Chapter VI.
Petra had been in her room when the shouting, the whistling, the hallooing had begun the first evening. She had sprung to her feet as if the house about her were in flames, or everything tumbling to ruin over her head; she darted round her chamber like one lashed by red-hot scourges: they smarted, they burned into her soul; her thoughts stormily sought a means of escape; but down to her mother she dared not go, and the mob was swarming in front of her one window. Through this a stone came whizzing and fell on her bed; she gave a shriek, and rushing into a corner hid herself behind a curtain, among her old clothes. There she cowered, burning with shame, trembling with terror; visions of unknown horrors swept past her; the air was full of faces, gaping, leering faces; they came close to her, they were surrounded by fire. Aha! here was no fire, these were eyes, it was raining eyes, large, glowing eyes, and small, twinkling eyes—eyes that stood still, eyes that rolled up and down.