The banker had been summoned, and the emperor awaited his coming. In the impatience of his heart he had sent a courier, and after the courier his own carriage, for he could not endure his suspense one moment longer than was unavoidable.
Often as he paced the room, his heart throbbing violently, he paused to listen, and then glanced again and again at the clock to see if the banker could be nigh.
"If it be true," thought he, resuming his agitated walk, "I never shall trust man again. I believed that Gunther's heart was as noble as his face. Is it possible that such a countenance should lie? Gunther, the generous, disinterested Gunther—can it be that he has sold my secrets? I cannot, will not believe it. I must see himself, and hear his defence from his own lips."
Hurried along by this magnanimous impulse, the emperor approached the door. But he paused, and shook his head.
"No, no. Conviction must come from testimony, not from assertion. Men are all actors, and often have I seen how skilfully they wear the mask of innocence. I have been too often deceived. Ah! there at last is the banker."
Yes, it was he. The page flung open the door, and announced:
"Baron von Eskoles Flies."
The baron entered the room. He had grown old since Rachel's flight. Scarcely a year had elapsed since then; but in that year her father's raven locks had become white as snow, and the stalwart man of fifty had grown old and feeble.
The emperor came forward, and extended his hand.
"Look at me, Eskeles," said he, in his quick, eager way; "do not bow so ceremoniously, we have no time to waste on formalities. Look at me, and let me see whether you are an honest man scorning falsehood, even though it might shield a fellow-creature from harm."