“The motive must be very powerful to oblige me to adopt so extreme a course.”
“But, Stein, my friend, once more, what is the motive?”
“It cannot be spoken. And the silence which I impose on myself is very painful to me, for I deprive myself of the only consolation that remains: to open my heart to a noble and generous man, who has held out to me his powerful hand, and has deigned to call me his friend.”
“And where do you go?”
“To America.”
“It is impossible, Stein; I tell you again, it is impossible.” The duke rose in an agitated state. “There is nothing in the world,” he continued, “that can oblige you to abandon your wife, to separate yourself from your friends, and to quit your patients, of whom I am one. You have then ambition? Are you then promised great advantages in America?”
Stein smiled bitterly.
“Advantages, my lord duke! Has not fortune disappointed all these hopes of your poor fellow-traveller?”
“You confound me, Stein. Is it a caprice—a sudden thought—an act of folly?”
Stein was silent.