For a moment there was absolute silence. An angry gleam flashed from Oswald's eyes as he fixed them on the Conte.
The ticking of the two men's watches could almost be heard, the lounging steps of the passers-by in the street below were distinctly audible. At last Oswald said contemptuously and clearly: "The sale of my pastures is not of the slightest importance to me in comparison with public interests. Moreover, we, you and I, do not speak the same language, we might talk together a long time and fail to understand each other. Therefore it seems useless to prolong this conversation." With which he arose.
Capriani, however, did not stir, but calmly returned the young man's look. Something like triumphant scorn, something that was almost a menace shone in his eyes.
"You refuse then to speak a word to the ministry in favour of my scheme?" he asked slowly and with a sneer.
"Decidedly," replied Oswald.
With head slightly thrown back, twisting his watch chain around his forefinger, he looked down at the Crœ sus. He was one of the few to whom haughtiness is becoming.
Was it possible that Capriani, the least imaginative, the most avaricious of men, could succumb to this personal charm?
The Conte suddenly arose, gathered up the map, crushed it together, and dashing it on the floor, stamped on it. "I could carry it out, and it is my favourite scheme," he cried, "but what of that, I give it up, Alfred Stein can do as he chooses. I throw away millions for your sake! For your sake, Count Oswald!"
His agitation was terrible and extreme, as he held out both hands to the young man.
Oswald angrily retreated a step. Had the man escaped from a lunatic asylum?