“Well, I’ll get the things for you if you want me to,” offered George and turned to leave the room. The door had scarcely closed behind him when a change came over the peddler. His old head rose from its drooping position, his bowed figure started up with youthful elasticity.
“Are you really fond of him?” he asked of the astonished Nanette, who stepped back a pace, stammering in answer: “Yes. Why do you ask? and who are you?”
“Never mind that, my dear child, but just answer the questions I have to ask, and answer truthfully, or it might occur to me to let your George know that he is not the first man you have loved.”
“What do you know?” she breathed in alarm.
The peddler laughed. “Oho, then he’s jealous! All the better for me—the Councillor was jealous too, wasn’t he?” Nanette looked at him in horror.
“The truth, therefore, you must tell me the truth, and get the others away, so I can speak to you alone. You must do this—or else I’ll tell George about the handsome carpenter in Church street, or about Franz Schmid, or—”
“For God’s sake, stop—stop—I’ll do anything you say.”
The girl sank back on her chair pale and trembling, while the peddler resumed his pose of a tired old man leaning against the stove. When George returned with a large basket, Nanette had calmed herself sufficiently to go about the unpacking of the articles in the hamper.
“George, won’t you please keep Lena out in the kitchen. Ask her to make some tea for us,” asked Nanette with well feigned assurance. George smiled a meaning smile and disappeared.
“I am particularly interested in the dead lady’s gloves,” said the peddler when they were alone again.