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hallway, these designs were rather pleasing. They were not visible right away; it was necessary to give up trying to discover anything by looking too intently and to wait pa tiently to receive the emerging patterns, almost by force. Thomas looked at the other side as well. Was there any order in this crisscrossing of points and metal rods? He stared for a long time at the panel, but the craftsman must have neglected the backside of his work; the arrangement was com pletely random. But there was one detail at least that rendered the artist's thought: above the latch was a small sliding window, painted bright red, which a twisted and monstrous iron hinge seemed to bury in the thick ness of the wood. The small piece of metal serving as a shutter had recently been covered with a thick layer of paint that stood out brilliantly from its pathetic and dilapidated surroundings; it seemed to promise a new sensa tion to anyone inclined to stoop to the level of the opening. Thomas pre pared to find out how it would be. He tried to lift the iron slat from its wooden frame but was met with heavy resistance: the window opened only from the outside, and the opening was meant for the visitor who wished to look into the house from outside without opening the door. There was yet another oddity: by opening the window, one also bolted the door; when the metal rod reached the end of its slot, it slid into two metal hooks that held it in place, so that whoever wanted to look into the house had also to give up entering it for the moment. Although such details as these no longer held much interest for Thomas, he lingered over them for a long time. He would have liked to reverse his steps and peek through the little window into this dark vestibule at the first stairs he had to walk down. He thought that in this way he would have understood many things. But now it was too late; he had to keep moving forward. In itself the stairway was 6
    not very pleasant. Its steps had been washed, and the stone, though worn down and marked in certain spots by deep imprints, was so shiny that it appeared to be new. On each side, and at a considerable distance, stood two walls between which the stairway passed like a ridiculously narrow path. This path was very short, six steps, perhaps ten, for the last ones were lost in obscurity, and it was impossible to tell if they led to another ves tibule or if everything ended there. Thomas set off toward his goal with such enthusiasm that he did not at first hear the guardian call to him and did not stop until he was on the second step. And yet the voice he heard was extraordinary. It was marked by a gravity and sadness that made it difficult to believe everything it said. Certainly it was because of his voice that the guardian had been chosen to fulfill his function. Thomas remained motionless when he heard it. The guardian had to repeat what he had said; this time his voice was not so gentle. "Where are you going?" he asked. "Are you looking for someone?" Thomas did not answer. Although he was not surprised by this ques tion, and although he was in fact rather relieved to notice that he was not being ignored, he suffered from a painful impression. Indeed, where was he going? How could he explain his presence here? He looked over at the wall from whrch he was separated by a veritable abyss. He was there, that was all he could say. "Why are you questioning me?" he asked. "Is it forbidden to come and go in this house?" The porter lifted his head in surprise. He was still a young man, and there was in his youth an inexplicable reflection of grandeur and dejection, oflife and cruel endings, something that made one think of another world, but one that is wretched and inferior. "Naturally," he answered in his grave voice, "anyone can enter here, if he has a reason for coming. Whoever is a tenant here can do what he wants and need not answer to anyone, on the condition, of course, that the rules be respected." Thomas replied