The drowsy cook with the untidy head leans with her left hand on the great kettle and lifts the big soup-spoon lazily to her mouth. The second, the kitchen-maid, is shredding macaroni for to-morrow noon. She, too, looks sleepy. The superintendent is counting meal tickets distributed by the committee. There is no one else visible. I cast a look under the tables--no trace of the little boy. I am too late! "But at least," I think, as I leave the kitchen, "nobody saw me!" Suddenly I remember that I have been walking the streets for several hours. Whatever is the matter with me? I mutter, and begin to pace homeward. I am quite glad to find everyone asleep. I throw off my goloshes in the entrance, steal up to my room and into bed. But I had a bad night. Tired out, chilled, and wet through, it was long before I ceased coughing and got warm--a continual shiver ran through my bones. I did not get really to sleep till late in the morning, and then my dreams began to torment me in earnest. I started out of sleep bathed in cold perspiration, sprang out of bed, and went to the window. I look out; the sky is full of stars--the stars look like diamonds set in iron--they roll on so proudly, so calmly, and so high. There is a tearing wind blowing at the back--the whole house shakes. I went back to bed, but I slept no more, I only dozed. My dreams were broken, but the little boy was the centre of them all. Every time I saw him in a new place: there he lies asleep out in the street--there he crouches on some steps in an archway--once, even, devils are playing ball with him--he flies from hand to hand through the air--later on I come across him lying frozen in a rubbish-box. I held out till morning and then I flew to the soup-kitchen. He is there! Had I not been ashamed, I should have washed the grime off his face with tears of thankfulness. Had I not been afraid of my wife, I should have led him home as my own child. He is there--I am _not_ his murderer! Well! And I held out a ten kopek piece. He takes it wondering; he does not know what a kindness he has done me. Long life to him! And next day, when he begged me for another groschen, I did _not_ give it him, but this time I uttered no word of reproof--what is more, I went away ashamed, not satisfied with myself. I can really and truly not afford it, but my heart is sore: why can I not afford it? * * * * * My grandfather, on whom be peace, was not so far wrong when he used to say: "Whoever is not pious, lives in sorrow of heart and dies without consolation." XXIV UNDERGROUND A big underground lodging room full of beds. Freude, the tatterdemalion, has been asleep for some time on her chest, in her corner between the stove and the wall.