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absolutely nothing he could do to attract attention. The Baron seemed to have forgotten him, or at least he never once spoke a word to him. His eyes burned worse and worse, spilled over, and he had to resort to the childish trick of raising his napkin quickly to his face before anyone could see the tears trickling down his cheeks, leaving salty moisture on his lips. He was glad when the meal was over.
    During it his mother had suggested a carriage drive to the village of Maria-Schutz together. Biting his lowerlip, Edgar had heard her. So she wasn’t going to leave him alone with his friend for a single minute any more! However, his hatred was roused to fury only when she said to him, as they rose from table, “Edgar, you’ll be forgetting all about your school work, you’d better stay in the hotel today and catch up with some of it!” Once again he clenched his little fist. She was always trying to humiliate him in front of his friend, reminding everyone in public that he was still a child, he had to go to school, he was merely tolerated in adult company. But this time her intentions were too transparent. He did not answer at all, but simply turned away.
    “Oh dear, I’ve hurt your feelings again!” she said, smiling, and added, turning to the Baron, “Would it really be so bad for him to do an hour or so of work for once?”
    And then—something froze rigid in the child’s heart—the Baron, who called himself his friend, who had joked that he, Edgar, was too much of a bookworm, agreed with her. “Well, I’m sure an hour or two could do no harm.”
    Was it a conspiracy? Were they really both in league against him? Fury flared up in the child’s eyes. “My Papa said I wasn’t to do any school work while I was here. Papa wants me to get better here,” he flung at them with all the pride of an invalid, desperately clutching at his father’s authority. It came out like a threat. And the strangest part of it was that what he had said really did appear to discompose them both.His mother looked away and drummed her fingers nervously on the table. There was a painful silence. “Just as you say, Edi,” replied the Baron at last, forcing a smile. “At least I don’t have to take any examinations myself, I failed all mine long ago.”
    But Edgar did not smile at his joke, just scrutinized him with a longing but penetrating glance, as if trying to probe his soul. What was going on? Something had changed between them, and the child didn’t know why. His eyes wandered restlessly, and in his heart a small, rapid hammer was at work, forging the first suspicion.

7
BURNING SECRET
    W HAT’S CHANGED THEM so much, wondered the child, sitting opposite them in the carriage as they drove along, why aren’t they the same to me as before? Why does Mama keep avoiding my eyes when I look at her? Why is he always trying to make jokes and clown about like that? They don’t either of them talk to me the way they did yesterday and the day before, it’s almost as if they had new faces. Mama has such red lips today, she must have painted them. I never saw her do that before. And he keeps frowning as if I’d hurt his feelings. But I haven’t done anything to them, I haven’t said a word that could annoy them, have I? No, I can’t be the reason, because they’re acting differently with each other too, they’re not the same as before. It’s as if they’d done something they don’t like to talk about. They’re not chattering away like yesterday, they’re not laughing either, they’re embarrassed, they’re hiding something. They have a secret of some kind, and they don’t want to share it with me. A secret, and I must find out what it is at any price. I know it must be the sort of thing that makes people send me out of the room,the sort of thing books are always going on about, and operas when men and women sing together with their arms spread wide, and hug and then push each other away. Somehow or other it must be the