was filled with anxiety and fear, that they would find her, would take her back to that hell.—She walked more firmly, more swiftly upon that road towards Prague, towards Prague. . . .
A firm, clear intention suddenly, flashed through her soul: there, under the chain bridge, the greenish stream of the Moldau billowed invitingly . . . there it was quiet . . . hardly ever did any one pass by. . . . The abrupt side of the Summer Mountain rose to the right. . . . There the din of the water falling from the dam sounded hollow and melancholy. One leap from the railing,—and there below, there would be peace. . . .
She walked and walked. . . . Then she looked at herself with sudden calm: “Behold, such is life. . . . Thus it will end,” she said to herself.
The telegraph poles, the young trees that cast their oblique shadows upon the road, the heaps of gravel that lay there in gravelike
