Mistake, no doubt. There is
something of my father in every man who lives long enough. But they
don't say anything. They can't. They wouldn't know how, or perhaps,
they wouldn't speak if they could. Man on this earth is an unforeseen
accident which does not stand close investigation. However, that
particular man died as quietly as a child goes to sleep. But, after
listening to him, I could not take my soul down into the street to fight
there. I started off to wander about, an independent spectator--if that
is possible."
For a long time the girl's grey eyes had been watching his face. She
discovered that, addressing her, he was really talking to himself. Heyst
looked up, caught sight of her as it were, and caught himself up, with a
low laugh and a change of tone.
"All this does not tell you why I ever came here. Why, indeed? It's like
prying into inscrutable mysteries which are not worth scrutinizing. A
man drifts. The most successful men have drifted into their successes.
I don't want to tell you that this is a success. You wouldn't believe
me if I did. It isn't; neither is it the ruinous failure it looks. It
proves nothing, unless perhaps some hidden weakness in my character--and
even that is not certain."
He looked fixedly at her, and with such grave eyes that she felt obliged
to smile faintly at him, since she did not understand what he meant.
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