—Jan, is that you?
Jan didn't reply, he was already on the stairs.
His mother got up at once:
—Jan, where are you going?
He went up into the loft, she followed him:
—In heavens name, son!
He shut and bolted the door:
—Jan, Jan, answer me. What are you doing?
Her old trembling hands felt for the latch…. A window opened; there was the sound of a body hitting the courtyard slabs. Then … an awful silence.
The poor lad had told himself: "I love her too much…. I want to end it all…." Oh, what pitiful things we are! It's all too much; even scorn can't kill love….