"This is a sad sight, Herr von Lohm," said the lawyer.
"It is," agreed Axel, reaching down his plate. He allowed some of the mess to be poured into it; he was not going to starve only because the soup was potent.
"I expected you yesterday," he said to the lawyer.
"Ah—I was engaged yesterday."
The lawyer's manner was so peculiar that Axel stared at him, doubtful if he really were the right man. He was a native of Stralsund, and Axel had employed him ever since he came into his estate, and had found his work satisfactory, and his manners exceedingly polite—so polite, indeed, as to verge on cringing; but then, as Manske would have pointed out, he was a Jew. Now the whole man was changed. The ingratiating smiles, the bows, the rubbed hands, where were they? The lawyer sat at his ease on the one chair, his hands in his pockets, a toothpick in his mouth, and scrutinised Axel while he told him his case, with an insolent look of incredulity.
"He actually believes I set the place on fire," thought Axel, struck by the look.
He did actually believe it. He always believed the worst, for his experience had been that the worst is what comes most often nearest the truth; but then, as Manske would have explained, he was a Jew.
The interview was extremely unsatisfactory. "I have an appointment," said the lawyer, pulling out his watch before they had half discussed the situation.
"You appear to forget that this is a matter of enormous importance to me," said Axel, wrath in his eyes and voice.
"That is what each of my clients invariably says," replied the lawyer, stretching across the table for his gloves.