"It is horrible, Mr. Wohlfart," said Lenore, lifting up her head. "No one may approach my father—Eugene may not, nor I—only my mother and old John are with him; and early this morning the merchant Ehrenthal was here, insisting that he must see my father. He screamed at my mother, and called my father a deceiver, till she fainted away. When I rushed into the room, the dreadful man went off threatening her with his clenched fist."
Anton led Lenore to a chair and waited till she had told him all. There was no possibility of comforting in this case, and his own heart was wrung to the utmost by the misery he witnessed.
"Call my mother, Eugene," said Lenore, at length.
Her brother left the room.
"Do not forsake us," implored Lenore, clasping her hands; "we are at the last gasp; even your help can not save us."
"He is dead who might perhaps have done so," mournfully replied Anton. "Whether I can be of any use I know not, but you can not doubt my willingness to be so."
"No," cried Lenore. "And Eugene, too, thought of you at once."
The baroness now entered. She walked wearily; but, steadying herself by a chair, she saluted Anton with dignity. "In our position," said she, "we need a friend who knows more of business than we three do. An unfortunate accident prevents the baron—possibly for a long time to come—from managing his own affairs, and, little as I understand them, I can see that our interests require prompt measures. My children have mentioned you to me, but I fear I am unreasonable in asking you to devote your time to our service."
She sat down, beckoned Anton to take a chair, and said to her children, "Leave us; I shall be better able to tell Mr. Wohlfart the little that I know when I do not see your grief."
When they were alone, she motioned him nearer and tried to speak, but her lips quivered, and she hid her face in her handkerchief.