“Cordt....” she said.
And, when she had said that, she began to tremble and pressed her hands together.
“Yes?”
“You ought to go up to him, Cordt.”
He was silent for a moment. Then he bent closer to her and lowered his voice, as though there were some one in the room who could hear what he was saying and must not:
“I dare not. I have frightened him. He starts when he sees me ... he stands outside my door and collects his courage when he comes to me to say good-morning. I will go quite away from him for a little while ... go for a journey, I think, until he becomes more tranquil.”
She looked at him and pictured him roaming round the world so that Finn might recover his tranquillity. She saw him strolling in distant towns, where life flowed on around him, alone, knowing no peace, ever thinking of his son ... longing for the day when he could come home, dreading how he would find him then.
Fru Adelheid slipped from her chair and lay on the floor before him, with her cheek against his hand and her eyes streaming with tears.
Cordt did not see. He stared into the room across her head, with the strained, racked look which he now always wore when he was alone:
“He does not like our parties, Adelheid,” he said, meditatively. “We only did him harm.”