“Did you see Hans off?”
“Yes.”
Finn sat down by the window where he stood, with bent head and his hands upon his knees. He wound the cord of the blind round his fingers and unwound it again.
“I wonder if you will miss Hans?”
“Oh ... yes.”
“I shall,” said Cordt. “Hans represents the new order at its finest ... the hero in modern poetry ... the engineer, you know, whom they can never put on the stage without making him insipid ... because he never acts a part. He is strong and has the courage to employ his powers. To us he often seems lacking in refinement and he finds it difficult to grant us our due. He has no ancestors ... he is the ancestor ... he founds a dynasty.”
“Yes,” said Finn.
They sat silent for a while.
There was no doubt in Cordt. He knew what he wanted and wanted it. He did not seek for kind words, but strong words. Finn knew this too. He sat like a culprit awaiting sentence and was thankful for every minute that passed.
Then they looked up into each other’s eyes.