NEMESIS.
The president made his appearance at the appointed time; until the
opening of the railway he was obliged to drive over from Heilborn, and
he brought with him Herr Gersdorf, who was to come for his wife. The
engineer-in-chief was 'accidentally' absent at a distant post, and
could not receive his future father-in-law as usual. Nordheim knew what
this meant,--he no longer reckoned upon Wolfgang's compliance,--but he
also knew that matters must come to a final explanation.
Molly immediately after dinner invited her husband to walk with her in
the grove at the foot of the garden, that she might open her heart to
him; but when she would have told her secret she prefaced the
revelation by so many mysterious hints, such oracular sentences, that
Gersdorf grew uneasy.
"My dear child, pray tell me outright what has happened," he begged
her. "I noticed nothing whatever unusual upon my arrival; what have you
to tell me?"
"A secret, Albert," she replied, with much solemnity,--"a profound
secret, which I adjure you not to reveal. Incredible things have been
happening,--here and at Oberstein."
"At Oberstein? Has Benno anything to do with them?"
"Yes!" And here Frau Gersdorf made a long, artistic pause, to give due
effect to what was to follow. Then she said, in a tone of the deepest
tragedy, "Benno--loves Alice Nordheim."
Unfortunately, the revelation did not produce the desired effect; the
lawyer merely shook his head, and observed, with exasperating
indifference, "Poor fellow! It is well that he is going to Neuenfeld,
where he will soon get such nonsense out of his head."
"Nonsense, do you call it?" Molly exclaimed, indignantly. "And you
suppose it can be easily got rid of? You probably could have done so if
you had not married me, Albert, for you are a heartless monster!"
"But an excellent husband," Gersdorf, who was quite used to such tragic
outbursts from his wife, asserted with philosophic serenity. "Moreover,
the case was not similar. I knew that in spite of obstacles I could win
you, and then I was sure of your love."
"And so is Benno. Alice loves him also," Molly explained, gratified to
perceive that her husband took this announcement much more seriously.
He listened in thoughtful silence, while, after her usual lively
fashion, she told of the scene on the mountain-meadow, of her
concealment among the trees, and of her extremely vigorous efforts to
smooth matters, as she expressed it.
"An hour later I had Benno alone by himself," she continued. "At first
he would not confess,--not a word; but I should like to see any one
conceal from me what I have resolved to find out. Finally I said to
him, frankly, 'Benno, you are in love, desperately in love,' and then
he denied it no longer, but said, with a sigh, 'Yes, and hopelessly
so!' He was in despair, poor fellow, but I told him to take courage,
for I would undertake to arrange the affair."
"That must, of course, have consoled him greatly," the lawyer
interposed.
"No; on the contrary, he would not hear of it. Benno's
conscientiousness is positively something frightful. Alice was the
betrothed of his friend,--he could not even allow his thoughts to dwell
upon her,--never would he see her again, but if possible he would start
for Neuenfeld to-morrow, and a deal more of such nonsense. He forbade
me to speak to Alice. Of course, as soon as his back was turned, I went
to her and extorted a confession from her too. In short, they love each
other dearly, intensely, inexpressibly. So there is nothing for them to
do but to be married!"
"Indeed?" said her husband, rather surprised by this conclusion.
"You seem to have quite forgotten that Alice is betrothed to the
engineer-in-chief."
Frau Molly turned up her little nose contemptuously; that betrothal
never had found favour in her eyes, and at present she was inclined to
make short work of it.
"Alice never loved that Wolfgang Elmhorst," she asserted, with
decision. "She said yes because her father told her to, because she had
not the energy then to say no, and he--well, what he wanted was a
wealthy wife."
"A very good reason, as you must admit, for disinclination to
relinquish her."
"I told you just now, Albert, that I was going myself to undertake the
adjustment of the affair," Frau Molly declared, with dignity. "I shall
see Elmhorst, and appeal to his generosity, representing to him that
unless he wishes to make two people wretched he must withdraw. He will
be touched and softened, he will bring the lovers together, and----"
"There will be a most romantic scene," Albert concluded her sentence.
