To add to my annoyance and perplexity, moreover, the old lawyer came to me again on the following day to tell me that further negotiations had taken place for the sale of the farms, and he pestered me to know whether I really meant to sell them out of the family, and whether the Count von Nauheim, as the Countess Minna's future husband, ought not to be told of the matter. His manner showed that he had a suspicion that something was being kept from him, and he resented it strongly.
It was obvious, of course, that if he went to von Nauheim the latter would jump at the chance of giving me trouble, and that if any suspicions were even hinted to him the results might be exceedingly awkward. Yet I could do nothing; and I was so irritated by the lawyer's persistence that I sent him away with a sharp reply that if he wished to retain my business he had better mind his own.
I could see he was vastly astonished at this and I more than half repented my words, but he had gone before I had quite recovered my temper. It was unbearable, however, that just when I had all the weight of a really important crisis on my shoulders I should be worried by a trumpery thing of this sort. I let him go, therefore, and tried to dismiss the matter from my thoughts, while I went on with the completion of my plans.
Everything else went as well as we could have wished. Minna herself entered heart and soul into the work, and in the many interviews we had during the next few days I could not have wished for a more loyal and trusty ally. Our little confidential conferences drew us very close together, moreover, and I saw with great delight that her spirits brightened.
The preparations for the critical work in Munich occupied her so fully that her thoughts were taken away from the grief caused by the death of her father, while the belief that success in our venture would open up a new life for her by freeing her from the marriage with von Nauheim and from the dreaded responsibilities of the throne raised hopes which brought with them happiness such as she had not known for months.
"I owe it all to you, cousin," she said once, for she grew to speak with absolute candor and unrestraint to me. "If only you had come to Gramberg earlier, I am sure you would have persuaded my father to abandon the scheme altogether; although I think sometimes that——"
"Well?" I asked when she paused.
"That it is a good thing you did not come earlier."
Her eyes were laughing, and the light in them was a pleasing thing to see.
"Perhaps it is. But why do you think so?"