Never had Timar suffered such torture as in the long hours till the evening of the next day. He followed Athalie's advice, and remained at home till noon. After dinner he said he must go to the Platten See and look after the fishery he had hired.
As he had crossed the ice-floes of the Danube on foot to get to Komorn, he could easily go over again without luggage in the same way. His carriage too was waiting on that side, for it had not yet been able to get across: a road would have to be prepared. Without any interview with his agents, without a glance at his books, he thrust a pile of bank-notes, uncounted, into his pocket, and left the house. At the threshold he met the postman, who brought a registered letter, and demanded a receipt. Michael was in too great haste to go back to his room; he carried pen and ink with him, and laying the receipt on the broad back of the postman, he signed his name to it. Then he looked at the letter. It was from his agent at Rio Janeiro; but without opening it, he put it in his pocket. What did he care for all the flour trade in the world? He kept one room in his house in the Servian Street always heated in winter. This room was entered by a separate staircase, which was kept locked, and was divided by several empty rooms from the offices. Timar reached it unobserved; there he sat down by the window and waited.
The cold north wind outside drew lovely ice-flowers on the window-panes, so that no one could see in or out.
Now he would get what he wanted—the proof of Timéa's infidelity. And yet—yet, the thought hurt him so deeply! While his fancy pictured this first private rendezvous between that woman and that man, every drop of blood seemed to rush to the surface and darken the light of his mind.
Shame, jealousy, thirst for vengeance consumed him.
It is hard to endure humiliation, even if some advantage is to be derived from it. He now began to feel what a treasure he possessed in Timéa. He had been ready enough to abandon this treasure, or even voluntarily to give it back, but to allow himself to be robbed of it!—the thought enraged him. He struggled with himself as to what he should do. If Athalie's instilled poison had reached his heart, he would have kept to the idea of a murderous rush with a dagger in his hand from behind the picture, so as to kill the faithless wife amidst the hottest caresses of her lover. Athalie panted for Timéa's blood; but a husband's revenge seeks a different object—he must have the man's life. Not like an assassin, but face to face—each with a sword in his hand, and then a struggle for life or death. Then, again, cold-blooded calculating reason comes uppermost, and says, "Why shed blood? you want scandal, not revenge; you should rush from your hiding-place, call in the servants, and drive the guilty woman and her seducer from your house. So a reasonable being would act. You are no soldier to seek satisfaction at the point of the sword. Here is the judge, and here the law."
But still he could not forbear from keeping stiletto and pistol ready on the table as Athalie had advised. Who knows what may happen? The moment will decide which gets the upper hand—whether the vengeful assassin, the dishonored husband, or the prudent man of business who would reckon an open scandal to his credit side, as facilitating the desired divorce.
Meanwhile evening had come. One lamp after another was lighted: Herr von Levetinczy paid for the lighting of this street out of his own pocket. The shadows of the passers-by flitted across the frozen panes.
One such figure stopped before the window, and a low knock was heard. It seemed to Timar as if the ice-flowers detached from the glass by the tap were the rustling leaves of a fairy forest, which whispered to him, "Do not go." He hesitated. The tap was repeated.
"I am coming!" he called in a low voice, took pistol and dagger, and crept out of the house.