Hitherto Paul's existence had pursued a smooth, commonplace track; he had always seen clearly the duty that lay nearest him, and even in the only troubled time he could remember, the years he had devoted to business before his father's death, he had never doubted what path to follow. The large accession of wealth that had been the consequence of the enlargement of his business had never moved him; it was of value to him only as a source of content to his father, and thus the success that crowned his efforts left him cold.
Nor had his father's odd will made any great impression upon him; he regarded it as the result of the morbid desire of the sick man to atone, by some special acknowledgment of love and esteem, for any neglect of his son in past years. But now, as he tossed restlessly upon his bed, this will recurred to his mind, and he racked his brain to discover any connection that it might have with the doctor's words. In vain; and the more he pondered the more confused became his thoughts; his head throbbed: he could not stay in bed; he arose, dressed, and lighting a candle took a book and began to read. It was long before he could command his thoughts sufficiently to understand as he read; but at last his mind became more composed, and before morning he was able to throw himself upon his bed once more and snatch an hour's refreshing slumber before he was roused by the early noises in the awakening village.
Herwarth did not awake until eight o'clock from his long night's rest, which he declared had so strengthened him that he was eager after he was dressed to repair again to the balcony. This Paul positively forbade until his patient had received the doctor, who upon his professional visit of the day before had promised to come early in the morning.
Kuno was too grateful a patient to rebel; but the time seemed long until, shortly after the clock of the village church had struck ten, the heavy tread of Dr. Putzer was heard outside the door of their sitting-room.
Upon entering the doctor looked very much as if he too had passed but a sorry night, his red, bloated face had a weary, dragged expression, his watery, lack-lustre eyes were dimmer than ever and his step was unsteady. Still, he was certainly no longer intoxicated, although the flush upon his cheeks betokened that he had possibly indulged in a morning glass.
Putzer saluted the two gentlemen with the same quiet affability that had distinguished him upon his first professional visit, asked intelligently about the injured foot, and was in his whole bearing so entirely the educated man of the world, the benevolent physician, that no one could have recognized in him the brutal drunkard who had been led from the inn by the stable-boy on the previous evening.
He examined Kuno's foot, expressing great satisfaction at the improvement produced in it by the wet applications, and he then proceeded to bandage it more firmly than before, with such gentleness and dexterity that Delmar was really amazed, and almost wondered whether this could be the same man who had left them on the previous evening.
"In two weeks," said Putzer, rubbing his hands after he had finished, "we shall remove all bandages, and I will go surety that you shall walk as well as ever if you will remember not to use the foot in the mean time, except to hobble out upon the balcony, where you must sit with it up in a chair."
Kuno promised obedience.
"You have no further need of my aid," the doctor rejoined upon this promise, "unless you should feel any pain again, when I beg you to send for me. Nevertheless, I hope to see you frequently on the balcony. I come to the Post every evening and drink my glass of wine, either there or in the inn parlour. I have the honour to bid you good-morning."