The woman gave him a grateful look and stood up obediently. She was still very weak, her legs failed her, and she hung with all her weight on Gurdweill’s arm. He led her slowly away, and when they were a little distance from the policeman and the curious crowd, which had begun to disperse with an air of disappointment at the way the drama had ended, he said in a gentle, reassuring voice, ‘Why don’t we go into the park first so that you can rest, and afterwards I’ll take you home.’

The woman made no reply.

At the entrance to the park he bought an orange from a hawker, after which he led her to an unoccupied bench. They sat down. Gurdweill was suddenly overcome by embarrassment. He didn’t know what to say. He began to peel the orange and to offer her one segment after another. ‘Her hands are small and pampered, so she obviously comes from a good family,’ he concluded. He felt a little ashamed, ashamed for this strange woman, as one sometimes feels ashamed when somebody else in a group does something wrong or says something ridiculous. He waited for the stranger to wreak her anger on him, in one way or another. He wished she would hurry up and get it over, so that she would feel better. But she took the orange segments from his hand and ate them silently, as if in spite of herself, staring blankly in front of her as if she were thinking of something very far away or not thinking at all.

From time to time Gurdweill stole a glance at her without uttering a word. And suddenly she turned to look at him and said in a weak but clear voice, with a faint, sickly smile: ‘I trust you, sir. I feel that you are a decent man. But I dare not … really, I dare not trouble you and take up your time. You’re not angry with me, are you?’

‘Of course not,’ Gurdweill reassured her, ‘it’s nothing, nothing at all! My time is my own today and I’m only too happy to put myself at your disposal, madam.’

The woman went on chewing. She chewed slowly, without relish, like a child being fed against her will. Her body had apparently recovered, but her face was still rather pale, like slightly smoky ivory. It was a pretty face, a delicate, oval face with tired brown eyes. She smiled quietly to herself, like a child comforted after weeping. Gurdweill felt happy and purified. He felt as if he could touch the secret threads joining him to all the pure, suffering souls in the world.

Suddenly she shuddered convulsively, as if she were feverish. She turned to him wildly, with an expression of great, animal fear on her face, and the orange segment dropped from her fingers to the ground.