But then she reflected
that he was a child born to ill-luck, and as such would never be blessed
with the love of so exquisite a creature.
What she saw in the next few weeks confirmed this opinion. His manner
was usually decisive, abrupt and self-reliant, but now he seemed to her
like a clock that points to one hour while it strikes another. At the
works he gave his orders as firmly and decidedly as ever; but as soon as
he was alone, he looked like a criminal sentenced to death, and either
sat bowed down and miserable or else paced up and down the floor
restlessly, gesticulating wildly. Often when he beat his forehead with
the palm of his hand or struck his breast with his fist, his mother was
frightened.
Once, after a garden party, where he had been fortunate enough to walk
alone for a full hour under a shady pergola with the daughter of the
gentleman who owned the building in progress, and to kiss her hand many
times, he burst into tears as soon as he was in his own room, and behaved
so wildly that his mother feared for his reason and wept bitterly also.
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