The Wanderer was silent as though he had not heard.
"Have you been in pain? Do you feel as though you had been suffering?"
she asked of the younger man, in a tone of sympathy and solicitude.
"No. Why do you ask?"
Unorna smiled and looked at the Wanderer, with intention. He did not
heed her. At that moment two carriages appeared and drew up at the end
of the narrow alley which leads from the street to the entrance of the
cemetery. All three walked forward together. Kafka went forward and
opened the door of one of the conveyances for Unorna to get in. The
Wanderer, still anxious for the man's safety, would have taken his
place, but Kafka turned upon him almost defiantly.
"Permit me," he said. "I was before you here."
The Wanderer stood civilly aside and lifted his hat. Unorna held out her
hand, and he took it coldly, not being able to do otherwise.
"You will let me know, will you not?" she said. "I am anxious about
him."
He raised his eyebrows a little and dropped her hand.
"You shall be informed," he said.
Kafka helped her to get into the carriage. She drew him by the hand so
that his head was inside the door and the other man could not hear her
words.
"I am anxious about you," she said very kindly. "Make him come himself
to me and tell me how you are."
"Surely--if you have asked him--"
"He hates me," whispered Unorna quickly. "Unless you make him come he
will send no message.
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