"No, that is just what he will _not_ do. You little know the
engineer-in-chief if you credit him with such sensibility. He is not
the man to withdraw from a connection that insures him the future
possession of millions, and he will soon console himself for lack of
affection in his wife. And what do you suppose Nordheim will say to
your romance?"
"The president?" Molly asked, dejectedly. In the contemplation of her
scheme in which she played the part of beneficent fairy, joining the
hands of the lovers with all the emotion befitting the occasion, she
had quite forgotten that Alice had a father whose word might be
decisive in this matter.
"Yes, President Nordheim, who brought about this betrothal, and who
will hardly consent to dissolve it, and to bestow his daughter's hand
upon a young country doctor, who, with all his courage and capacity,
has nothing to give in return. No, Molly, the affair is perfectly
hopeless, and Benno is quite right to resign all hope. Even if Alice
really loves him, she has promised her hand to Wolfgang, and neither he
nor her father will release her. There is no help for it, they must
both submit."
He might have gone on thus forever without convincing his wife. She
knew what her own obstinacy had effected in uniting her with her lover,
and she would not see why Alice could not persist in the same manner.
She listened, indeed, attentively, and then cut short any further
remarks from her husband by declaring, dictatorially,--
"You do not understand it at all, Albert! They love each other. Then
they ought to marry; and marry they shall!"
What could Gersdorf say to refute such logic as this?
Meanwhile, Alice Nordheim was in her father's study, which she rarely
entered, and which she must have sought now for some important purpose,
for she looked pale and agitated, and as she stood leaning against the
window-frame, seemed to be undergoing an inward struggle; yet there was
nothing in prospect save an interview between the father and daughter.
There was, to be sure, nothing of confidence or intimacy in the
relation existing between them. Nordheim, who had surrounded his
daughter with all the luxury and splendour that wealth could procure,
took, in fact, very little interest in her, as Alice had always felt,
but in her docile compliance with whatever her father desired, there
had never been any collision between them.
For the first time this was otherwise; she was about to go to her
father with a confession, which must, she knew, provoke his wrath, and
she trembled at the thought, although her resolution never wavered.
All at once the president's step was heard in the next room, and his
voice said, "Herr Waltenberg's secretary? Certainly. Show him in!"
Alice stood hesitating for a moment; her father, who did not suspect
her presence here, was not alone, and, agitated as she was, she could
not confront a stranger. Probably the man brought some message from
Waltenberg, and his business would shortly be despatched. The young
girl, therefore, slipped into her father's bedroom, which adjoined his
office, and the door of which remained ajar. Nordheim immediately
entered the room she had left, and was shortly joined there by his
visitor.
The president received him with affable ease. He knew that Ernst in his
travels had picked up somewhere an individual who, ostensibly his
secretary, played the part of his confidential friend, but he took
further interest in the matter. He either had not heard or had not
heeded his name; at all events, he did not recognize his former friend.
Twenty-five years are long in passing, and such a life as Gronau's had
been is a great disguiser. This man with his brown, deeply-furrowed
face and gray hair had nothing in his appearance to recall the fresh,
merry youth who had gone out into the world to seek his fortune.
"You are Herr Waltenberg's secretary?" It was thus that Nordheim opened
the conversation.
"Yes, Herr President."
Nordheim started at the sound of the voice, which aroused dim memories
within him. He directed a keen glance towards the stranger, and,
motioning to him to be seated, he went on:
"I suppose we shall not see him to-day? Have you a message from him?
Your name, if you please."
"Veit Gronau," was the reply, as the speaker calmly seated himself.
The president looked extremely surprised; he examined the
weather-beaten features of his former friend, but the memories thus
unexpectedly awakened seemed far from agreeable, and he was apparently
not inclined to admit that there had ever existed any friendship
between himself and his visitor. His manner distinctly indicated the
inferior position which he chose to assign to his friend's secretary.
"We are not, then, entire strangers to each other," he remarked. "I was
acquainted in my youth with a Veit Gronau----"
"The same who has the honour of waiting upon you at present," Gronau
concluded the sentence.
