雙語·灼人的秘密 灼人的秘密

“How account for the change?” mused Edgar, as the three of them rolled along in a hired landau. “Why are they no longer the same to me as they were? Mother avoids my eves. I wonder why. Why is the baron always up to some foolery as if he wanted to amuse me? But I don’t want to be amused, I want him to treat me as he did man to man. They both seem to have got quite other faces. They don’t speak to me as they did yesterday and the day before. Mother’s lips are so red she must have painted them. She’s never done that. And he’s always frowning as though he were put out. But I can’t remember saying a single word that could have been taken amiss. Can’t think of any reason why...Besides, they’re not behaving to one another in the old way. One could think they were up to some game they were ashamed of. They’re hiding something. I feel sure. They’re not talking naturally as they did, they don’t laugh any more. There’s a secret they don’t want me to know about. I must, at any cost, find out what this secret is. Perhaps I know what it is already. It must be the one people are always trying to hide from me; the same as is hidden in books they forbid me to read, the same as when we go to the opera and a man and a woman hold out their arms to one another, hug one another. Then there was that French governess who did not hit it off with Dad and was given notice and sent away. All these things seem to hang together; but why, I wonder? Oh, if I could only know, just get hold of the key to the secret. Then I should no longer be a child, and have interesting things hidden from me. It’s a case of now or never. I’m going to snatch their secret from them....”

His brow puckered, giving his juvenile visage a quaintly old appearance. The beautiful landscape might just as well not have existed so far as he was concerned, for his whole mental energy was absorbed in trying to unravel the enigma. And yet the scene was an enchanting one. Mountains encircled with a ring of emerald trees, tender with their early spring foliage; valleys filled with wisps of iridescent mists dappled with golden sunshine. Edgar could only see his two companions opposite him, lolling on the comfortable seat of the carriage. He glared at them as though by the very force of his concentrated stare he could extract the secret from their eyes and hearts. Nothing is guaranteed to sharpen the intelligence quicker than a passion-laden suspicion; nothing is better calculated to ripen the infantile mind prematurely than the feeling that one is on the right scent without knowing what one is hunting. Children are often separated from what adults call “The real world” by a tenuous partition which a zephyr may blow down.

Edgar was convinced that he was nearer elucidating the mystery than he had ever been before; the solution seemed to be just under his hand. He was excited at the approach of discovery, and the solemnity of the occasion made him grave beyond his years. In his unconscious, he was aware that he had reached the frontiers of his childhood.

The couple ensconced in the back seat sensed opposition in the air without realizing that it emanated from Edgar. The roomy vehicle had suddenly grown too small for the three passengers. The intense scrutiny of the boy’s dark eyes made the two elders uncomfortable. They hardly ventured to utter a word, to exchange a glance. They could not get back to the gossamer-light tone of their previous discourse. No matter what topic they started, the conversation soon flagged.

The woman was more sensitive to the child’s mutism than Baron von Sternfeldt. She was alarmed at Edgar’s morose expression and started back in disgust when she detected upon the callow visage of her son the self-same grimace as that which her husband made when he was put out. Never before had Edgar shown any resemblance to his father. Particularly at such a moment as this was she loathed to be reminded of her husband. The child sitting there huddled upon the tiny seat seemed like a ghost, a reproachful guardian of her ways. She felt conscience-stricken. Suddenly Edgar glanced up, and looked her full in the eyes. Mother and son instantaneously lowered their lids. For the first time in their life together they were watching one another. This they both realized with anguish squeezing their hearts. Up till now they had blindly trusted each other; now a hedge of doubt and suspicion rose up between them. A latent hatred invaded them, a sensation so novel that neither admitted as yet that it existed.

All three were genuinely relieved when the horses drew up in front of the hotel. The drive had been wretched from start to finish, but none of them was frank enough to say so. Edgar was the first to jump out of the landau. Frau Blumental, saying she had a headache, made straight for her room. The boy and Otto were thus left alone. After paying the driver, Baron von Sternfeldt strode off towards the lounge, passing close to Edgar without so much as noticing the child’s presence. He had forgotten his little friend’s existence, and left the poor lad behind as if such an insignificant creature was of no more concern to him any more than the coachman on the box or the horses harnessed to the carriage.

Something broke inside Edgar’s head as that beloved and slender figure receded. Despair filled his heart at the thought that this wonderful friend had brushed past without a glance or a word. What could he have done to cause displeasure? The mantle of his newly acquired dignity slipped from his frail shoulders; he was no more than a small and helpless boy, as childlike and immature as he had been yesterday and during all the years that went before. With hesitating footsteps, his legs quailing beneath him, he followed in the baron’s wake, caught up the older man who was about to engage in the revolving door, and stuttered:

“What have I done? Please tell me. Why don’t you look at me any more? And Mother, too? Why are you and she always trying to get rid of me now? Am I a nuisance? Have I been naughty?”

Otto was alarmed at the tone of the child’s voice; it troubled him strangely, and he felt moved.

“Eddie, you silly old fool, don’t worry. I’m out of temper to-day, that’s all. You’ve not done anything. You’re a jolly little fellow, and I’m very fond of you.”

He rumpled the boy’s hair affectionately, but at the same time he averted his head so as not to look into those huge, imploring eyes which were now brimming over with tears. The game he was playing seemed to him paltry and unworthy. He was ashamed of having wrought havoc with a child’s innocent adoration. That was a mean thing to have done.

“Run along now, Eddie. We’ll meet again this evening on the old terms, and this misunderstanding will be forgotten.”

“And you won’t allow Mother to send me to bed so early, will you? Promise.”

“No, Eddie, trust me. But you’d better be getting to your room now. The dinner gong will be sounding soon, and we shan’t have washed and changed.”

For the time being, Edgar was comforted. He felt quite happy as he went upstairs. But soon his heart misgave him. He had grown years older since yesterday, and an unknown guest had taken up quarters in his mind: mistrust.

He waited. This was to be the ultimate test. The three of them sat together at the little dining-table. Nine o’clock struck, but Mother did not send him to bed. He became uneasy. Why to-day in particular was she allowing him to sit up beyond his wonted hour? Had the baron betrayed him? Bitterly did he now repent having run after his sometime friend and put in so urgent a plea. At ten his mother got up, and took leave of the baron. Strange, but the man, too, seemed in nowise taken aback by her breaking up the party thus early, and made no endeavour to keep her as he had done before. The child’s heart beat to suffocation.

Now for the test, thought Edgar. He made as if he had noticed nothing, and docilely followed his mother to the door. Arrived there, he suddenly raised his eyes and caught his mother in the act. She was smiling at the baron, an enigmatical smile, a smile of mutual understanding. So this was the explanation of her early withdrawal from the dining-room. The baron had cheated him. He was to be cajoled into obedience so that they might enjoy one another’s company unmolested.

“Cad,” muttered Edgar.

“What was that you said?” inquired his mother.

“Nothing,” he replied, between clenched teeth.

He too held a secret within his heart. Its name? Hatred, unbounded hatred for the two of them.