Fear by Stefan Zweig Read Free Book Online

hissing fire. The white flame that sprang up, greedily devouring the threat, soothed her.
    At that moment she heard her husband’s returning footsteps. He was already at the door. She quickly straightened up, her face flushed from the warmth ofthe fire and from knowing that she was caught in the act. The door of the stove was still open, giving her away, and she awkwardly tried to hide it by standing in front of the fireplace. He went up to the table, struck a match to light his cigar, and as the flame came close to his face she thought she saw the quivering of his nostrils that always showed he was angry. But he looked at her quite calmly. “I would just like to point out that you are not obliged to show me your correspondence. If you want to keep secrets from me, you are entirely at liberty to do so.” She did not reply, she dared not look at him. He waited for a moment, then breathed out the smoke of his cigar as if it came from deep inside him and left the room, again with that heavy tread.
     
    She didn’t want to think of anything, she wished only to live in a numb state, filling her heart with empty, pointless occupation. She could not bear to be in the apartment any more, she felt that if she was not to go mad with horror she had to be out in the street among other people. Those hundred crowns had at least, she hoped, bought her a brief respite, a few days of freedom from the blackmailer, and she decided that she would venture to go for a walk. There were several items that she needed to buy, but above all, if she went out walking that would cover up for the noticeable change in her habits in staying at home so much. She had developed a certain way of making her escape. On reaching the front door she rushed out into the busy life of the street with her eyes closed, as if jumping off a springboard. Once she felt the hard paving stones under her feet and knew that the warm torrent of humanity was around her, she went on in nervous haste, or as much haste as a lady could show without attracting attention, walking straight ahead with her eyes fixed on the ground, in the very natural fear of meeting that dangerous gaze again. If the woman was lying in wait, then at least she didn’t want to know it. And yet she realised that she was thinking of nothing else, and she jumped in alarm when someone touched her by chance in brushing past. Her nerves reacted painfully to every sound, every footstep behind her, every moving shadow. Only in a vehicle or in a building that she did not know could she breathe freely again.
    A gentleman said good afternoon to her. Looking up, she recognised a family friend from the days of her youth, a friendly, talkative man with a grey beard. She usually tried to avoid him because of his way of talking for hours on end about his ailments, which were very likely imaginary. Today, however, she was sorry that she had merely returned his greeting instead of seeking his company. Walking with an acquaintance would havebeen good protection against another unexpected attack from her blackmailer. She hesitated, and was considering turning back, when she felt as if someone were coming up fast behind her, and instinctively, without stopping to think, she hurried on again. But still, with a sense of foreboding cruelly enhanced by fear, she felt that someone was rapidly approaching behind her back, and she herself walked faster and faster, although she knew that she could not escape pursuit in the end. Her shoulders were beginning to shrink in anticipation of the hand that now—for the steps were coming closer and closer—she felt sure would touch her next moment, and the more she tried to quicken her pace the heavier her knees felt. She sensed that the pursuer was very close.
    “Irene!” called a voice behind her urgently, yet speaking in a soft tone, and coming to her senses, she realised that it was not, after all, the voice she feared, the terrible messenger of doom. Breathing a sigh of relief, she