Von Sternburg ended his sentence with an expressive gesture.
"And Max—did he know?"
"Why, that's what killed him, man! Haven't you kept in touch with anybody in the Fatherland who would write you any news?"
"I haven't received a letter from a soul except Max and Stapfer since I came to America."
Von Sternburg gave a whistle of surprise.
"Then you don't even know how Max improved? Everybody thought when he married Hilda von Arnim that he did it merely for the pleasure of cutting you out. Forgive my speaking so plainly."
He laid a deprecating hand on von Rittenheim's knee. Friedrich nodded silently.
"I haven't a doubt in the world that that was his chief motive then. But after you left he fell a victim to the charm that she seems to exert over everybody who doesn't know her tricks—you must let me go on now," he said, quickly, in response to a motion of von Rittenheim's, "or I can't establish my case. He fell madly in love with her, and it made another man of him."
"There was much good in Max."
"Well hidden all through his youth, you must allow. He gave up drinking——"