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elegant, slender back, walking with that slight, rhythmically springy gait that captivated the boy so much. Edgar had tried to imitate it yesterday. The Baron walked past him, he simply passed him by. Obviously he had forgotten the boy, leaving him there with the driver and the horses as if they had nothing to do with each other.
    Something inside Edgar broke in two as he saw him pass like that—the man whom, in spite of everything,he still idolized. Desperation rose from his heart as the Baron passed by without a word, not even brushing him with his coat—and he wasn’t aware of having done anything wrong. His laboriously maintained self-control gave way, the artificial burden of his new dignity slipped from his narrow shoulders, he was a child again, small and humble as he had been yesterday and for so long before that. It impelled him on against his will. With quick, unsteady steps he followed the Baron, stood in his way as he was about to go upstairs, and said in a strained voice, keeping back the tears only with difficulty:
    “What have I done to you? You don’t take any notice of me any more! Why are you always like that to me now? And Mama too! Why are you always trying to get rid of me? Am I in your way, or have I done something wrong, or what?”
    The Baron gave a start of surprise. There was something in that voice that bewildered him and softened his heart. Pity for the innocent boy overcame him. “Oh, Edi, you’re an idiot! I was in a bad mood today, that’s all. And you’re a good boy, I’m really fond of you.” So saying he ruffled the boy’s hair vigorously, but with his face half turned away to avoid seeing those large, moist, pleading, childish eyes. He was beginning to feel awkward about his play-acting. In fact he was already feeling ashamed of exploiting this child’s love so ruthlessly, and that high little voice, shaken by suppressed sobs, physically hurt him.
    “Upstairs you go now, Edi, we’ll meet this evening and be friends again, you wait and see,” he said in mollifying tones.
    “But you won’t let Mama send me straight up to bed, will you?”
    “No, no, Edi, I won’t,” smiled the Baron. “So up you go now, I must dress for dinner.”
    Edgar went, happy for the moment. But soon the hammer in his mind started working away again. He had grown years older since yesterday; distrust, previously a stranger to him, had taken up residence in his childish breast.
    He waited. This would be the test that decided it. They sat at the table together. Nine o’clock came, but still his mother did not send him to bed. He was beginning to feel uneasy. Why was she letting him stay up so long today, when she was usually so strict about it? Had the Baron told her what he wanted after all, had he given their conversation away? He was suddenly overcome by bitter regret for running round after him today with his heart so full of trust. At ten his mother suddenly rose from the table and wished the Baron goodnight. And strange to say, the Baron did not seem at all surprised by her early departure, or try to keep her there as he had before. The hammer in the child’s breast was coming down harder and harder.
    Now for the test. He too acted as if he suspected nothing, and followed his mother to the door without demur. But there he suddenly looked up, and sureenough, at that moment he caught her smiling at the Baron over his head. It was a glance of complicity, about a secret of some kind. So the Baron had indeed given him away. That was why she was going up early: he was to be lulled into a sense of security today so that he wouldn’t be in their way again tomorrow.
    “Swine,” he muttered.
    “What did you say?” asked his mother.
    “Nothing,” he said between his teeth. He had a secret of his own now. Its name was hatred, boundless hatred for both of them.

8
SILENCE
    E DGAR WAS NO LONGER RESTLESS . At last he was relishing a pure, clear feeling: hatred and open animosity . Now that he was