Philippina went out. “The damned scoundrel!” she said as soon as she had left the room. She clenched her horny fists, and continued Daniel’s life history: “The brute has a bastard, he has. You wait, you little chit, and the first chance I get I’ll scratch your eyes out!”
Taking the child on her lap, Marian sat down by Daniel’s side. “Don’t cry, Eva, don’t cry; we’re going back home now in a minute.”
Daniel looked at his mother most attentively, and told her how Philippina had chanced to come into his family. He told her all about Jason Philip’s attempt to rob him of his inheritance, and how his own daughter had betrayed him; how his father had taken three thousand talers to Jason Philip; how Jason Philip had been forced to hand over a part of the money when Jordan was in trouble because of his son; and how he had waived his claims to the rest of the money.
Marian’s head sank low on her breast. “Your father was a remarkable man, Daniel,” she said after a long silence, “but he never did understand people; and the person whom he misunderstood most of all was his wife. He was like a man who is blind, but who does not want to let it be known that he is blind: he walks around, but where does he go? He stands still and has not the faintest idea where he is. And by the way, Daniel, it seems to me that you are a little bit like him. Open your eyes, Daniel, I beg you, open your eyes!”
The child in her lap had fallen asleep. Daniel looked into Eva’s face—yes, he opened his eyes—and as he saw this delicate, sweet, charming countenance so close before him, he could no longer control himself. He turned to the wall, and cried as if his heart would break: “I am a murderer!”
“No, Daniel,” said Marian gently, “or if you are, then everybody who lives is a murderer, the dead of the past being the victims.”
Daniel writhed in agony and gnashed his teeth.
“Father is in the room there,” whispered Eva in her dreams.