"Would you like to journey then without me?"
"I will not do it, you are to go too!" said the boy, springing up and throwing himself upon Eric's neck.
"I declare to you most decidedly, I do not go with you."
Roland let his hands fall, when Eric grasped them, saying,—
"I could also say in my turn, Do stay here for my sake; but I will not. Look up brightly, and think how it would be if we remain together here. Your parents travel to the Baths; we stay here and learn something regularly, and are happier than we should be on the promenade, with the music of the saloon, happier than by the sea-shore. See, Roland, I have never been to France, nor seen the sea. I renounce the pleasure, I prefer the duty; and do you know where my duty lies?"
"Ah, the duty can go with us wherever we go," cried the boy, smiling amidst his tears. Eric was obliged to laugh too; at last he said,—
"This duty cannot travel abroad. You have had distractions enough all your life. Come, be my dear comrade, my good fellow. Have confidence in me, that I can see reasons which you cannot."
"Yes, I do have confidence, but it is so splendid, you can't imagine it, and I will show everything to you."
A whirlwind seemed to have seized Roland, so that he turned round and round. It came over him with a rush, that he had forced Eric to remain with him, that he had forced his father to give Eric to him, and now he was about to desert him! But there was the enticement of the music, the pleasant journeys, the protecting ladies, and the roguish girls who played with him. Suddenly he cried,—"Eric! thy mother!" for she had said to him on taking leave, Be so worthy, that Eric will never leave you! This thought was now aroused within him, and on the other hand, there were the carriages driving, and the merry troop riding on horseback, and he among them. How could this old, grave lady, clad in mourning, who stood in the path, detain him? It was like a feverish waking dream.
"Eric! thy mother!" cried he again, and then he said, embracing him,—