Burning Secret by Stefan Zweig

way?” Edgar hesitated. The memory of it made him angry again, and he was about to voice his accusations. Then he saw—and it made his heart stand still—his mother make a strange movement behind his father’s back. A movement that he didn’t understand at first. But now that he looked at her there was a plea in her eyes. Very, very gently she raised her finger to her lips in the sign that requests silence.
    At that, the child felt something warm, an enormous , wild delight spread through his entire body. He understood that she was giving him the secret to keep, that the fate of another human being lay on his small, childish lips. And wild, jubilant pride filled him to think that she trusted him, he was overcome by a readiness to make the sacrifice, he was willing to exaggerate his own guilt in order to show how much of a man he was. He pulled himself together.
    “No, no … there wasn’t any reason. Mama was very kind to me, but I was naughty, I behaved badly … and then … then I ran away because I was scared.”
    His father looked at him, taken aback. He had expected anything but this confession. He was disarmed, his anger gone.
    “Oh, well, if you’re sorry, then very well. I won’t say any more about it today. I expect you’ll think harder another time, won’t you? Don’t let such a thing ever happen again.”
    He stopped and looked at the boy, and now he sounded milder.
    “How pale you look! But I think you’ve grown taller. I hope you won’t play such childish pranks any more. After all, you’re not a little boy now, you’re old enough to see reason!”
    All this time Edgar was looking at his mother. He though he saw something sparkling in her eyes. Or was it just the reflection of the light? No, it was a moist, clear light, and there was a smile around her mouth thanking him. He was sent to bed now, but he didn’t mind being left alone. He had so much to think of, so much that was vivid and full of promise. All the pain of the last few days vanished in the powerful sensation of this first real experience; he felt happy in the mysterious anticipation of future events. Outside, the trees rustled under cover of dark night, but he was not afraid any more. He had lost all his impatience with life now that he knew how full of promise it was. He felt as if, for thefirst time, he had seen it as it was, no longer enveloped in the thousand lies of childhood, but naked in its own dangerous beauty. He had never thought that days could be so full of alternating pain and pleasure, and he liked the idea that many such days lay ahead of him, that a whole life was waiting to reveal its secret to him. A first premonition of the rich variety of life had come to him; for the first time he thought he had understood the nature of human beings—they needed each other even when they appeared hostile, and it was very sweet to be loved by them. He was unable to think of anything or anyone with hatred, he did not regret anything, and found a new sense of gratitude even to the Baron, the seducer, his bitterest enemy, because he had opened the door to this world of his first true emotions to him.
    All this was very sweet and pleasant to think of in the dark, mingling a little with images from dreams, and he was almost asleep already. But he thought the door suddenly opened and someone came in. He did not quite believe it, though, he was too drowsy to open his eyes. Then he sensed a soft face breathing close to his, caressing his own with mild warmth, and knew it was his mother kissing him and stroking his hair. He felt the kisses and her tears, gently responding to the caress, and took it only as reconciliation, as gratitude for his silence. Only later, many years later, did he recognize those silent tears as a vow from a woman past her youth that from now on she would belong onlyto him, her child. It was a renunciation of adventure, a farewell to all her own desires. He did not know that she was also grateful to him for