Debit and Credit Part 48

"I do not know. My advice was not very American."

"But it was worthy of you," cried Sabine, with proud delight.

"An officer wishes to speak to Mr. Wohlfart," said a servant at the door.

Anton sprang up. Sabine went to her flowers and bent mournfully over them. The shadows of others hovered still between her friend and her.

The few words spoken by the servant filled Anton with a vague terror. He hurried into the ante-room: there stood Eugene von Rothsattel. Anton was gladly rus.h.i.+ng forward to greet him, but the young soldier's face of agony made him start back. He whispered, "My mother wishes to speak to you; something dreadful has occurred." Anton caught up his hat, ran into the office, hurriedly asked Baumann to excuse him to the princ.i.p.al, and then accompanied the lieutenant to the baron's house.

On the way, Eugene, who had lost all self-command, said unconnectedly to Anton, "My father last night accidentally wounded himself by a pistol-shot--a messenger was sent to summon me--when I came, I found my mother in a swoon--my sister and I do not know what to do--Lenore implored my mother on her knees to send for you--you are the only one in whom we have any confidence in our distress--I understand nothing about business, but my father's affairs must be in a dreadful state--my mother is beside herself--the whole house is in the greatest disorder."

From what Eugene said and what he did not say; from his broken sentences and his look of agony, Anton guessed at the horrors of the previous evening. In the boudoir of the baroness he found Lenore, weeping and exhausted.

"Dear Wohlfart!" cried she, taking his hand and beginning again to sob, while her head sank powerless on his shoulder.

Meanwhile Eugene walked up and down, wringing his hands, and at length throwing himself on the sofa, he gave himself up to silent tears.

"It is horrible, Mr. Wohlfart," said Lenore, lifting up her head. "No one may approach my father--Eugene may not, nor I--only my mother and old John are with him; and early this morning the merchant Ehrenthal was here, insisting that he must see my father. He screamed at my mother, and called my father a deceiver, till she fainted away. When I rushed into the room, the dreadful man went off threatening her with his clenched fist."

Anton led Lenore to a chair and waited till she had told him all. There was no possibility of comforting in this case, and his own heart was wrung to the utmost by the misery he witnessed.

"Call my mother, Eugene," said Lenore, at length.

Her brother left the room.

"Do not forsake us," implored Lenore, clasping her hands; "we are at the last gasp; even your help can not save us."

"He is dead who might perhaps have done so," mournfully replied Anton.

"Whether I can be of any use I know not, but you can not doubt my willingness to be so."

"No," cried Lenore. "And Eugene, too, thought of you at once."

The baroness now entered. She walked wearily; but, steadying herself by a chair, she saluted Anton with dignity. "In our position," said she, "we need a friend who knows more of business than we three do. An unfortunate accident prevents the baron--possibly for a long time to come--from managing his own affairs, and, little as I understand them, I can see that our interests require prompt measures. My children have mentioned you to me, but I fear I am unreasonable in asking you to devote your time to our service."

She sat down, beckoned Anton to take a chair, and said to her children, "Leave us; I shall be better able to tell Mr. Wohlfart the little that I know when I do not see your grief."

When they were alone, she motioned him nearer and tried to speak, but her lips quivered, and she hid her face in her handkerchief.

"Before I can consent, gracious lady," said he, "to your reposing in me such confidence as this, I must first inquire whether the baron has no relative or intimate friend to whom you could with less pain make such a communication. I pray you to remember that my own knowledge of business is but small, and my position not one to const.i.tute me a proper counselor to the baron."

"I know no one," said the baroness, hopelessly. "It is less painful to me to tell you what I can not conceal, than to one of our own circle.

Consider yourself a physician sent for to visit a patient. The baron has this morning told me some particulars of his present circ.u.mstances." And then she proceeded to relate what she had gathered as to the nature of his embarra.s.sments, the danger in which the family property was placed, and the capital needed to take possession of the Polish estate.

"My husband," continued she, "has given me the key of his desk, and he wishes Eugene, with the help of a man of business, to go over his papers. I now request of you to make this examination together with my son. When you need explanations, I will try to obtain them from the baron. The question is now, whether you are inclined to undertake this trouble for us, who are only strangers."

"I am most willing to do so," earnestly replied Anton; "and I hope that the kindness of my princ.i.p.al will allow me the time needful for the purpose, if you do not consider it more advisable to depute the baron's experienced legal adviser to the task."

"There will be an opportunity of asking that gentleman's advice later,"

said the baroness.

