ess, 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