“Let us go back,” his mother burst out, feeling she could no longer control herself and that she must do something, if only cry out, under the imposition of this torture.
“A pity,” said Edgar quietly, “it’s so lovely.”
The other two realized the child was making fun of them, but they dared not retort, their tyrant having learned marvellously in two days the supreme art of self-control. Not a quiver in his face betrayed his mordant irony. Without another word being spoken they retraced the long way back to the hotel.
When Edgar and his mother were alone together in her room, her excitement was still seething. She tossed her gloves and parasol down angrily. Edgar did not fail to note these signs and was aware that her electrified nerves would seek to discharge themselves, but he courted an outburst and remained in her room on purpose. She paced up and down, seated herself, drummed on the table with her fingers, and jumped up again.
“How untidy you look. You go around filthy. It’s a disgrace. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself—a boy of your age!”
Without a word of opposition Edgar went to his mother’s toilet table and washed and combed himself. His cold, obdurate silence and the ironic quiver of his lips drove her to a frenzy. Nothing would have satisfied her so much as to give him a sound beating.
“Go to your room,” she screamed, unable to endure his presence a second longer. Edgar smiled and left the room.
How the two trembled before him! How they dreaded every moment in his presence, the merciless grip of his eyes! The worse they felt the more he gloated, and the more challenging became his satisfaction. Edgar tortured the two defenceless creatures with the almost animal cruelty of children. The baron, because he had not given up hope of playing a trick on the lad and was thinking of nothing but the goal of his desires, could still contain his anger, but Edgar’s mother was losing her hold upon herself and kept constantly slipping. It was a relief to her to be able to shriek at him.
“Don’t play with your fork,” she cried at table. “You’re an ill-bred monkey. You don’t deserve to be in the company of grown-up people.”
Edgar smiled, with his head tipped a trifle to one side. He knew his mother’s outburst was a sign of desperation and took pride in having made her betray herself. His manner and glance were now as composed as a physician’s. In previous days he might have answered back rudely so as to annoy her. But hate teaches many things, and quickly. How he kept quiet, and still kept quiet, and still kept quiet, until his mother, under the pressure of his silence, began to scream. She could stand it no longer. When they rose from table and Edgar with his matter-of-course air of attachment preceded to follow her and the baron, her pent-up anger suddenly burst out. She cast prudence to the winds and let out the truth. Tortured by his crawling presence she reared like a horse pestered by crawling flies.