"It gives me pleasure to hear it." The pleasure was but coldly
expressed. "And how have you thriven in the mean while? Well, it would
seem, your position with Herr Waltenberg must be a very agreeable one."
"I have every reason to be contented. I have hardly reached your
heights, Herr President, but one must not expect too much."
"True, true. Human destinies are very various."
"And when men undertake to control them, it all depends upon who can
best steer his own boat."
The remark displeased the president as being too familiar; he desired
no intimacy with his former comrade, so he said, evasively,--
"But we are straying from the object of your visit. Herr Waltenberg
sends you to----?"
"No," Gronau replied, drily.
Nordheim looked at him in surprise: "You do not bring me a message from
him?"
"No, Herr President. I have just returned from a journey, and have not
yet seen Herr Waltenberg. I announced myself in my capacity of his
secretary in order to make sure of your receiving me. I come about an
affair of my own."
At this disclosure the president became several degrees colder and more
formal, for he suspected some favour to be asked; yet the man seated so
calmly before him, looking at him with so searching an expression in
his clear, keen eyes, did not look like a suppliant; there was
something of defiance in his bearing which impressed Nordheim
disagreeably.
"Go on, then," he said, with perceptible condescension. "All relations
between us are far in the past, nevertheless----"
"Yes, they date from five-and-twenty years ago," Gronau interrupted
him. "And yet it is precisely of what then occurred that I wish to
speak,--to pray you to inform me what has become of our--excuse me--of
my former friend, Benno Reinsfeld?"
The question was so sudden and unexpected that Nordheim was silenced
for a moment, but he was too entirely accustomed to self-control to be
long disconcerted by such surprises. One suspicious glance he shot at
his questioner, and then, with a shrug, he replied, coldly,--
"You really demand too much of my memory, Herr Gronau. I cannot
possibly call to mind all the acquaintances of my youth, and in this
instance I do not even remember the name you mention."
"Indeed? Then let me assist your memory, Herr President. I allude to
the inventor of the first mountain-railway locomotive,--the engineer,
Benno Reinsfeld."
The men looked each other in the eye, and instantly the president knew
that there was nothing accidental in his visitor's presence, that he
was confronting a foe, and that the words which sounded so innocent
barely disguised a menace. He must next know whether the man appearing
thus after years of exile were really dangerous, or whether this were
merely an attempt to extort money from his possible fears. Nordheim
seemed inclined to the latter belief, for he said, frigidly, "You must
be falsely informed, _I_ invented the first mountain-locomotive, as is
shown by my patent."
Gronau suddenly rose, his dark face flushed still darker. He had
devised a regular scheme of action, arranged in his mind how he should
attack his opponent and drive him into a corner, until not a chance of
escape was left him, but at such audacious falsehood all his prudent
plans fell to pieces, and honest indignation got the upper hand of him.
"You dare to tell me that to my face!" he burst out, angrily. "To me,
who was present when Benno showed us his invention, and explained it,
and you admired it, and praised him! Does your memory play you false
there also?"
The president calmly reached for the bell-rope: "Will you leave the
house, Herr Gronau, or must I call the servants? I am not inclined to
submit to insult beneath my own roof."
"I advise you to let the bell alone," Gronau burst forth, furiously.
"Take your choice, whether what I have to say shall be said to you
alone, or to all the world. Refuse to listen,--I can find a hearing
everywhere else."
The threat was not without effect; Nordheim slowly withdrew his hand.
He saw that it would not be easy to deal with this resolute, determined
man, and that it would be best not to provoke him further, but his
voice was still impassive as he said, "Well, then, what have you to say
to me?"
Veit Gronau stepped up to his former comrade, and his eyes flashed:
"That you are a scoundrel, Nordheim, neither more nor less!"
The president started, but in an instant burst out, "What! you dare?"
"Oh, yes; and I dare far more, for this is not a matter to be hushed up
easily. Poor Benno, indeed, neither could nor would defend himself; he
bowed his head beneath the stroke, and suffered more, I fancy, from the
consciousness of the treachery of a friend than from the treachery
itself. Had I been here at the time you would not have got off with
your booty so easily. Don't trouble yourself to look indignant. 'Tis of
no use with mc. I know you, and we are alone; no need for play-acting.
