candles would flare and die and, when all were gone, by the light of
ominous sparks when each milkman's face looks fearful to his fellow,
you would know, as now you cannot, why the milkman shudders when he
perceives the dawn.





The Bad Old Woman in Black

The bad old woman in black ran down the street of the ox-butchers.

Windows at once were opened high up in those crazy gables; heads were
thrust out: it was she. Then there arose the counsel of anxious
voices, calling sideways from window to window or across to opposite
houses. Why was she there with her sequins and bugles and old black
gown? Why had she left her dreaded house? On what fell errand she
hasted?

They watched her lean, lithe figure, and the wind in that old black
dress, and soon she was gone from the cobbled street and under the
town's high gateway. She turned at once to her right and was hid from
the view of the houses. Then they all ran down to their doors, and
small groups formed on the pavement; there they took counsel together,
the eldest speaking first. Of what they had seen they said nothing,
for there was no doubt it was she; it was of the future they spoke,
and the future only.

In what notorious thing would her errand end? What gains had tempted