r," Füllenberg said suddenly, "th

?m do you mean?" ask

aving seen him in the Künstlerhaus in Berlin when Ingigerd danced her dance there for the first time, the dance that t

e centre of the floor clear. Even Menzel and Begas were there. A special exhibition was to open soon, and the

ficial flower was set in the middle of the room, and the little thing ran up and smelt of it. She felt all about the flower with closed eyes, vibrating as if with the gauzy wings of a bee. Suddenly she opened her eyes and turned to a rigid statue of stone. On the flowe

nd trembling a while in the corner of the room, approached the flower again to the accompaniment of music played by a tom-tom, a cymbal, and a flute. Something which was not pleasure drew her to it. The first time she had traced her way to the source of the perfume by sniffing fragrance in the air. Her mouth had been open, the nostrils of her fine little nose had qu

had been needlessly alarmed. How could a fat, immobile spider squatting on a flower be dangerous to a creature with wings? Thi

brush from her body something like the threads of a spider's web, at first serenely and pensively, then with growing disquiet, which communicated itself to the onlookers. The child paused, reflected an instant, and apparently was about to laugh at herself because of the

n the threads the spider wove about her, which gradually choked her to dea

led; she tore at the cobweb, she bent her body, she slipped away; she beat with her fists, she raged, and only enmeshed herself the more tightly in the horribl

. The poison of infatuation came from the expression of her face. He noted precisely how it forced its way into him and how his whole being suddenly grew sick. When little Ingigerd Hahlstr?m once more opened her eyes w