Will you take me home now, Dr. von Gerhard?"
The ride home was made in silence. The wind was
colder, sharper. I was chilled, miserable, sick. Von
Gerhard's face was quite expressionless as he guided the
little car over the smooth road. When we had stopped
before my door, still without a word, I thought that he
was going to leave me with that barrier of silence
unbroken. But as I stepped stiffly to the curbing his
hands closed about mine with the old steady grip. I
looked up quickly, to find a smile in the corners of the
tired eyes.
"You--you will let me see you--sometimes?"
But wisdom came to my aid. "Not now. It is better
that we go our separate ways for a few weeks, until our
work has served to adjust the balance that has been
disturbed. At the end of that time I shall write you,
and from that time until you sail in June we shall be
just good comrades again. And once in Vienna--who
knows?--you may meet the plump blond Fraulein, of
excellent family--"
"And no particular imagination--"
And then we both laughed, a bit hysterically, because
laughter is, after all, akin to tears. And the little
green car shot off with a whir as I turned to enter my
new world of loneliness.
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