part of the sky where the war was raging; everything was calm, and the night clouds, yellow from the lights of the town, were slowly and calmly drifting past.
"Perhaps it is only a dream, and there is no war?" thought I, deceived by the stillness of the sly and town.
But a boy sprang out from behind a corner, crying "A terrible battle. Enormous losses. Buy a list of telegrams—night telegrams!"
I read it by the light of the street lamp. Four thousand dead. In the theatre, I should say, there were not more than one thousand. And the whole way home I kept repeating—"Four thousand dead."
Now I am afraid of returning to my empty house. When I put my key into the lock and look at the dumb, flat
