"What do you want with me, man," he cried, "that you torture me thus?"
The pastor bowed his massive head almost humbly.
"I only want to remind you that you owe me a debt of gratitude," he
said, "and I wish you to make it good to my son. Here I stand--may God
pardon me--here I stand and entreat you to fight with him, and if you
can't help yourself, shoot him dead."
There was a silence.
The old clock in the corner chimed half-past eleven.
"This time to-morrow," thought Leo, "I shall be walking to my death."
And with this reflection he thrust from him the old memories which had
begun to weave a coil of softening sentiment about his soul. He would
have liked to pour out the whole gamut of emotions surging within him,
in curses on the head of this old man who had come to fight a desperate
battle on behalf of his despicable little son's honour.
He placed himself in front of him with his legs apart and his hands in
his pockets and laughed.
"Look at me," he shouted.
"I _am_ looking at you," replied the pastor.
"How jolly mild you are to-day, old fellow. You bleat like a lamb
instead of roaring like a lion. Now tell me, what do you see in my
face?"
"Mockery and scorn," was the answer, "scorn of me and the Lord above
us. That is all I see."
"Well, then, you don't see half. If you had the faintest conception of
who it is stands before you here, you would hurry off as fast as your
fat legs would permit. You come and talk to me about affairs of
honour--to me, and I am little more already than a living corpse! You
want me to singe a hole in your son's body, so that in a fortnight's
time he'll be all right again, and able to swagger with renewed
cocksureness--for that is what you are driving at with all these sugary
entreaties; but no, my old friend, I am not to be got over with any
such artifice--murder is in my heart. A cloud of blood hangs before my
eyes. You, too, seem to be swimming in it, and the lamp and everything
is red and dull from undiluted blood. Now you know what I am. And I
will tell you what more I am going to be. A perjurer, a cowardly hound,
sneaking out of the world in his thwarted lust and desperation. I have
desecrated the hearth of my dearest friend with my unlawful passions,
and I am going now to sprinkle it with blood rather than play the
basest part of all towards him. Yes, I shall heap scandal on scandal,
so that you will be ashamed, old man, that you ever knew me. And the
fine wines that you have drunk under my roof will taste as bitter as
gall in your remembrance. So tipple some more of it. Here goes! Your
health; to your health, old priest!"
And he drank, drank the whole bottle empty, and dashed it into a
corner.
The pastor stood like a man turned to stone. He tried to speak, but
speech forsook him.
"You think me a fool, I dare say, to blurt out all this," Leo
continued, "but I'll tell you why I do it. Simply because I can't
resist the tempting opportunity of holding a reckoning with you. For
who is to blame for the whole business? Why you--you, first of all, and
then Johanna. Between you, you have hounded me into this slough, where
I must sink. You began it. In the autumn I spoke my mind to you, but
then I was an angel of God compared with what I am to-day, and did not
foresee the end. Repent--I was to repent, repent, repent! Didn't I
raise my hands in self-defence and implore you to leave me alone, leave
me to live my life in my own way! But you had no mercy, neither you,
nor Johanna, nor _she_ who now is driven to the same extremity as I am.
Women in this world delight to send us to the devil. But now it is your
turn, my friend. You had no mercy on me then, so now I will show you
none. Let your charming boy heal his injured skin as best he can, let
him lay dock leaves on the wounds or ammonia, which he likes; and let
him heal his outraged honour with texts from the Bible. As for you, see
that you clear out of here as soon as possible. I have done with you,
and you with me. Christian!" He opened the door. "Christian, help the
Herr Pastor on with his coat. Good night" So saying, he threw himself
full length on the sofa and drummed on the leather with his heels,
taking no further notice of the pastor's proceedings.
The latter staggered out, hardly knowing what he did.
The cold night air brought him to his senses. He paused under the
courtyard gateway and considered. Then, instead of taking the road home
to Wengern, he skirted the park palings in the deep snow and went to
the dower-house. There he thundered with the knocker till he brought a
maid-servant, half asleep, to the door, and asked to speak to old Frau
Graefin instantly.
The next morning at eight o'clock a telegram was despatched from the
post-office at Muensterberg by Pastor Brenckenberg.
"_To Baron Kletzingk, Koenigsberg_,
"_Hotel Deutches Haus_.
"_Come home at once. Your house is in danger_.
"_Johanna_."