“WHAT IS IT, VINZI?” SHE ASKED, TERRIBLY FRIGHTENED ON HEARING HIS SOBS AND GROANS
But the boy could give her no reply.
“I am sure you have to come,” Stefeli said timidly, “If you could only stop, Vinzi. You must come to breakfast, for father is already sitting down and mother sent me for you.”
Vinzi jumped up and ran to the pump. By washing his eyes over and over again he hoped to remove the traces of his tears.
“It doesn’t matter, just come now,” Stefeli urged. “Mr. Delrick never comes down to breakfast, father doesn’t pay attention, and mother won’t say anything. Please come now.”
As the two entered, the father threw a sharp glance at Vinzi, who took his seat with a drooping head. Vinzenz Lesa pushed his half-emptied cup from him and, rising, went quickly out.
He could not stand the sight of tears, least of all from his boy, who was more precious to him than his estate. The mother gazed after him surprised.
“What is the matter with father? He didn’t even empty his cup,” she said, glancing at Vinzi, who just then raised his eyes. “But for heaven’s sake, Vinzi, what is wrong with you?” she cried, much more concerned still. “Your eyes are swollen and red. What has happened?”
Vinzi wanted to say something but could not utter a sound. Laying his head upon his arm, he burst out crying.
The mother’s face expressed the greatest anxiety as she looked at him. Stefeli quickly swallowed her milk, then ran outside.