Christian considered how he could convey money to Amadeus Voss without
humiliating him. Since it was agreed that they travel together, it was
necessary for Voss to have the proper outfit; and he possessed nothing
but what he had on.
Amadeus Voss understood the situation. The social abyss yawned between
them. Both men gazed helplessly into it, one on each shore.
In his own heart Voss mocked at the other’s weakness, and at the same
time loved him for his noble shame--loved him with that emotional self
that had been humiliated, estranged from the world, stamped on and
affronted from his youth on. He shuddered at the prospect of sitting
in the forester’s house again with perished hopes and empty hands, and
letting his soul bleed to death from the wounds of unattainable lures.
He brooded, regarding Christian almost with hatred. What will he do?
How will he conquer the difficulty?
Time passed. The matter was urgent.
On the last afternoon Christian said: “The hours crawl. Let us play
cards.” He took a pack of French cards from a drawer.
“I haven’t touched a card in my life,” Voss said.
“That doesn’t matter,” Christian replied. “All you need do is to tell
red from black. I’ll keep the bank. Bet on a colour. If you’ve bet on
red and I turn up red, you’ve won. How much will you risk? Let us start
with one taler.”
“Very well, here it is,” said Voss, and put the silver coin on the
table. Christian shuffled the cards and drew one. It was red.
“Risk your two talers now,” Christian advised. “Novices have luck.”
Voss won the two talers. The betting continued. Once or twice he lost.
But finally he had won thirty talers.
“Now you take the bank,” Christian proposed. He was secretly pleased
that his ruse was working so well.
He bet ten talers and lost. Then fifteen, then twenty, then thirty, and
lost again. He risked a hundred marks, two hundred, five hundred, more
and more, and still lost. Voss’s cheeks turned hectic red, then white
as chalk: his hands trembled, his teeth rattled. He was seized by a
terror that his luck would change, but he was incapable of speech or of
asking for an end of the game. The bank notes were piled up in front of
him. In half an hour he had won over four thousand marks.
Christian had previously marked the cards in a manner that no
inexperienced eye could detect. He knew exactly which colour Voss would
find. But the curious thing was that, though he forgot occasionally to
watch the markings, Voss still won.
Christian got up. “We’re in a hurry,” he said. “You must get ready for
our journey, Amadeus.”
Voss was overwhelmed by the change which had come over his life within
a few minutes. If a spark of suspicion glowed in his soul, he turned
away from it, and plunged into rich dreams.
The motor took them to Wiesbaden, and there, with Christian’s help,
Amadeus bought garments and linen, boots, hats, gloves, cravats, a
razor, a manicure set, and a trunk.
At ten o’clock that evening they sat in the sleeper. “Who am I now?”
asked Amadeus Voss. He looked about him with a curious and violent
glance, and pushed the blond hair from his forehead. “What do I
represent now? Give me an office and a title, Christian Wahnschaffe, in
order that I may know who I am.”
Christian watched the other’s excitement with quiet eyes. “Why should
you think yourself another to-night or changed from yesterday?” he
asked in surprise.