CHAPTER XII
WHEN Cordt had finished telling the story of the old room, he sat by the window and looked across the square, where the dusk was gathering about the newly-lighted lamps.
The servant entered noiselessly and lit the chandelier and went out noiselessly again. And the light filled the whole of the room and fell upon Cordt, who sat and gazed before him, and upon Finn, who stood by him with his eyes fixed on his face.
But Finn and Cordt were not where the light found them.
They were in the wonderful mystery of the old room. They heard the rippling of the fountain outside in the silent square; they saw the blaze of the red flowers on the balcony. The slender notes of the spinet sounded in their ears; Fru Adelheid’s white gown rustled over the floor.
And, when Cordt turned his face towards his son, he appeared to Finn as a very big, old man; and Finn seemed to Cordt the little child that once lay and laughed in the cradle and fought with its little fat fists.
Then Cordt stood up and took Finn’s arm and they walked to and fro, silent, overcome with what they had seen and afraid lest they should shatter the dream by speaking.
They walked for some time. And, when, at length, they stopped before the window, which was dewed with the heat, so that they could see nothing through it, Cordt remembered that there was still something which Finn ought to know and which he could not ask about.