Dr. Peterssen (airily): "I, sweet comrade in the shady paths, I, Dr. Peterssen--nu ghost, flesh and blood. You received my note."
M. Felix: "Written in a woman's hand, signed in a woman's name!"
Dr. Peterssen: "I knew that was the best bait to hook my fish. And the knock, too, that you yourself and no one else--no prying housekeepers or servants--must answer. Still the same Don Juan as ever. But it is biting cold here. Let us get into your cosy room and talk."
M. Felix: "Not to-night."
Dr. Peterssen: "I am not to be put off, friend of my soul. We will have our little say to-night."
M. Felix: "I have friends with me. I cannot receive you now."
Dr. Peterssen: "A lie. You have no friends with you." (His tone changing to one of undisguised brutality.) "If you keep me waiting here one minute longer I will ruin you. Do you forget our pleasant partnership in Switzerland nineteen years ago? Do you forget your brother Gerald?"
M. Felix: "Hush! Come in. Step softly."
That was all. The door was closed, and all was still.
Emilia stood upright, with a face as white as the falling snow. The words with their hidden meanings, the voices with their varying tones, the trick by which Dr. Peterssen had found it necessary to obtain admission to the presence of M. Felix, the veiled threats, the allusions to the partnership in Switzerland and to her dear Gerald--what did all these portend? What but a secret plot, unknown to her, unknown to all but its accomplices, a plot in which Gerald had been involved, and therefore she? Oh, for some beneficent gift to pierce those walls, to hear what those villains were saying! But it was idle and might be hurtful to indulge in vain, impracticable wishes. She summoned all her fortitude. Scarcely now could she hope to obtain speech to-night with the man whom she believed had ruined her life, and who could ruin it still further. But she would not desert her post; she would wait and hope. She heeded not the bitter, piercing cold; she seemed to be divinely armed against physical suffering. So she tramped slowly up and down the street through the deep snow, keeping her eyes fixed ever on the windows of the room in which the conspirators were conversing, walking backward with her face to them when she went from the house. Visions of the past rose before her; the white snow falling even in this narrow street brought back the snow mountains of Switzerland, where last she had seen the two enemies within hail of her. "Strengthen me, oh, God of the universe!" she murmured. "Endow me with power to fulfil my task, so that I may keep shame and sorrow from my beloved child."