2
Yes, what then? How was he to find the mean between the two poles of his nature? He shrugged his shoulders. He knew that he could never find it. He lacked some quality, or a certain power, necessary to find it. He could do nothing but allow himself to swing to and fro. Very well then: he would let himself swing; there was no help for it. For now, in the lassitude following his outburst of savagery, he began to experience again a violent longing, like one who, after a long evening passed in a ball-room heavy with the foul air of gaslight and the stifling closeness and mustiness of human breath, craves a high heaven and width of atmosphere: a violent longing for Cecile. And he smiled, glad that he knew her, that he was able to go to her, that it was now his privilege to enter into the chaste sanctuary of her environment, as into a temple; he smiled, glad that he felt his longing and proud of it, exalting himself above other men. Already he tasted the pleasure of confessing to her honestly how he had lived during the last three weeks; and already he heard her voice, though he could not distinguish the words....
Jules climbed down the steps. He was disappointed that Quaerts had not followed his arranging of the weapons upon the rack and his draping of the stuffs around them. But he had quietly continued his work and, now that it was finished, he climbed down and came and sat on the floor quietly, with his head against the foot of the couch on which his friend lay thinking. Jules said never a word; he looked straight before him, a little sulkily, knowing that Quaerts was looking at him.
“Jules,” said Quaerts.
But Jules did not answer, still staring.
“Tell me, Jules, what makes you like me so much?”
“How should I know?” answered Jules, with thin lips.
“Don’t you know?”
“No. How can you know why you are fond of any one?”
“You oughtn’t to be so fond of me, Jules. It’s not good.”
“Very well, I will be less so in the future.”
Jules rose suddenly and took his hat. He put out his hand; but Quaerts held him back with a laugh:
“You see, scarcely any one is fond of me, except ... you and your father. Now I know why your father likes me, but not why you do.”
“You want to know everything.”
“Is that so very wrong?”
“Certainly. You’ll never be satisfied. Mamma always says that no one knows anything.”
“And you?”
“I?... Nothing....”
“How do you mean, nothing?”
“I know nothing at all.... Let me go.”
“Are you cross, Jules?”
“No, but I have an engagement.”
“Can’t you wait till I’m dressed? Then we can go together. I am going to Aunt Cecile’s.”
“All right, provided you hurry.”
Quaerts got up. He now saw the arrangement of the weapons, which he had entirely forgotten:
“You’ve done it very nicely, Jules,” he said, in an admiring tone. “Thank you very much.”
Jules did not answer; and Quaerts went through into his dressing-room. The lad sat down on the sofa, bolt upright, looking out at the Law Courts, across the bare trees. His eyes filled with great round tears, which ran down his cheeks. Sitting stiff and motionless, he wept.
[1] The leading club at The Hague.