Eugenie’s image persisted in intruding upon him. In fact, he found
himself thinking more of Eugenie than of Hilda; there was more
tenderness in his heart when thinking of Eugenie than when thinking of
Hilda. And every time he glanced at that omnipresent Aaron Hirsch—Aaron
Hirsch had again seen him with Eugenie—he thought of Eugenie. Aaron had
said nothing to him about her but he could read something in his
rolling, roguish eyes. While copying entries into the ledger he did it
mechanically, his mind wandering in other regions. He was visualizing
those sweet moments with Eugenie in the dark street and experiencing the
sensation over again.
A few days later Albert was summoned to his uncle’s private room. Albert
was in a grave mood because of the return of a few poems which he had
sent to an editor at Munich.
He found Uncle Leopold at his secretary, austere and domineering.
“Take a seat.” He said this in a commanding tone.
Albert sat down, feeling the worthlessness of life more keenly.
“I have something of the gravest importance to say to you,” Uncle
Leopold commenced, his eyes averted. He then paused.
Albert caught his breath and waited.
“It’s about your general conduct,” he snapped. “They tell me awful
things about you.”
“I’ll try to be careful about my work in the bank,” Albert said
contritely. For the moment Albert’s pride was gone. His pride would
always sink with the rejection of his manuscripts.
“I don’t care so much about your work,” the banker said with an
irritable wave of his hand. “These mistakes can be corrected. It’s your
life mistakes. No one but yourself can correct those.”
The banker again paused. Albert looked at his uncle puzzled. He could
not fathom the cause of the present complaint.
“You have been seen in bad company,” the banker resumed in a more
serious tone. “The nephew of Leopold Zorn must not bee seen running
around with dissolute women.”
“Uncle Leopold—that’s not true—it’s a base falsehood—I have kept
company with no bad women—” he burst out indignantly, tears springing
to his eyes. “Some one has been slandering me. I spend all my evenings
reading and writing, save for a stroll now and then—someone has been
lying to you.”
“No, the source of this information is quite reliable,” the banker
continued in a milder tone, the tears in his nephew’s eyes instantly
softening his feelings. “You were seen on Bleicherstrasse with a girl of
questionable character.”
“That’s false, Uncle Leopold . . utterly false . .” tears stifled his
speech.
He then remembered Eugenie and felt he had to defend her honor.
“I have never associated with any women here except with one of the
purest souls I have ever known—as pure as my own mother—as pure as my
sister—as pure—” He was about to add Hilda’s name but checked himself.
“One cannot be too discriminating,” Uncle Leopold said in a conciliatory
tone, as if willing to let bygones be bygones, “but you must be more
careful in the future. The walls have ears and the streets a thousand
eyes. The nephew of Leopold Zorn must avoid all suspicion.”
“And the uncle of Albert Zorn ought not to lend ear to malicious
tongues,” flared up the nephew, rising from his seat indignantly.
The false accusation and the insinuation against Eugenie’s character
brought back his innate pride. His unshakable confidence in himself
returned. There was insolence on the young man’s face.
Uncle Leopold caught the sudden change in his nephew’s face and smiled.
He resented Albert’s impudent manner, but at the same time admired the
young man’s fearlessness. He remembered the letter his wife had received
from Albert in which he thanked her for her hospitality. Aunt Betty had
expressed great admiration for the style of his language.
When the interview was over the banker rose from his seat and escorted
Albert out of the door, his hand resting kindly on the young man’s
shoulder.