then rose up out of the dusty depths with a small quarto volume. He hastily pressed it into Diederich's hands, with shy pride in his glowing face. "There, take this. A copy of my 'Storm Bells.' We were also poets—at that time." He gently pushed Diederich out into the street.
The Fleischhauergrube was pretty steep, but that was not the only reason why Diederich was out of breath. At first he was somewhat dazed, but gradually he had the feeling of having allowed himself to be bluffed. "An old chatter-box like that is nothing more than a scarecrow, and yet he impresses me." He vaguely recalled his childhood when old Herr Buck, who had been condemned to death, inspired him with as much respect and the same fear as the policeman at the corner or the spectre in the Castle. "Am I always going to be so weak? Another man would not have allowed himself to be treated in this fashion." The fact that he had been silent, or had feebly contradicted, so many compromising speeches, might have unpleasant consequences. He prepared the most effective reply for the next occasion. "The whole thing was a trap, he wanted to catch me and render me harmless … but I'll show him!" Diederich clenched his fist in his pocket as he marched erect along Kaiser Wilhelmstrasse. "For the present I must put up with him, but let him beware when I am the stronger!"
The Mayor's house had been newly painted and the plate glass windows shone as of yore. A pretty servant received him. She took him up the stairs, passing by a friendly boy in bis cuit holding a lamp, through an anteroom in which a small rug lay in front of almost every piece of furniture, and left him in the dining-room. It was furnished in light colours, with attractive pictures and in the midst of it all the Mayor and another gentleman sat at lunch. Dr. Scheffelweis extended a white hand to Diederich and looked at him over the edge of his pince-nez. Nevertheless, you never knew if he was look ing at you, his glance was so vague, and his eyes were as
