‘Mercy!’ she could not utter any other word.
‘You see,’ said Rieseneck. ‘She is alive, she knows me!’
‘Mercy!’ groaned the wretched creature, fawning upon him with her wasted hands.
‘Down, beast!’ answered the tall old man with savage contempt. ‘There is no mercy for such as you.’
Greifenstein had stood still for some seconds, overcome by the horror of his shame. One glance told him that his brother had spoken the truth. He turned away and stood facing the empty room. His face was convulsed, his teeth ground upon each other, his hands were clenched as in the agony of death. From his straining eyes great tears rolled down his grey cheeks, the first and the last that he ever shed. And yet by that strange instinct of his character which abhorred all manifestation of emotion, he stood erect and motionless, as a soldier on parade. The deathblow had struck him, but he must die on his feet.
Then after a long pause, broken only by Clara’s incoherent groans and sobs, he heard Rieseneck’s footstep behind him, and then his brother’s voice, calling him by his name.
‘Hugo—what has this woman deserved?’
‘Death,’ answered Greifenstein solemnly.
‘She helped to ruin me through my faults, she has ruined you through no fault of yours. She must die.’
‘She must die,’ repeated Greifenstein.