He thought of Bianca in the old days, and called to mind the "Carnival of Venice," the little supper at Pfortes—and in the midst of it all loomed the stiff, upright figure and solemn, clean-shaven face of Banker Hermansen.
He had never dreamed of such a marvel, still less expected to meet with it as a reality.
That same afternoon came a card from Hermansen: would be glad if Mr. Holm could find time to come round some time during the day—a private matter. "And if you would not mind coming in by the side door, you will find me alone in the office."
Holm had once before been invited to call upon the banker "privately"—in 1879, when he had been called upon to show his balance-sheet.
The mere thought of it gave him cold shivers even now. A devilish business! And the nasty mean way all his valuations were cut down....
He went in by the side entrance, and noticed how empty and deserted the place looked. The long counter and all the green-covered desks stood as if yawning wearily in the afternoon sun. It was almost uncanny to find everything so quiet.
The banker did not seem to notice his entry at first, but sat intent upon some papers at the big oak table.
"Good afternoon, Banker!"
"Ah, there you are! Forgive my troubling you to come round, Mr. Holm, but...."
He broke off, uncertain how to proceed. The two ancient antagonists exchanged glances.