Eugen puffed fitfully at his cigar, and at last knocking the ash from it and avoiding my eyes, he said, in a low voice:
“I suppose some time I must leave the boy.”
“Leave him!” I echoed, intelligently.
“When he grows a little older—before he is old enough to feel it very much, though, I must part from him. It will be better.”
Another pause. No sign of emotion, no quiver of the lips, no groan, though the heart might be afaint. I sat speechless.
“I have not come to the conclusion lately. I’ve always known it,” he went on, and spoke slowly. “I have known it—and have thought about it—so as to get accustomed to it—see?”
I nodded.
“At that time—as you seem to have a fancy for the child—will you give an eye to him—sometimes, Friedel—that is, if you care enough for me—”
For a moment I did not speak. Then I said:
“You are quite sure the parting must take place?”