My impulse was to take her by the hand and say to him, "She's yours, my boy. I have no longer any right over her."
But please put yourselves in my position. A look is something intangible and undemonstrable. It may be denied with a smile. And, after all, might I not have been mistaken?
And while I revolved this in my mind, the two pairs of eyes continued to cling to each other in complete oblivion of everything about them.
When I walked into the room, there was not even a twitch of an eyelid. They even turned toward me as if in surprise and indignation and as if to ask:
"Why does this old man, this stranger, intrude upon us?"
I felt inclined to roar out like a wounded beast. However, I collected myself and offered the cigars. But I felt I had to put an end to the business quickly. All kinds of red suns were beginning to dance in front of my eyes.
So I said, "Go home, my boy, it's time."
He rose heavily, gave me an icy handshake, and made his lieutenant's bow to her with joined heels, and turned towards the door.
Then I heard a cry--a cry that pierced me to the quick.
And what did I see?