You had better make up your mind what answer to make when I accuse you
in public."
In his excitement his voice rang out clear and distinct. Nordheim made
no further attempt to check his words, but he must have felt quite
secure, for he never for an instant lost his bearing of calm
superiority.
"What answer to make?" he said, with a shrug. "Where are your proofs?"
Gronau laughed bitterly: "I thought you would ask that. Therefore I did
not come instantly to you when I heard the sorry tale from poor Benno's
son in Oberstein. I have spent three weeks in following up traces. I
have been in the capital, in Benno's last place of residence,--even in
the town where we were all three born."
"And are they found,--these proofs of yours?" The question was
pronounced in a tone of extreme contempt.
"No, nothing; that is, that could convict you. You insured yourself
well against discovery, and Reinsfeld meanwhile delayed applying for a
patent for his invention because he did not consider it yet complete.
That was the time when I left home and you accepted a position in the
capital. Poor Benno worked away at his invention and perfected it,
building many a castle in the air the while, until one fine day he
heard that his invention had been bought and patented; but the patent
and the money were both in the pocket of his best friend, of whom they
made a millionaire."
"And this is the precious tale you mean to relate to the world?" the
president sneered. "Do you actually believe that the assertion of an
adventurer like yourself could ruin a man of my standing? Why, you
yourself admit the absence of proof."
"Of all direct proof; but what I have learned is quite enough to make
the ground hot beneath your feet. Reinsfeld himself made an effort to
recover his rights; of course he was unsuccessful, although he found
credence here and there. Then he lost courage and gave up all hope. But
the matter was talked of; you were forced to defend yourself against
suspicion, and now you have as an antagonist not poor, inexperienced
Benno, but myself. Look to yourself in this encounter. I have sworn to
indemnify the son of my friend as far as is possible for the wrong done
to his father, and I am wont to keep my word, whether for good or for
evil. As an 'adventurer' I have nothing to lose, and I shall proceed
against you ruthlessly and resolutely; I shall forge weapons against
you out of all that I have lately learned, and shall publish to the
world the suspicion, the knowledge of which was formerly confined to a
very narrow circle. We shall see whether the truth can die away unheard
when an honest man is ready to vindicate it with his very life."
There was an iron determination in his words and manner, and Nordheim
was quite able to measure the power of this antagonist. He seemed
engaged in a mental conflict for a minute or two, and then he asked, in
a low tone, "What is your price?"
Gronau's lip quivered with a contemptuous smile: "Ah, you are ready to
barter, then?"
"It may come to that. I do not deny that such a scandal as you threaten
to raise would be very disagreeable to me, although I am far from
perceiving any danger in it. If you should propose reasonable
conditions I might, perhaps, bring myself to make a sacrifice.
Therefore, what do you ask?"
"Very little for a man of your stamp. Pay to Benno's son, young Dr.
Reinsfeld, the entire sum which you formerly received for the patent.
It is his lawful inheritance, and would be wealth to him in his present
circumstances. Moreover, you must confess the truth to him,--privately,
for all I care,--and give to the dead his due, at least in his son's
eyes. This done, I will answer for it that the matter shall be
immediately dropped."
"Your first condition I accept," Nordheim replied, as though he were
settling some business transaction, "but not the second. You must
content yourselves with the money, which, indeed, will amount to a
considerable sum. I suppose you will go shares in it."
"Is that your opinion?" Gronau asked, scornfully. "But how indeed
should you know anything of honest, unselfish friendship? Benno
Reinsfeld does not even know that I have come to you, or of the
conditions I propose, and I shall have trouble enough, God knows, to
induce him to accept what is lawfully his, and his only. I should
consider it a disgrace to touch a penny of it. But enough of this. Will
you accept both conditions?"
"No; only the first."
"I will retract nothing. I must have both the money and the
confession."
"Which will place me completely in your power? Never!"
"Good! Then we have done with each other. If you wish for war you shall
have war!"
