“Yes,” said Levison unwillingly.  That may be true as well.  You have no doubt, like most of us, got a complex nature which—­”

C R A S H!

There intervened one awful minute of pure shock, when the soul was in darkness.

Out of this shock Aaron felt himself issuing amid a mass of terrible sensations:  the fearful blow of the explosion, the noise of glass, the hoarse howl of people, the rushing of men, the sudden gulf, the awful gulfing whirlpool of horror in the social life.

He stood in agony and semi-blindness amid a chaos.  Then as he began to recover his consciousness, he found himself standing by a pillar some distance from where he had been sitting:  he saw a place where tables and chairs were all upside down, legs in the air, amid debris of glass and breakage:  he saw the cafe almost empty, nearly everybody gone:  he saw the owner, or the manager, advancing aghast to the place of debris:  he saw Lilly standing not far off, white as a sheet, and as if unconscious.  And still he had no idea of what had happened.  He thought perhaps something had broken down.  He could not understand.

Lilly began to look round.  He caught Aaron’s eye.  And then Aaron began to approach his friend.

“What is it?” he asked.

“A bomb,” said Lilly.

The manager, and one old waiter, and three or four youths had now advanced to the place of debris.  And now Aaron saw that a man was lying there—­and horror, blood was running across the floor of the cafe.  Men began now hastily to return to the place.  Some seized their hats and departed again at once.  But many began to crowd in—­ a black eager crowd of men pressing to where the bomb had burst—­ where the man was lying.  It was rather dark, some of the lamps were broken—­but enough still shone.  Men surged in with that eager, excited zest of people, when there has been an accident.  Grey carabinieri, and carabinieri in the cocked hat and fine Sunday uniform pressed forward officiously.

“Let us go,” said Lilly.

And he went to the far corner, where his hat hung.  But Aaron looked in vain for his own hat.  The bomb had fallen near the stand where he had hung it and his overcoat.

“My hat and coat?” he said to Lilly.

Lilly, not very tall, stood on tiptoe.  Then he climbed on a chair and looked round.  Then he squeezed past the crowd.

Aaron followed.  On the other side of the crowd excited angry men were wrestling over overcoats that were mixed up with a broken marble table-top.  Aaron spied his own black hat under the sofa near the wall.  He waited his turn and then in the confusion pressed forward to where the coats were.  Someone had dragged out his, and it lay on the floor under many feet.  He managed, with a struggle, to get it from under the feet of the crowd.  He felt at once for his flute.  But his trampled, torn coat had no flute in its pocket.  He pushed and struggled, caught sight of a section, and picked it up.  But it was split right down, two silver stops were torn out, and a long thin spelch of wood was curiously torn off.  He looked at it, and his heart stood still.  No need to look for the rest.