A photographer, who was one of the solo singers, besought Eric to allow him to take his photograph, while he was waiting for dinner, as hundreds and hundreds of the singers wanted to have a picture of him.
Eric declined, with thanks, these manifestations of friendliness, and took, with Roland the first boat to return to the villa.
Roland went into the cabin, and he was soon sound asleep; Eric sat alone upon the deck, and he was troubled with the thought of having been brought so prominently before the public. But he considered, on the other hand, that there are times when our powers do not belong to ourselves alone, and when we cannot ourselves determine what we will do: I did what I was obliged to do, he thought.
When they came to the stopping-place, Roland had to be waked up. He was almost dragged into the row-boat, and he was so confused and bewildered, that he did not seem to know what was going on around him.
After they had disembarked, he said:—
"Eric, your name is now repeated by thousands and thousands of people, and you are now very famous."
Roland, who had never sung before, now sang, the whole way home, a strain of the chorus.
They found at the villa letters from Eric's mother and from Herr Sonnenkamp. His mother wrote, that he must not mind it if he were reproached with having sold so cheaply, and so speedily his ideal views, for people were angry, and were partially right in being so, at his abrupt departure without saying good-bye.
Eric smiled, for he knew right well how they would have their fill of jesting about him around the so-called black table at the Club-house, where, year after year, the shining oil-cloth was spread over the untidy table-cloth. It appeared incomprehensible to him how he could ever have fancied spending there a day of his life, or a bright evening.
Sonnenkamp's letter made a wholly different impression; he authorized, Eric, in case he thought it worth while, to take the journey to Biarritz with Roland.