At the right he saw the monument of Gottfried Cavaignac in the
midst of the great common grave, into which all the nameless victims of
the street fights were thrown in a horrible medley. This blood-stained
bit of earth surrounds a circular border of flowers, in whose centre,
above a low mound covered with stone slabs, rises a plain iron cross.
Rudolf entered the sinister circle and paused beside it. Very peculiar
emotions stole over him. It seemed as though he were standing within a
cabalistic line which divided him from the world and life. The air
within the magic circle appeared more chill than without. He imagined
he felt a stir and tremor in the ground beneath his feet as if the dead
below were moving, and scraping with their bony fingers on the cover of
their narrow abode.
"I should now be lying there with the rest, if the bullet had taken a
little different course!" he thought, drawing a long breath of relief.
He glanced around him. At the foot of the cross was a heap of wreaths
and bouquets, and several women were kneeling on the stone slabs,
murmuring silent prayers.
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