“Oh Freder, while your father was standing here it seemed to me as though I heard a spring rushing within a rock. A spring, weighted with salt, and red with blood. But I knew too: when the spring is strong enough to break out through the rock, then it will be sweeter than the dew and whiter than the light.” “Bless you for your belief, Maria....” She smiled. She fell silent. “Why don’t you open your eyes, you beloved?” asked Freder’s longing mouth. “I see,” she answered. “I see, Freder.... I see a city, standing in the light....” “Shall I build it?” “No, Freder. Not you. Your father.” “My father?” “Yes....” “Maria when you spoke of my father, before, this tone of love was not in your voice....” “Since then much has taken place, Freder. Since then, within a rock, a spring has come to life, heavy with salt and red with blood. Since then Joh Fredersen’s hair has turned snow-white with deadly fear for his son. Since then have those whom I called my brothers sinned from excessive suffering. Since then has Joh Fredersen suffered from excessive sin. Will you not allow them both, Freder—your father as well as my brothers—to pay for their sin, to atone, to become reconciled?” “Yes, Maria.” “Will you help them, you mediator?” “Yes, Maria.” She opened her eyes and turned the gentle wonder of their blue towards him. Bending low above her, he saw, in pious astonishment, how the gay-coloured heavenly kingdom of saintly legends, which looked down upon her from out the lofty, narrow church-windows, was reflected in her Madonna-eyes. Involuntarily he raised his eyes to become aware, for the first time, of whither he had borne the girl whom he loved. “God is looking at us!” he whispered, gathering her up to his heart, with longing arms. “God is smiling to us, Maria.” “Amen,” said the girl at his heart. CHAPTER XXV Joh Fredersen came to his mother’s house. Death had passed over Metropolis. Destruction of the world and the Day of Judgment had shouted from out the roars of explosion, the clanging of the bells of the cathedral. But Joh Fredersen found his mother as he always found her: in the wide, soft chair, by the open window, the dark rug over the paralysed knees, the great Bible on the sloping table before her, in the beautiful old hands, the figured lace at which she was sewing. She turned her eyes towards the door and perceived her son. The expression of stern severity on her face became sterner and more severe. She said nothing. But about her closed mouth was something which said: “You are in a bad way, Joh Fredersen....” And as a judge did she regard him. Joh Fredersen took his hat from his head. Then she saw the white hair above his brow.... “Child—!” she said quietly, stretching her hands out towards him.