As for saying that because it was right he liked it, or felt any consolation from the knowledge—he never once pretended to any such thing; but, true to his character of Child of the World, hated it with a hatred as strong as his love for the creature which it deprived him of. Only—he did it. He is not alone in such circumstances. Others have obeyed and will again obey this invisible law in circumstances as anguishing as those in which he stood, will steel their hearts to hardness while every fiber cries out, “Relent!” or will, like him, writhe under the lash, shake their chained hands at Heaven, and—submit.
“One more question, Eugen. When?”
“Soon.”
“A year would seem soon to any of us three.”
“In a very short time. It may be in weeks; it may be in days. Now, Friedhelm, have a little pity and don’t probe any further.”
But I had no need to ask any more questions. The dreary evening passed somehow over, and bed-time came, and the morrow dawned.
For us three it brought the knowledge that for an indefinite time retrospective happiness must play the part of sun on our mental horizon.