"That man was no scoundrel," the young girl replied, in the same strange tone.
"Indeed?" the president burst forth. "And what am I, then, in your eyes?"
No answer, only the same rigid distressed look riveted upon her father's face. There was no longer any question in it, but a condemnation, and Nordheim could not bear it. He had confronted his accuser with a brazen brow, before his child's eyes his own sought the ground.
Alice caught her breath; at first her voice failed her, but it gained in firmness as she went on:
"I came here to make a confession, papa, to tell you something that might have angered you. I do not care to speak of it now. I have only one question to ask you: Are you going to afford--Dr. Reinsfeld the satisfaction required of you?"
"Not at all, I shall abide by my last words."
"Then I shall give it to him in your stead."
"Alice, are you bereft of your senses?" the president, now really alarmed, exclaimed; but she went on, undeterred:
"He does not indeed need your confession, for he knows the truth; he must have long known it. Now I know why he changed so suddenly, why he often looked at me so sadly, and never would betray what troubled him. He knows everything. And yet he has shown me nothing save kindness and compassion, has used every effort to restore me to health,--me, the daughter of the man who----" She could not finish the sentence.
Nordheim made no further attempt to appear indignant, for he saw that Alice was not to be imposed upon, and he also saw that he must give up the attempt to control her by severity. She had foolishly resolved upon what might ruin him; her silence must be secured at all hazards.