of the punishment but … yes. Yes, I see what you mean.”
He had risen to his feet, strangely agitated, and was walking up and down. The idea seemed to have struck a chord, bringing something in him to vigorous life. He suddenly stopped.
“I’ll admit, yes, shame in front of other people, strangers … the hoi polloi who devour other people’s troubles in newspaper stories like a sandwich … but for that very reason they could at least tell those who are close to them. Do you remember that arsonist, the one I was defending last year? The one who took such a curious liking to me? He told me everything, little stories about his childhood, incidents even more intimate than that. You see, he had certainly committed the crime, and he was found guilty, but he wouldn’t confess it even to me. That was because he was afraid I might give him away. It wasn’t shame, because he trusted me … I think I was the only person for whom he’d ever felt anything like friendship in his life. So it wasn’t a sense of shame in front of strangers … what would that mean when he knew he could trust me?”
“Perhaps—” She had to turn away because he was looking at her so intently, and she heard a tremor in his voice. “Perhaps you’d feel most ashamed with … with those you’re closest to.”
He stopped suddenly, as if a powerful idea had seized on him.
“Then you think … you think …” And suddenly his voice changed, became soft and low. “You think little Helene might have confessed more easily to someone else? The governess, perhaps. You think she …”
“I’m sure of it. She put up such resistance to you only because … well, what you think matters more than anything to her. Because … because she loves you best.”
He stopped again.
“You … you may be right. Yes, I’m sure you are. How strange that I never thought of that before … yet it’s so simple. Yes, I may have been too hard on her. You know me—I don’t mean it like that. But I’ll go in and see her now … and of course she can go to the party, I only wanted to punish her for her defiance, her resistance and … well, I suppose for not trusting me. But you’re quite right, I don’t want you to think I can’t forgive … Irene, I wouldn’t like you, of all people, to think such a thing.”
He was looking at her, and she felt herself blushing under his gaze. Was he saying these things on purpose, or was it coincidence, a dangerous, insidious coincidence? She still felt so dreadfully undecided.
“Well, the sentence is quashed.” A certain cheerfulness seemed to come back into his voice. “Helene is free to go to the party, and I’ll tell her so myself. Are you satisfied with me now? Or is there anything else you want? You … you see … you see I’m in a magnanimous mood today … maybe because I’m glad to have seen an injustice in time. That always brings relief, Irene, always …”
She thought she understood what the emphasis in his words meant. Instinctively she moved closer to him, she already felt the words rising in her, and he too stepped forwards as if he was in haste to take from her whatever so obviously troubled her. Then she met his eyes, and saw in them an eager desire for her confession, for some part of herself, a burning impatience, and all at once everything she had been feeling collapsed. Her hand fell wearily to her side, and she turned away. It was useless, she felt, she would never be able to say the one thing that would set her free, the one thing that was burning inside her and consuming her peace of mind. She sensed a warning in the air, like thunder coming closer, but she knew she could not escape. And in the secret depths of her heart she longed, now, for what she had feared so long, the lightning flash of discovery that would come as a release.
Her wish was to be granted sooner than she guessed. The struggle had been going on for fourteen days now, and Irene felt she had exhausted her strength.
He had risen to his feet, strangely agitated, and was walking up and down. The idea seemed to have struck a chord, bringing something in him to vigorous life. He suddenly stopped.
“I’ll admit, yes, shame in front of other people, strangers … the hoi polloi who devour other people’s troubles in newspaper stories like a sandwich … but for that very reason they could at least tell those who are close to them. Do you remember that arsonist, the one I was defending last year? The one who took such a curious liking to me? He told me everything, little stories about his childhood, incidents even more intimate than that. You see, he had certainly committed the crime, and he was found guilty, but he wouldn’t confess it even to me. That was because he was afraid I might give him away. It wasn’t shame, because he trusted me … I think I was the only person for whom he’d ever felt anything like friendship in his life. So it wasn’t a sense of shame in front of strangers … what would that mean when he knew he could trust me?”
“Perhaps—” She had to turn away because he was looking at her so intently, and she heard a tremor in his voice. “Perhaps you’d feel most ashamed with … with those you’re closest to.”
He stopped suddenly, as if a powerful idea had seized on him.
“Then you think … you think …” And suddenly his voice changed, became soft and low. “You think little Helene might have confessed more easily to someone else? The governess, perhaps. You think she …”
“I’m sure of it. She put up such resistance to you only because … well, what you think matters more than anything to her. Because … because she loves you best.”
He stopped again.
“You … you may be right. Yes, I’m sure you are. How strange that I never thought of that before … yet it’s so simple. Yes, I may have been too hard on her. You know me—I don’t mean it like that. But I’ll go in and see her now … and of course she can go to the party, I only wanted to punish her for her defiance, her resistance and … well, I suppose for not trusting me. But you’re quite right, I don’t want you to think I can’t forgive … Irene, I wouldn’t like you, of all people, to think such a thing.”
He was looking at her, and she felt herself blushing under his gaze. Was he saying these things on purpose, or was it coincidence, a dangerous, insidious coincidence? She still felt so dreadfully undecided.
“Well, the sentence is quashed.” A certain cheerfulness seemed to come back into his voice. “Helene is free to go to the party, and I’ll tell her so myself. Are you satisfied with me now? Or is there anything else you want? You … you see … you see I’m in a magnanimous mood today … maybe because I’m glad to have seen an injustice in time. That always brings relief, Irene, always …”
She thought she understood what the emphasis in his words meant. Instinctively she moved closer to him, she already felt the words rising in her, and he too stepped forwards as if he was in haste to take from her whatever so obviously troubled her. Then she met his eyes, and saw in them an eager desire for her confession, for some part of herself, a burning impatience, and all at once everything she had been feeling collapsed. Her hand fell wearily to her side, and she turned away. It was useless, she felt, she would never be able to say the one thing that would set her free, the one thing that was burning inside her and consuming her peace of mind. She sensed a warning in the air, like thunder coming closer, but she knew she could not escape. And in the secret depths of her heart she longed, now, for what she had feared so long, the lightning flash of discovery that would come as a release.
Her wish was to be granted sooner than she guessed. The struggle had been going on for fourteen days now, and Irene felt she had exhausted her strength.
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