He was
not at this moment in a mood to consider the only excuse that Steinmetz
seemed to be able to urge.
The sun had set long ago. The short twilight lay over the snow-covered
land with a chill hopelessness. Steinmetz looked at his watch. They had
been together an hour--one of those hours that count as years in a life
time. He had to peer into the face of the watch in order to see the
hands. The room was almost dark, and no servant ever came to it, unless
summoned.
Paul was looking down at his companion, as if waiting to hear the time.
At great moments we are suddenly brought face to face with the limits of
human nature. It is at such moments that we find that we are not gods,
but only men. We can only feel to a certain extent, only suffer up to a
certain point.
"We must dress for dinner," said Steinmetz. "Afterward--well, afterward
we shall see."
"Yes," answered Paul. And he did not go.
The two men stood looking at each other for a moment. They had passed
through much together--danger, excitement, and now they were dabbling in
sorrow. It would appear that this same sorrow runs like a river across
the road of our life. Some of us find the ford and plash through the
shallows--shallow ourselves--while others flounder into deep water.
These are they who look right on to the greater events, and fail to note
the trivial details of each little step.
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