"And you will be able to understand?"
"Yes, I shall understand."
"I haven't spoken, Ulrich, because I thought it no good--because I thought you would believe her and not me--and because I wanted to spare her, too. But whether you will believe me or not, whether or not it is her ruin, I will speak now. And I shall not whitewash myself, you may be sure of that."
And then he confessed all, beginning with the first great lie which had been the root of all the evil. He kept back nothing and softened nothing in the rapid brief words which the stress of the moment necessitated his using. It was as if his heart opened and his soul poured out through his veins in streams of blood.
Silent and motionless, with his eyes raised to the ceiling of the temple, Ulrich listened.
Then he seemed to be losing consciousness again, for he became wandering and unintelligible in his speech, and his eyelids dropped. But he had clearly comprehended as far as the intended double suicide. And he had grasped its deepest motive. For, with a mild, melancholy smile, he murmured, "Poor boy." After that he was silent, and lay there with feverish cheeks and dry lips gazing into vacancy from beneath his drooping lids.
Ulrich's only sign of forgiveness was in those two words, "Poor boy." And to these Leo had to cling desperately, now and later in many an hour of suspense, till he could be certain what Fate had in store for him.
With merciless calm the flakes whirled down. There was a cruel and restful peace in their endless descent--a sort of eternal repose, like a silent burying of countless races.
Leo shivered. His shirt was wet through, and a feeling of numbness crept over his stiff arms.
Where should he take the sick man?