双语·灼人的秘密 前哨战

It was Sternfeldt’s turn to sleep badly that night. An interrupted love-adventure is not favourable to repose. A restless, dream-laden night made him regret not having seized the propitious moment...The shades of sleeplessness and discontent still shrouded his mind when, next morning, he came down on his way to breakfast. The boy, who for some time had been lying in ambush, made a passionate assault, flung his lean arms round his friend, and volleyed forth questions. How jolly to have this big friend all to himself and not have to share his treasure with Mother! She did not need to tell him the wonderful stories, she had broken faith; the hero himself would give an account of those enthralling adventures.

The baron was put out. He found the child’s constant spying most incommodious. The deluge of questions was intolerable. The passionate love bestowed on him by the boy was becoming a burden.It was a nuisance to have a twelve-year-old jackanapes perpetually at one’s heels. What he wanted was to get hold of the mother before she had cooled off. How could this aim be realized if the child was always hanging around? Uneasiness germinated in his mind. Had he done wisely to arouse Edgar’s tender emotions? Certainly it was going to prove difficult to free himself from this ubiquitous youth!

Still, it was up to him to try. He was expecting Frau Blumental to appear at about ten o’clock, and meanwhile he allowed the boy to besiege him with questions. They flowed over him like an avalanche, and he needed merely to put in a word here and there to keep the child happy. When the minute-hand was at the hour he made as if he suddenly recollected an appointment, and begged Edgar to run over to the opposite hotel to ask whether Count Grundheim, the baron’s cousin, had arrived.

Radiant that the message should be confided to his care Edgar sped off to inquire. How splendid to be of use to his friend! Eager to carry out his mission worthily, the boy bustled along—to the inconvenience and surprise of other visitors. He was keen on showing how smart a messenger he could be, and took no notice of their exasperated stares. The porter informed him that Count Grundheim had not yet arrived, and that, indeed, the gentleman’s coming had not, so far, ever been announced. Edgar returned on winged feet, bringing the tidings—but the lounge was empty, the baron was nowhere to be found. No answer came to a knock at his friend’s door. Dashing from hall to diningroom, from music-room to bar, he inquired from all and sundry whether they had seen Baron von Sternfeldt. Then he ran helter-skelter to his mother’s quarters—but she, too, had vanished. Coming downstairs once more, he asked the porter, who told him that the pair had gone out together a few minutes earlier. The child was dumbfounded.

Edgar awaited their return with all the patience he could muster. In his innocence, he suspected nothing untoward. They’d only be gone a very short while he was sure, for the baron would want to know whether Count Grundheim had come or not. Hour followed hour, and, as they did not return, the boy grew increasingly uneasy. Ever since the morning when his seductive stranger had entered his young life, he had been in suspense. The child mind is a fragile mechanism, and every passion leaves its imprint like a seal upon wax. Edgar’s eyelids began to quiver, his face became wan. He waited and waited; at first patiently, but anon becoming more and more excited, until at last he burst into tears. Even now his suspicions were not aroused. He possessed so blind a confidence in his new friend that he attributed everything to a misunderstanding. A doubt entered his mind. Might he not have interpreted the message falsely?

At last they came back, and stood talking pleasantly in the hall just as if nothing unusual had happened. They did not seem to have missed him. Without asking for the answer to his message, the baron said:

“We thought we’d meet you on the way, Eddie.”

Overcome with confusion at the thought that they had looked for him vainly, the child protested that he had run straight back along High Street. What direction had they taken? But Frau Blumental cut her son’s indiscreet questions short, saying:

“There, there now! Children must not try to put their fingers into every pie.”

Edgar went scarlet with mortification. It was the second time she had humiliated him in the presence of his friend. Why did she do this? What was the object’ of making him out to be the child he no longer felt himself to be? She must envy him so wonderful a friend and had probably planned to capture the baron for herself. How mean! Yes;and it was she, doubtless, who had deliberately led Sternfeldt in the wrong direction. But he was not going to let her misuse him whenever the fancy seized her. He’d show her! He made up his mind not to say a word to her during luncheon but only to address his friend.

This plan was difficult of execution. What he most feared happened: neither of them noticed his fit of the sulks. Worse still, they seemed to be unaware of his presence, though yesterday he had been the focus around which had concentrated their attention and interest. They talked over his head, joked and laughed as if he were non-existent. The blood welled up into his cheeks, he felt a lump in his throat which nearly suffocated him. Keenly aware of his impotence to create a more favourable atmosphere around his person, he sat mumchance while his mother stole his only friend away under his nose. He would have given almost anything to have the courage to stand up and thump the table with his fist—just to make them realize that he was there. But he did not dare to assert himself. He had to be content with laying down his knife and fork, and refusing to eat. In this demonstration, too, he was foiled for they were not aware of his self-imposed fast until the final course was being served. Then his mother inquired if he was not feeling well.“Ugh,” he thought, “She’s always fussing about my health. Otherwise she doesn’t care a scrap.” His answer was curt. “Not hungry,” was all he said—and she appeared satisfied. Still they continued to ignore him. The baron seemed totally to have forgotten his existence. Anyway, he never addressed a single word to the boy. Edgar’s eyes burned with partially suppressed tears, and he was forced to adopt the childish subterfuge of wiping his mouth in order to mop up with his table—napkin the water which coursed down his face. At last the meal was over; and, with a sigh of relief, he pushed back his chair, prepared to rush away from the table.

While they had been eating, his mother had proposed an excursion to Maria-Schutz. “So she’s determined not to leave me a minute alone with the baron,” thought the child. But worse was in store. As Edgar was making for the door, his mother called him back, saying:

“Edgar, you’ll be forgetting all you ever learned if you don’t set to work on your holiday tasks. You had better stay quietly at home, and get on with your schoolwork for an hour or so.”

Why was she set upon humiliating him before his friend, perpetually recalling him to the fact that he was a child? Edgar clenched his fists and turning on his heel, again made for the exit.

“Huffy? You take offence too easily, my son,” she said, smiling indulgently. Then, addressing the baron she added: “Do you find me too severe when I ask him to attend to his studies for an hour now and again?”

The baron’s reply was like an icy morsel of steel plunged into Edgar’s heart.

“Can’t for the life of me see what harm a few hours’ study could do.”

Was it a plot to get rid of him? Were they leagued against him? Edgar’s gorge rose.

“Dad said I wasn’t to do any lessons while I was here,” he declared. “Dad said I was to get well and strong.”

The child’s threatening aspect—or was it the reference to paternal authority?—seemed to produce an effect upon his antagonists. His mother drummed with her fingers on the table, and stared out through the window. An oppressive silence weighed upon the trio. After a prolonged pause, the baron said with a forced smile:

“Just as you please, Eddie. It’s not for me to preach; I was as lazy as you make ’em at your age, and failed in all my exams.”

But Edgar was long past being in a mood to respond to such pleasantries. He looked up at Sternfeldt with searching eyes, as though he would fain have penetrated to his friend’s innermost thoughts. What was happening? Something had changed. They were no longer the intimates they had been. Why! The child was too young to unravel the mystery. He lowered his eyes while his heart beat like a sledge-hammer. Doubt had entered his mind.

However, the mother relented, and said:

“All right, Edgar, lie down for half an hour. Then get ready to start. You shall come with us on the drive.”