And I put on my uniform for the first time, and went down to Sirilund.
My heart was beating.
I remembered everything from the day when Edwarda had come hurrying to
me and embraced me before them all. Now she had thrown me hither and
thither for many months, and made my hair turn grey. My own fault? Yes,
my star had led me astray. I thought: How she would chuckle if I were to
throw myself at her feet and tell her the secret of my heart to-day!
She would offer me a chair and have wine brought in, and just as she was
raising the glass to her lips to drink with me, she would say:
“Lieutenant, I thank you for the time we have been together. I shall
never forget it!” But when I grew glad and felt a little hope, she'd
pretend to drink, and set down the glass untouched. And she wouldn't
hide from me that she'd only been pretending to drink; she'd be careful
to let me see it. That was her way.
Good--it was nearing the last hour now.
And as I walked down the road I thought further: My uniform will impress
her; the trappings are new and handsome. The sword will rattle against
the floor. A nervous joy thrilled me, and I whispered to myself: Who
knows what may happen yet? I raised my head and threw out a hand. No
more humility now--a man's honour and pride! Whatever came of it, I
would make no more advances now. Pardon me, my fair one, for not asking
your hand...
Herr Mack met me in the courtyard, greyer still, more hollow-eyed.
“Going away? So? I suppose you've not been very comfortable lately, eh?
Your hut burned down...” And Herr Mack smiled.
In a moment it seemed as if the wisest man in the world stood before my
eyes.
“Go indoors, Lieutenant; Edwarda is there. Well, I will say good-bye.
See you on the quay, I suppose, when the vessel sails.” He walked off,
with head bowed in thought, whistling.
Edwarda was sitting indoors, reading. At the instant of my entering, she
started at my uniform; she looked at me sideways like a bird, and even
blushed. She opened her mouth.
“I have come to say good-bye,” I managed to get out at last.
She rose quickly to her feet, and I saw that my words had had some
effect.
“Glahn, are you going away? Now?”
“As soon as the boat comes.” I grasped her hand--both her hands--a
senseless delight took possession of me--I burst out, “Edwarda!” and
stared at her.
And in a moment she was cold--cold and defiant. Her whole being
resisted me; she drew herself up. I found myself standing like a beggar
before her. I loosed her hand and let her go. I remember that from that
moment I stood repeating mechanically: “Edwarda, Edwarda!” again and
again without thinking, and when she asked: “Yes? What were you going to
say?” I explained nothing.
“To think you are going already,” she said again. “Who will come next
year, I wonder?”
“Another,” I answered. “The hut will be built up again, no doubt.”
Pause. She was already reaching for her book.
“I am sorry my father is not in,” she said. “But I will tell him you
were here.”
I made no answer to this. I stepped forward, took her hand once more,
and said:
_“Farvel,_ Edwarda.”
_“Farvel,”_ she answered.
I opened the door as if to go. Already she was sitting with the book in
her hand, reading--actually reading and turning the page. Nothing
affected, not the least in the world affected by my saying good-bye.