She was even more ashamed of this than of having wept, and sobbed, and dragged herself at his feet.

In the first moment she had submitted, deluding herself with the idea she had expressed, that he was consigning her to a prison and that her freedom was dependent on his will.

The foolish delusion vanished.

She saw that she was free, when she chose, to descend the steps she had just mounted, to go out through the gate she had lately entered, and to go whithersoever she would, at the mere risk of meeting Israel Kafka.

And that risk she heartily despised, being thoroughly brave by nature, and utterly indifferent to death by force of circumstance.
She comforted herself with the thought that the Wanderer would come to her, once at least, when she was pleased to send for him.