Eberhard walked over to him, and reached out his hand.
For a moment it seemed as if the old man would collapse. A last flash of hatred and revenge shot from his blue eyes; then he too reached out his hand. His arm trembled; thick knots of quivering muscles formed on his cheeks. Sylvia had gently closed the door and vanished.
Anxious minutes passed by and nothing happened, except that each held the hand of the other and each looked into the eyes of the other. The silence was broken only by the crackling of the fire in the stove.
“Just at the right time,” murmured the old Baron, without looking up and as if lost in meditation, “just at the right time.”
Eberhard made no reply. He stood as still, as motionless, as silent, and with his heels as close together as if he were a young officer facing his superior in command.
After a while he wheeled about and slowly left the room.
Sylvia was waiting in the library. In the twilight it was possible to see only the vague outline of her body.
Eberhard took hold of her and whispered: “I really believe that I no longer have a father.”
VI
That same night the old Baron had left. He got up in the middle of the night; at four o’clock his valet accompanied him to the station.