"First, you complained, and longed to be here; and after I have brought you where you wished to be, you still are not content. See! I will let you go. Stroll through the high grass—lie in the cool shade—let the flies buzz about you—inhale the fragrance of the fresh young herbs. I release you. Go, now! Find Windekind again!
"You will not? Then do you now believe in me alone? Is what I have told you true? Do I lie, or does Windekind?
"Listen to the moans!—so short and weak! They will soon cease.
"Do not look so agonized, Johannes. The sooner it is over the better. There could be no more long walks now; you will never again look for violets with him. With whom do you think he has taken his walks, during the past two years—while you were away? You cannot ask him now. You never will know. After this you will have to content yourself with me. If you had made my acquaintance a little earlier, you would not look so pitiful now. You are a long way yet from being what you ought to be. Do you think Doctor Cijfer in your place would look as you do? It would make him about as sad as that cat is—purring there in the sunshine. And it is well. What is the use of being so wretched? Did the flowers teach you that? They do not grieve when one of them is plucked. Is not that lucky? They know nothing, therefore they are happy. You have only begun to know things; and now you must know everything, in order to be happy. I alone can teach you. All or nothing.
"Listen to me. What is the difference whether that is your father or not? He is a man who is dying; that is a common occurrence.
"Do you hear the moaning still? Very feeble, is it not? He is near his end."
Johannes looked toward the bed in fearful distress.
Simon, the cat, dropped from the window-seat, stretched himself, and curled up purring on the bed close beside the dying man.
The poor, tired head moved no more. It lay still, pressed into the pillow; yet from the half-open mouth there still came, at intervals, short, exhausted sounds.
They grew softer—softer—scarcely audible.