"Yes, my dear boy," Uhich went on, "don't conceal from me what you think of my conduct, from false sentiments. I am guilty, and I alone. This house should be as much your home as Halewitz. And I ought not to have allowed even the most insane love to prevail upon me to bring a wife here who would so constantly remind you of that untoward event. Not that she knows or wishes it. For she has so thoroughly forgiven you that sometimes I wonder how such a power of forgiving and forgetting can exist on earth. It appears to me like unfaithfulness to the father of her child, and above all"--a faint flush passed over his face, and he turned away to master his emotion--"above all it seems a wrong to the child himself. You see that all this brooding reflection has made me both bitter and unjust, for, after all, I am only reproaching her with her devotion to me and her desire to promote my happiness. Alone through the completeness of her pardon has it been possible for me to stand before you in any other light than as a traitor to our friendship, although God knows I have enough for which to claim your forbearance."
"Ulrich, I can't stand this!" cried Leo, jumping to his feet.
"What can't you stand?" replied the other, in the tolerant, considerate tone in which people speak to impetuous, headstrong children. "My willingness to take half the burden of your trouble on my own shoulders? I tell you it belongs to me, old boy. It is my privilege, and I demand it. And if there was such a thing as rendering accounts in friendship, I would say that I stand so deep in your debt that I don't see how a tolerable balance can ever be restored. Don't snort, and stride about the room at that mad pace. You know I hate it. There, now, drop all superfluous considerations out of regard for me, and be open with me in future. We two get on best when we tell each other everything, even when it hurts; anything better than sparing each other's feelings by setting up a barrier of shy reserve."
Leo made an inarticulate exclamation, and stood in front of his friend, with his shoulders squared. At that moment he resolved to tell all. A hunger for truth worked so powerfully in his soul that he would have thought it cheaply purchased at the price of death itself.
But almost immediately after, a voice cried within him, "It would be madness, and it may lead to murder."
So he fell back silently into his armchair. The twilight which reigned in the neighbourhood of the lamp-shade prevented his agitation from being visible, otherwise it must have betrayed him.
"And one thing more, my boy," Ulrich went on again. "For a long time I have had something to thank you for, which has been weighing heavily on my mind."
"Still thanking me!" thought Leo, with an outbreak of unholy humour which was next door to despair.
"You ought to know it, because I am sure that it will give you pleasure. You have been the good angel of my house. No, don't deny it. It's a fact. It looks as if you know devilish well how to manage women. Then it is almost incredible how Felicitas has changed for the better since you have been coming here frequently. You would not look at me in such astonishment, if you knew what she had been before. All that folly with the boys of the neighbourhood is past and over. Not long ago I referred to it in joke, and she threw her arms round my neck and implored me with tears in her eyes never to speak of it. She lives a domestic life, and tries to interest and busy herself in the house. Her fantastic vagaries have entirely vanished. She has given up crying for no cause. She is much more composed and dignified in her views, and doesn't live now on nothing but marmalade and Madeira; and what is my chief solace of all--I won't keep it from you, for you will rejoice in her happiness, knowing how unhappy I was--she no longer locks my door."
A spasm of repulsion shot through Leo's breast, which he attributed to shame at this undeserved confidence, and tried to combat. Then something like a genuine feeling of happiness dawned in his soul. He drew a deep breath, and pressed his friend's hand. After all there had been no foundation for his anxiety. While he had been suffering and wrestling with himself, his object unknown to himself, had been fulfilled. Perhaps things were not so bad as they had seemed; ... perhaps there was still hope, even for him too.