"Yes, he is gone—to look after his railway."
"It is finished then?" he half asked, half implored, and just caught her low-toned reply.
"Finished? Who for?" Then she suddenly raised her voice, crying, "What is it to you? Why can't I be let alone? How dare you make me talk about it?"
"I have done," said he, and, laying his thin yellow hand in hers, he went on, "If you meet him again—and I think you will—tell him that I longed to see him, as a man who is dying longs for his son. He would be a breath of life to me in this room, where everything seems dead. He is full of life—full as a tiger. And you can tell him——" He stopped a moment and smiled. "You can tell him why I was a buyer of Omofagas. What will he say?"
"What will he say?" she echoed, with wide-opened eyes, that watched the old man's slow-moving lips.
"Will he weep?" asked the Baron.
"In God's name, don't!" she stammered.
"He will say, 'Behold, the Baron von Geltschmidt was a good man—he was of use in the world—may he sleep in peace!' And now—how goes the railway?"
The old man lay silent, with a grim smile on his face. The woman sat by, with lips set tight in an agony of repression. At last she spoke.
"If I'd known you were going to tell me this, I wouldn't have come."