"I don't understand," he said. "Or else there's something wrong with my hearing. You told ... Adriaan...?"
Van der Welcke repeated it again, smiling a little at his father's astonishment.
The old man understood that he had heard quite clearly. But he was so much shocked that he could not speak.
And it was only next day that he asked:
"How were you able to tell Adriaan that?"
"Just plainly and simply," said Van der Welcke.
"Just plainly and simply?" the old man echoed.
And not until that evening did he find more words; then he said:
"No, I can't understand it. I can't understand you, Henri. I feel that there is a very, very deep gulf between us. I feel that there is neither love nor fear of God in you, that everything in your life, in your relations with your wife, with your child, lacks a religious tendency. It makes me very sad. I could never have pictured things like that. I at least thought that you would have asked God's forgiveness daily for the sin you once committed, the sin against yourself, your parents, that woman, her husband, against the world, against God. I never imagined you, Henri, so obdurate, so entirely without repentance, regretting merely your own ruined life and shattered career. I can only pray for you and I will pray for you, every day. Still, I can understand want of faith. But what I can't understand is that you should—plainly and simply—corrupt the soul of your son, a child of fourteen, by telling him of your sin—plainly and simply—so that he might no longer suffer: those were your words, were they not? Now, when I repeat those words to myself and repeat them again and think over them and reflect upon them, I fail to understand them. I do not understand them. I feel that you must be entirely lacking in moral sense, in any idea of duty towards your child, in any fear of God, to be able to act like that, to be able to speak like that to your son, just to spare him suffering—plainly and simply—and I ask myself, 'Am I dreaming? Where am I? Whom am I speaking to? Is the man opposite me my son, my child, brought up by myself, and is what he is telling me the truth or an illusion?' And, if that illusion is the truth, Henri, if you are so entirely lost to every sense of moral and parental duty, then I am very, very sorry to hear it and I sit staring into a horrible abyss; and I confess that I do not understand you and that I understand nothing of the world, the times and the people of to-day...."
The old man had spoken slowly, measuring every word.