Chapter I
Cedrichimselfknewnothingwhateveraboutit.Ithadneverbeenevenmentionedtohim.HeknewthathispapahadbeenanEnglishman,becausehismammahadtoldhimso;butthenhispapahaddiedwhenhewassolittleaboythathecouldnotrememberverymuchabouthim,exceptthathewasbig,andhadblueeyesandalongmustache,andthatitwasasplendidthingtobecarriedaroundtheroomonhisshoulder.Sincehispapa’sdeath,Cedrichadfoundoutthatitwasbestnottotalktohismammaabouthim.Whenhisfatherwasill,Cedrichadbeensentaway,andwhenhehadreturned,everythingwasover;andhismother,whohadbeenveryill,too,wasonlyjustbeginningtositinherchairbythewindow.Shewaspaleandthin,andallthedimpleshadgonefromherprettyface,andhereyeslookedlargeandmournful,andshewasdressedinblack.
“Dearest,”saidCedric(hispapahadcalledherthatalways,andsothelittleboyhadlearnedtosayit),—“dearest,ismypapabetter?”
Hefeltherarmstremble,andsoheturnedhiscurlyheadandlookedinherface.Therewassomethinginitthatmadehimfeelthathewasgoingtocry.
“Dearest,”hesaid,“ishewell?”
Thensuddenlyhislovinglittlehearttoldhimthathe’dbetterputbothhisarmsaroundherneckandkissheragainandagain,andkeephissoftcheekclosetohers;andhedidso,andshelaidherfaceonhisshoulderandcriedbitterly,holdinghimasifshecouldneverlethimgoagain.
“Yes,heiswell,”shesobbed;“heisquite,quitewell,butwe—wehavenooneleftbuteachother.Nooneatall.