Gronau turned and walked towards the door; the president made as if he
would have detained him, then apparently changed his mind, and in
another moment it was too late: the door had closed behind Veit.
When Nordheim was alone, he began to pace the room rapidly to and fro.
Now when there were no witnesses present it was evident that the
interview had nowise left him as indifferent as he had feigned to be.
There was a deep furrow in his brow, and in his face anger and anxiety
strove for the mastery; gradually he began to be calmer, and at last he
paused and said, half aloud, "'Tis folly to allow this to discompose me
thus. He has no proof. I deny everything."
He turned towards his writing-table, when suddenly he stood rooted
to the spot, and a low cry escaped his lips. The door of his
sleeping-apartment had opened noiselessly, and upon the threshold stood
Alice, ashy pale, both hands clasped against her breast, and her large
eyes riveted upon her father, who recoiled from her as from some
spectre.
"You here?" he said, harshly. "How did you come here? Have you heard
anything of what has been said?"
"Yes,--I heard everything," the young girl replied, scarce audibly.
Then for the first time Nordheim changed colour. His daughter present
at that interview! But the next moment he had collected himself; it
surely could not be difficult to divest of all suspicion the mind of
this innocent, inexperienced girl who had always yielded so readily to
his authority. "It certainly was not meant for your ears," he said,
with asperity. "I really cannot understand your playing the part of
eavesdropper when you must have heard that a purely business matter was
under discussion. You have now been witness to an attempt to blackmail
your father,--an attempt which I ought perhaps to have repulsed more
decidedly. But such audacious liars have the best men at a
disadvantage. The world is ever too ready to credit a falsehood, and
where a man is, like myself, engaged in great undertakings, demanding
principally the entire confidence of the public, he cannot afford to
expose himself to the faintest suspicion. It is better to be rid of
such fellows as this man, who live by blackmail, at the expense of a
sum of money;----but you understand nothing of it all! Go to your room,
and pray do not visit mine in secret again."
His words did not produce the desired effect: Alice stood motionless.
She made no reply; she did not stir; and her silence seemed to irritate
the president still further.
"Do you not hear me?" he said. "I wish to be alone, and I require that
no word of what you have heard should pass your lips. Now go!"
Instead of obeying, Alice slowly approached him, and said, in a
strange, nervous tone, "Papa, I have something to say to you."
"About what? Not this attempt at blackmail, I trust? I have explained
to you how matters stand, and you will hardly give credence to that
scoundrel."
"That man was no scoundrel," the young girl replied, in the same
strange tone.
"Indeed?" the president burst forth. "And what am I, then, in your
eyes?"
No answer, only the same rigid distressed look riveted upon her
father's face. There was no longer any question in it, but a
condemnation, and Nordheim could not bear it. He had confronted his
accuser with a brazen brow, before his child's eyes his own sought the
ground.
Alice caught her breath; at first her voice failed her, but it gained
in firmness as she went on:
"I came here to make a confession, papa, to tell you something that
might have angered you. I do not care to speak of it now. I have only
one question to ask you: Are you going to afford--Dr. Reinsfeld the
satisfaction required of you?"
"Not at all, I shall abide by my last words."
"Then I shall give it to him in your stead."
"Alice, are you bereft of your senses?" the president, now really
alarmed, exclaimed; but she went on, undeterred:
"He does not indeed need your confession, for he knows the truth; he
must have long known it. Now I know why he changed so suddenly, why he
often looked at me so sadly, and never would betray what troubled him.
He knows everything. And yet he has shown me nothing save kindness and
compassion, has used every effort to restore me to health,--me, the
daughter of the man who----" She could not finish the sentence.
Nordheim made no further attempt to appear indignant, for he saw that
Alice was not to be imposed upon, and he also saw that he must give up
the attempt to control her by severity. She had foolishly resolved upon
what might ruin him; her silence must be secured at all hazards.
"I, too, am convinced that Dr. Reinsfeld has nothing to do with the
matter," he said, more calmly; "that he is sufficiently wise to see the
folly of such threats. As for your silly purpose to speak of them to
him, I am sure you are not in earnest. What is the affair to you?"
