It was Herr Paul, holding a cigar in one hand, his hat in the other, and
breathing hard.
“Pardon!” he said huskily, “your stairs are steep, and dark! mais en,
fin! nous voila! I have ventured to come for a talk.” His glance fell on
the cloaked figure in the shadow.
“Pardon! A thousand pardons! I had no idea! I beg you to forgive this
indiscretion! I may take it you resign pretensions then? You have a
lady here—I have nothing more to say; I only beg a million pardons for
intruding. A thousand times forgive me! Good-night!”
He bowed and turned to go. Christian stepped forward, and let the hood
fall from her head.
“It's I!”
Herr Paul pirouetted.
“Good God!” he stammered, dropping cigar and hat. “Good God!”
The lantern flared suddenly, revealing his crimson, shaking cheeks.
“You came here, at night! You, the daughter of my wife!” His eyes
wandered with a dull glare round the room.
“Take care!” cried Harz: “If you say a word against her—-”
The two men stared at each other's eyes. And without warning, the
lantern flickered and went out. Christian drew the cloak round her
again. Herr Paul's voice broke the silence; he had recovered his
self-possession.
“Ah! ah!” he said: “Darkness! Tant mieux! The right thing for what we
have to say. Since we do not esteem each other, it is well not to see
too much.”
“Just so,” said Harz.
Christian had come close to them. Her pale face and great shining eyes
could just be seen through the gloom.
Herr Paul waved his arm; the gesture was impressive, annihilating.
“This is a matter, I believe, between two men,” he said, addressing
Harz. “Let us come to the point. I will do you the credit to suppose
that you have a marriage in view. You know, perhaps, that Miss Devorell
has no money till I die?”
“Yes.”
“And I am passably young! You have money, then?”
“No.”
“In that case, you would propose to live on air?”
“No, to work; it has been done before.”
“It is calculated to increase hunger! You are prepared to take Miss
Devorell, a young lady accustomed to luxury, into places like—this!” he
peered about him, “into places that smell of paint, into the milieu of
'the people,' into the society of Bohemians—who knows? of anarchists,
perhaps?”
Harz clenched his hands: “I will answer no more questions.”
“In that event, we reach the ultimatum,” said Herr Paul. “Listen, Herr
Outlaw! If you have not left the country by noon to-morrow, you shall be
introduced to the police!”
Christian uttered a cry. For a minute in the gloom the only sound heard
was the short, hard breathing of the two men.
Suddenly Harz cried: “You coward, I defy you!”
“Coward!” Herr Paul repeated. “That is indeed the last word. Look to
yourself, my friend!”
Stooping and fumbling on the floor, he picked up his hat. Christian had
already vanished; the sound of her hurrying footsteps was distinctly
audible at the top of the dark stairs. Herr Paul stood still a minute.
“Look to yourself, my dear friend!” he said in a thick voice, groping
for the wall. Planting his hat askew on his head, he began slowly to
descend the stairs.