Портрет художника в юності
Chapter 2
Butwhenhehadsunghissongandwithdrawnintoasnugcorneroftheroomhebegantotastethejoyofhisloneliness.Themirth,whichinthebeginningoftheeveninghadseemedtohimfalseandtrivial,waslikeasoothingairtohim,passinggailybyhissenses,hidingfromothereyesthefeverishagitationofhisbloodwhilethroughthecirclingofthedancersandamidthemusicandlaughterherglancetravelledtohiscorner,flattering,taunting,searching,excitinghisheart.
Inthehallthechildrenwhohadstayedlatestwereputtingontheirthings:thepartywasover.Shehadthrownashawlaboutherand,astheywenttogethertowardsthetram,spraysofherfreshwarmbreathflewgailyabovehercowledheadandhershoestappedblithelyontheglassyroad.
Itwasthelasttram.Thelankbrownhorsesknewitandshooktheirbellstotheclearnightinadmonition.Theconductortalkedwiththedriver,bothnoddingofteninthegreenlightofthelamp.Ontheemptyseatsofthetramwerescatteredafewcolouredtickets.Nosoundoffootstepscameupordowntheroad.Nosoundbrokethepeaceofthenightsavewhenthelankbrownhorsesrubbedtheirnosestogetherandshooktheirbells.
Theyseemedtolisten,heontheupperstepandsheonthelower.Shecameuptohisstepmanytimesandwentdowntohersagainbetweentheirphrasesandonceortwicestoodclosebesidehimforsomemomentsontheupperstep,forgettingtogodown,andthenwentdown.