The young girl stood erect, and her face took on an indescribably stern
expression quite foreign to it: "It ought indeed to be much more to
you, papa! You knew that Dr. Reinsfeld dwelt near us, that he laboured
night and day, in absolute poverty, and you never even tried to make
good to him the wrong done to his father. Life and mankind have been so
cruel to him: he was thrust out into the world in his childhood; as a
student he lacked every means of support, while you won millions with
that money, built palaces, and lived in luxury. At least do what Gronau
asks, papa. You must,--or I shall attempt it myself."
"Alice!" Nordheim exclaimed, between anger and utter amazement at
finding his daughter, the gentle, docile creature who had never before
ventured to contradict him, now laying down the law for him. "Have you
no idea of the meaning of the affair? Would you deliver up your father
to his worst enemy, who----"
"Benno Reinsfeld is not your enemy," Alice interrupted him. "If he
were, he would long since have made use of the secret to extort from
you something quite different from that demanded by Gronau,--for--he
loves me!"
"Reinsfeld--loves you?"
"Yes,--I know it, although he has never told me so. I am betrothed to
another, and he, who could obtain from you what he chose by threats, is
going from here without one demand, without even a word with you,
because he would fain spare me the terrible knowledge, which,
nevertheless, is now mine. You do not dream of the extent of this man's
magnanimity. I now know it all!"
The president stood speechless; he was not prepared for this turn of
affairs, for it required no great amount of perspicacity to perceive
that Benno's love was returned. The girl's passionate indignation spoke
plainly enough, and if Reinsfeld really knew the story of the past--and
that he did so seemed beyond a doubt--there was in fact but one
explanation of his reserve and his silence in a matter so nearly
concerning him. He had relinquished the advantage which his knowledge
gave him that she whom he loved might be saved from disgrace. There was
nothing therefore to apprehend from him; the father of the girl whom he
loved was secure from his revenge, and perhaps he might induce Gronau
also to be silent.
"This is an astounding piece of news!" Nordheim said, slowly, after a
short pause, during which he had watched his daughter narrowly. "And I
hear it rather late. You spoke just now of a confession. What had you
to tell me?"
Alice cast down her eyes, and a burning blush replaced the pallor of
her cheek: "That I do not love Wolfgang, nor does he love me," she
answered, in a low tone. "I did not know it at first myself, but it has
become clear to me within the last few days."
She confidently expected a burst of anger from her father, but nothing
of the kind ensued; on the contrary, his voice was quite changed, as he
said, in an unusually gentle tone, "Why have you no confidence in me,
Alice? I would not force my only daughter to contract a marriage in
which her heart had no share; but this must be well considered and
reflected upon. For the present I only ask that you will not be
overhasty in your resolves, but will leave it to me to find a solution
of the difficulty. Trust your father, my child; you shall have no cause
for dissatisfaction with him."
He stooped to press a paternal kiss upon her forehead, but she shrank
away from the caress with an evident expression of dislike.
"What does this mean?" Nordheim asked, with a frown. "Are you afraid of
me? Do you not believe me?"
She raised her eyes to his with the same hard, accusing look in them,
and her voice, usually so gentle, was inexorably stern, as she replied,
"No, papa; I believe neither in your love nor in your kindness. I shall
never believe you again,--never!"
Nordheim bit his lip and turned away, mutely motioning to her to leave
the room. As mutely she obeyed.
She had rightly divined that the president never for a moment
entertained the idea of a marriage between his daughter and the young
physician, although he had no scruples in hinting at such a possibility
in order to avert for the moment a threatening danger. But he had
miscalculated his daughter's insight; the young, inexperienced girl had
seen through his device, and, man of iron though he was, he could not
endure it. He had preserved his composure in presence of Wolfgang's
haughty indignation and of Gronau's threats. His anger had been
aroused, and at most he had experienced a vague dread. Now for the
first time in his life he felt the sting of shame. Even although the
danger menacing him should be averted, he could not away with the
consciousness that he was judged and condemned by his only child.