Joh Fredersen’s son stepped into his father’s place, at the table where his great father used to sit. He was as white as the silk which he wore as he stretched out his hand and pressed his fingers on the little blue metal plate, which no man ever touched apart from Joh Fredersen. ... Then the great Metropolis began to roar. Then she raised her voice—her Behemoth-voice. But she was not screaming for food—no, she was roaring: _Danger...!_ Above the gigantic city, above the slumbering city, the monster-voice roared: _Danger—! Danger—!_ A barely perceptible trembling ran through the New Tower of Babel, as if the earth which bore it were shuddering, frightened by a dream, betwixt sleeping and waking.... CHAPTER XV Maria did not dare to stir. She did not even dare to breathe. She did not close her eyes for quaking fear that, between the lowering and raising of her eye-lids, a fresh horror could come upon her and seize her. She did not know how much time had elapsed since the hands of Joh Fredersen had closed around the throat of Rotwang, the great inventor. The two men had been standing in the shadow; and yet it seemed to the girl as if the outline of both of their forms had remained behind in the darkness, in fiery lines: The bulk of Joh Fredersen, standing there, his hands thrown forward, like two claws;—Rotwang’s body, which hung in these claws, and which was dragged away—pulled forth—through the frame of the door, which closed behind them both. What was happening behind this door?... She heard nothing. She listened with all her senses—but she heard nothing, not the least sound.... Minutes passed—endless minutes.... There was nothing to be heard, neither step nor cry.... Was she breathing, wall to wall, with murder? Ah—that clutch at Rotwang’s neck.... That form, being dragged away, pulled from darkness into deeper darkness.... Was he dead?... Was he lying behind that door, in a corner, face twisted around to his back, with broken neck and glazed eyes? Was the murderer still standing behind that door? The room, in which she was, seemed suddenly to become filled with the sound of a dull thumping. It grew louder and louder, more and more violent. It deafened the ears and yet remained dull.... Gradually she realised: It was her own heart-beat.... If somebody had come into the room, she would not have heard him, her heart was beating so. Stammered words of a childish prayer passed through her brain, confusedly and senselessly.... “Dear God, I pray Thee, bide with me, take care of me, Amen.”... She thought of Freder.... No—don’t cry, don’t cry—! “Dear God, I pray Thee....” This silence was no longer bearable! She must see—must be certain. But she did not dare to take a step. She had got up and could not find courage to return to her old seat. She was as though sewn into a black sack. She held her arms pressed close to her body. Horrors stood at her neck and blew at her.