I shook myself loose from him and took my way home. It was with a feeling not far removed from tremulousness that I entered the room. That poor room formed a temple which I had no intention of desecrating.
He was sitting at the table when I entered, and looked at me absently. Then, with a smile in which sweetness and bitterness were strangely mingled, said:
“So! you have returned? I will not trouble you much longer. Give me house-room for to-night. In the morning I shall be gone.”
I went up to him, pushed the writing materials which lay before him away, and took his hands, but could not speak for ever so long.
“Well, Friedhelm,” he asked, after a pause, during which the drawn and tense look upon his face relaxed somewhat, “what have you to say to the man who has let you think him honest for three years?”
“Whom I know, and ever have known, to be an honest man.”
He laughed.
“There are degrees and grades even in honesty. One kind of honesty is lower than others. I am honest now because my sin has found me out, I can’t keep up appearances any longer.”
“Pooh! do you suppose that deceives me?” said I, contemptuously. “Me, who have known you for three years. That would be a joke, but one that no one will enjoy at my expense.”
A momentary expression of pleasure unutterable flashed across his face and into his eyes; then was repressed, as he said: