Bankastraat on the left, into the Kerkhoflaan, on her way to Constance. He took the tram and, in spite of the rain, stood on the platform, with his military great-coat flapping round his burly figure, because he was stifling, as with a painful congestion, and felt his veins, surfeited with blood, hammering at his temples:
"That confounded champagne last night!" he thought. "I don't feel clear in my head. . . . I'd better go to Paul first. . . . Yes, I'd better go to Paul first. . . . Or . . . or shall I go straight to Ernst? . . ."
He did not know what to decide and yet he had to make up his mind while his tram was going along the Dennenweg, for Ernst lived in the Nieuwe Uitleg. But, because he did not know, he remained on the tram, on the platform, with his back bent under the pelting rain; and it was not until he reached the Houtstraat that he jumped down, his sword clanking between his legs.
Paul lived in rooms above a hosier's shop. Gerrit found his brother still in bed:
"Ernst is mad," he said, at once.
"He's always been that," replied Paul, yawning.
"Yes, but . . . it appears that he's absolutely mad now," said Gerrit.
He felt so seedy and heavy-witted that he could hardly speak: his swollen tongue lolled between his teeth. However, he told Paul about Dorine's visit:
