“And after considering the state of the human race—that is to say the half dozen people I knew, and the miseries of the human lot as set forth in the books I had read, and having proved to myself, all up in that little room, you know”—I pointed to my bedroom—“that there neither was nor could be heaven or hell or any future state, and having decided, also from that room, that there was no place for me in the world, and that I was very likely actually filling the place of some other man, poorer than I was, and able to think life a good thing” (Eugen was smiling to himself in great amusement), “I came to the conclusion that the best thing I could do was to leave the world.”
“Were you going to starve yourself to death? That is rather a tedious process, nicht wahr?”
“Oh, no! I had not decided upon any means of effacing myself; and it was really your arrival which brought on that fainting fit, for if you hadn’t turned up when you did I should probably have thought of my interior some time before seven o’clock. But you came. Eugen, I wonder what sent you up to my room just at that very time, on that very day!”
“Von Francius,” said Eugen, tranquilly. “I had seen him, and he was very busy and referred me to you—that’s all.”
“Well—let us call it von Francius.”
“But what’s the end of it? Is that the whole story?”
“I thought I might as well help you a bit,” said I, rather awkwardly. “You were not like other people, you see—it was the child, I think. I was as much amazed as Karl, if I didn’t show it so much, and after that—”
“After that?”
“Well. There was the child, you see, and things seemed quite different somehow. I’ve been very comfortable” (this was my way of putting it) “ever since, and I am curious to see what the boy will be like in a few years. Shall you make him into a musician too?”
Courvoisier’s brow clouded a little.