"It will kill me if I hear his voice again," murmured the baroness.
"If the man be Ehrenthal," said Anton, rising, "I will try to get him away. We have now done what was most necessary; have the goodness to lock up these papers, and to allow me to return to-morrow." The baroness silently assented, and sank back in her chair. Anton hurried off to the ante-room, whence he could hear Ehrenthal's loudly-raised voice.
The appearance of the usurer shocked him. His hat pushed half off his head, his pale face swelled as if by drinking, his glazed eyes red with tears, Ehrenthal stood before him, calling in broken sentences for the baron, wailing and cursing alternately. "He must come! he must come at once!" cried he; "the wicked man! A nobleman, indeed! he is a vagabond, after whom I will send the police. Where is my money? Where is my security? I want my mortgage from this man who is not at home."
Anton went straight up to him, and asked, "Do you know me, Mr. Ehrenthal?" Ehrenthal turned his glazed eyes upon him, and gradually recognized the friend of his dead son.
"He loved you!" he cried, in a lamentable voice. "He spoke to you more than to his father. You were the only friend that he had on earth. Have you heard what has happened in the house of Ehrenthal?" continued he, in a whisper. "Just as they stole the papers he died. He died with a hand like this," and clenching his fist he struck his forehead. "Oh my son! my son! why didst not thou forgive thy father!"
"We will go to your son," said Anton, taking the arm of the old man, who unresistingly allowed himself to be led back to his own house.
From thence Anton hurried to Councilor Horn, with whom he had a long conversation.
It was late before he returned home. In the midst of his anxiety about those whose prosperity had filled his imagination years before, the confidence that they, in their adversity, reposed in him, dilated his breast with a feeling of pride. He burned with desire to help them, and hoped that his zealous devotion might yet find some way of rescue. As yet he saw none. Looking up at the great building before him, so firm and secure, in the moonlight, a thought flashed into his mind. If any man could help them, it was his principal. His keen eye would be able to unravel all the dark secrets in which the baron was entangled, and his iron strength of will would crush the villains who held the unfortunate nobleman in their power. And then he had a noble nature; he always decided on the right, without an effort or a struggle. Anton looked at the first floor. The whole house-front was dark, but in a corner room a light still burned. It was the private office of his chief.
With sudden resolve, Anton begged the servant to take him to Mr. Schröter, who looked with amazement at the unexpected visitor, and asked what brought him, and whether any thing had happened.
"I implore your counsel—I implore your help," cried Anton.