"What is your last word?" demanded Florian, once more.
"Clear out of my house this instant, or I'll have you arrested."
Florian departed with faltering steps: the last bough of the tree of his hopes was broken. He wandered home in the darkness, accompanied by dreadful thoughts. Once, looking up to the stars, he broke out into, "Good God in heaven, can it be thy will that there should be men on earth who must deny their children and cast them into misery? But it's all my own fault. Why didn't I stick to my principle and have nothing to do with him?"
It was three days before he set foot in the village again. He felt as if a heavy chastisement were awaiting him,--as if he would be made to do penance there; and yet he knew of no crime he had committed.
But, when some tale-bearers informed him that during his absence people had said he had run away, his blood boiled within him. He had sacrificed every thing to his reputation among the villagers; and now he found the dearly-bought prize so fragile of texture that it could not live three days without his nursing. A bitter contempt of humanity began to take root in his soul.
On Sunday, as Florian was standing among the usual group of idlers in front of the Eagle, Buchmaier stopped before him and said, "Florian, let's have a word with you: I want to ask your advice about something."
"Certainly," said Florian, going off with him: "what is it?"
"I only said that because the others were listening. I want to talk with you, but frankly. Where were you last week?"
"I can't tell you."
"Well, as you please. But look here, Florian: you are a smart fellow, a quick and ready fellow: you understand your business through and through."