And I did not
want that. I want you here--in Dantzig; in the Frauengasse; in this
kitchen; under my hand--so that I can take care of you till the war
is over. I--who speak to you--Papa Barlasch, at your service. And
there is not another man in the world who will do it so well. No;
not one."
And his eyes flashed as he threw the knives into a drawer.
"But why should you do all this for me?" asked Desiree. "You could
have gone home to France--quite easily--and have left us to our fate
here in Dantzig. Why did you not go home?"
Barlasch looked at her with surprise, not unmixed with a sudden dumb
disappointment. He was preparing to go out according to his wont
immediately after breakfast; for Lisa had unconsciously hit the mark
when she compared him to a cat. He had the regular and self-
contained habits of that unobtrusive friend. He buttoned his rough
coat slowly, and looked round the kitchen with eyes dimly wistful.
He was very old and ragged and homeless.
"Is it not enough," he said, "that we are friends?"
He went towards the door, but came back and warned her by the
familiar upheld finger not to let her attention wander from his
words.
"You will be glad yet that I have stayed. It is because I speak a
little plainly of your husband that you wish me gone. Bah! What
does it matter? All men are alike. We are only men--not angels.
And you can go on loving him all the same. You are not particular,
you women.
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