"But what of that?" he laughed, and stretched his strong limbs primed like steel. "Health and happiness must be snatched when they come your way, at any cost. What good to cry over spilt milk?"
And he struck out vigorously with the oars. The Isle of Friendship, in its May raiment of pale green and gold, seemed to peep admiringly at its own reflection in the mirror-like water.
"That saved us," he thought, and, in passing, looked out for a glimpse of the temple which the foliage was not yet umbrageous enough to hide.
As the boat crunched on the Uhlenfelde strand, panic seized him again, and he entered the courtyard breathing in short gasps like an asthmatic.
But with an effort he set his teeth and collected himself. Ulrich had seen him coming, and was in the hall to receive him. The subdued light of a cloudy day fell on his serious, rigid face, which the spring sunshine of the south had toned to a yellowish brown.
Leo was conscious that he trembled; he would have liked to fly into his arms only he did not dare. The immovable face held him back. Instead he stretched out both his hands and murmured a conventional "How are you?"
A gleam of melancholy tenderness passed over Ulrich's features. "My boy," he said, biting his lips; "my dear old boy."
And then he led him into the garden salon, where a solitary coffee-cup stood on a side table.
Leo cast a shy glance to the left in the direction of Lizzie's sanctum. The door into the boudoir was closed and the key gone. The whole house seemed void and deadly quiet, as if it contained no living creature except the master.
In a corner of the window was the couch with an armchair drawn up close to it, and a little table with ash-tray and cigarette-box. That was where Felicitas had thrown herself down that autumn afternoon when she had first begun to stir up old memories.