“Very well, you have done it—and why, pray? What conceivable good was there in it? I suppose you know that Nicholas has driven him to the frontier? Nicholas is probably more dead than alive by this time; you know his state of health.”
Herr Paul's fingers ploughed up his beard.
“Nicholas is mad—and the girl is mad! Leave me alone! I will not be made angry; do you understand? I will not be worried—I am not fit for it.” His prominent brown eyes stared round the room, as if looking for a way of escape.
“If I may prophesy, you will be worried a good deal,” said Mrs. Decie coldly, “before you have finished with this affair.”
The anxious, uncertain glance which Herr Paul gave her at these words roused an unwilling feeling of compunction in her.
“You are not made for the outraged father of the family,” she said. “You had better give up the attitude, Paul; it does not suit you.”
Herr Paul groaned.
“I suppose it is not your fault,” she added.
Just then the door was opened, and Fritz, with an air of saying the right thing, announced:
“A gentleman of the police to see you, sir.”