Eric breathed with still greater difficulty, and could not utter a word.
"You are surprised?" asked Sonnenkamp. "I know the Jewish banker has been refused,—and I even think—the gentlemen are very shrewd—I even think—however, it doesn't make any difference; every one works his own way. I know also that a certain Doctor Fritz has been at the philanthropist Weidmann's, and that he has spoken a good deal of slander about a man whom I unfortunately resemble—isn't it so? I see it in your countenance. I hope, however, that you will not—no, be quite at ease, my dear, good friend; rejoice with me and for our Roland."
Eric looked up now freely. There is certainly some mistake here, for the man could not be so composed, if he had anything to dread.
Sonnenkamp continued:—
"You will remain our friends, you and your noble mother."
He held out his hand; now again Eric shuddered all over. The ring on his thumb—is that too a mystery, a deception? Sonnenkamp could not but feel that there was something wrong; he suddenly drew back the outstretched hand, as if a wild beast had extended its claw towards it, but said with great composure:—
"I know you are an opposer of election to the nobility."
"No; more than that, I wanted to say something," interposed Eric; but Sonnenkamp interrupted him hastily.
"Excuse me if I do not wish to hear any more."
Suddenly shifting the conversation, he continued in an earnest tone, saying that Eric had now only the finishing stroke to put to his work, by guiding and fortifying Roland into a true appreciation of his new position and his new name.