Van Weller. Go on, go on!
Frans. After being silent for some time, the master said to the Major——
Van Weller. Go on, do, fellow! I’ve been waiting for that about an hour!
Frans. He said,—“Don’t distress yourself over my death. It was in fair fight. My fate might have been yours. Only—be a father to my poor Charles!”
Van Weller. What next?
Frans. The Major began to sob again, and cried, “I swear to you I will!” Then Baron Van Bergen smiled pleasantly, held out his hand to him once more, and died. [V. W. remains lost in thought.] It was a touching scene, General. The old gentleman died almost as naturally as M. Furneau of the Théâtre Royal. I should have been quite overcome with emotion if the other two officers had possessed any knowledge of the stage. They seemed to be novices, who had never been in Paris. Not the faintest idea of tragic action—they didn’t even wring their hands! Of course that of itself gave them a stupid attitude——
Van Weller. Will you hold your tongue? How was it that you never saw this officer again?
Frans. They said in the kitchen that he was abroad with his son, and that when he came home he was going to take Master Charles with him. But he never came back.
Van Weller. And his son?
Frans. I never heard anything about him.