Anton rose. "When do you wish to begin?"

"Immediately. I fear there is not a day to lose. I shall do all I can to help you look the papers over." She led Anton into the next room, called in Eugene, and unlocked the baron's desk. As she opened it she lost her self-command for a moment, and moving to the window, the quivering of the curtains betrayed the anguish that shook her fragile frame.

The mournful task began. Hour after hour pa.s.sed. Eugene was in no condition to peruse any thing, but his mother reached letters and doc.u.ments to Anton, and, though often obliged to desist a while, she bravely returned to the task. Anton placed the papers in order, and sought, by glancing over each, to arrive at least at a superficial view of the facts of the case.

It was evening, when the old servant opened the door in dismay, and called out, "He is there again." The baroness could not repress a slight scream, and made a gesture of aversion.

"I have told him that no one is at home, but he will not be dismissed; he makes such a noise on the steps. I can not get rid of him."

"It will kill me if I hear his voice again," murmured the baroness.

"If the man be Ehrenthal," said Anton, rising, "I will try to get him away. We have now done what was most necessary; have the goodness to lock up these papers, and to allow me to return to-morrow." The baroness silently a.s.sented, and sank back in her chair. Anton hurried off to the ante-room, whence he could hear Ehrenthal's loudly-raised voice.

The appearance of the usurer shocked him. His hat pushed half off his head, his pale face swelled as if by drinking, his glazed eyes red with tears, Ehrenthal stood before him, calling in broken sentences for the baron, wailing and cursing alternately. "He must come! he must come at once!" cried he; "the wicked man! A n.o.bleman, indeed! he is a vagabond, after whom I will send the police. Where is my money? Where is my security? I want my mortgage from this man who is not at home."

Anton went straight up to him, and asked, "Do you know me, Mr.

Ehrenthal?" Ehrenthal turned his glazed eyes upon him, and gradually recognized the friend of his dead son.

"He loved you!" he cried, in a lamentable voice. "He spoke to you more than to his father. You were the only friend that he had on earth. Have you heard what has happened in the house of Ehrenthal?" continued he, in a whisper. "Just as they stole the papers he died. He died with a hand like this," and clenching his fist he struck his forehead. "Oh my son!

my son! why didst not thou forgive thy father!"

"We will go to your son," said Anton, taking the arm of the old man, who unresistingly allowed himself to be led back to his own house.

From thence Anton hurried to Councilor Horn, with whom he had a long conversation.

It was late before he returned home. In the midst of his anxiety about those whose prosperity had filled his imagination years before, the confidence that they, in their adversity, reposed in him, dilated his breast with a feeling of pride. He burned with desire to help them, and hoped that his zealous devotion might yet find some way of rescue. As yet he saw none. Looking up at the great building before him, so firm and secure, in the moonlight, a thought flashed into his mind. If any man could help them, it was his princ.i.p.al. His keen eye would be able to unravel all the dark secrets in which the baron was entangled, and his iron strength of will would crush the villains who held the unfortunate n.o.bleman in their power. And then he had a n.o.ble nature; he always decided on the right, without an effort or a struggle. Anton looked at the first floor. The whole house-front was dark, but in a corner room a light still burned. It was the private office of his chief.

With sudden resolve, Anton begged the servant to take him to Mr.

Schroter, who looked with amazement at the unexpected visitor, and asked what brought him, and whether any thing had happened.

"I implore your counsel--I implore your help," cried Anton.

"For yourself or for others?" inquired the merchant.

"For a family with whom I have accidentally become connected. They are lost if a strong hand does not ward off the impending catastrophe."

Anton then rapidly related the occurrences of the afternoon, and, seizing his princ.i.p.al's hand in his emotion, cried, "Have pity upon the unhappy ladies, and help them."

"Help them!" replied the merchant; "how can I? Have you been commissioned to apply to me, or are you only following the impulse of your own feelings?"

"I am not commissioned; it is only the interest that I take in the baron's fate which leads me to you."

"And what right have you to inform me of facts communicated in strict confidence to yourself by the baron's lady?" asked the merchant, dryly.

"I am committing no indiscretion in telling you what will, in a few days, be no secret, even to strangers."

"You are unusually excited, otherwise you would not forget that, under no circ.u.mstances whatever, does a man of business venture to make such a communication without the special permission of the parties concerned.

Of course, I shall make no wrong use of what you have said, but it was by no means business-like, Wohlfart, to be so open toward me."