her with everything. If you’ve been too hard on me, he heard in his head, don’t do the same thing again to this one.
He reflected and considered. She read his face.
“What is he?” he asked.
“A Lieutenant.”
“In the Reichswehr?”
“Yes.”
“Do your parents know him?”
“I don’t think so. I don’t know for certain.”
Again he pondered. The fact that it was an officer, that is to say a man who, whatever he might be, was subject to a certain code of honor, was a little reassuring. If the young fellow had once forgotten himself and had withdrawn in fright, then to some extent it wasn’t so bad; just a momentary lapse, perhaps when he was drunk—no repetition need be feared. But he ought to find out. Could one, however, ask such a young girl whether it had only happened once, whether there had been any sequel? If it had happened several times, it was scoundrelism. Then he would have to tell her parents.
No, he did not like asking. Perhaps he would have to reproach himself afterwards, but he could not.
“You are sure it is over?”
“Quite sure!”
“You swear to that?” he asked, although he knew how useless such oaths were.
“I swear it!”
He had an uncomfortable feeling. Something was wrong; she must have lied to him somewhere. “If I am to keep quiet, you must promise me one thing. But on your word of honor.”
“Yes, of course.”
“If this man—this Lieutenant—should again approach you, you must let me know at once. Will you promise me that? Give me your hand.”
“On my word of honor!” she said, giving him her hand.
“All right, then. Let’s go. Try and find some pretext for sending your manservant Rader over to me this evening, as late as possible.”
“Fine!” she cried enthusiastically. “What will you do to him?”
“I’ll make the young fellow yelp,” he said grimly. “He won’t torment you again.”
“And if he runs to Papa?”
“We’ve got to risk that. But he won’t. I’ll put such fear into him he won’t want to. Blackmailers are always cowards.”
“Can you hear whether they are still talking in the office? Heavens, I must be looking awful. Please give me your handkerchief quickly; I must have lost mine—no, I didn’t bring one with me. I’ll never lie to you again, not even about little things. You are so nice, I’d never have thought it. If I wasn’t in love already, I’d fall in love with you on the spot.”
“That’s over, Fraulein,” said Pagel dryly. “Please don’t forget it—you swore that.”
“Why, of course.”
“All right, now let’s go and show ourselves under the window. The debate in there seems to be endless.”
IV
“Dear Lady,” Herr von Studmann had said, straightening Frau von Prackwitz’s desk chair, which he gladly granted her, “apologies for calling you. But we’re having a meeting here which you have to attend. We’re talking about money.…”
“Really?” said Frau Eva, examining herself in the shaving mirror. “Of course, that’s quite a new topic for me! Achim discusses it at least every day.”
“Eva, please!” cried the Rittmeister.
“And why does my friend Prackwitz speak of money every day? Because he hasn’t any. Because the smallest bill upsets him. Because the rent due on the first of October weighs on him like a nightmare. Because he is always wondering if he will be able to pay it.”
“Quite right, Studmann, I’m worried. I’m a prudent businessman.”
“Let’s examine your financial position. You have no capital; current expenses are paid from current income— that is to say, by sales of cattle, of early potatoes, the harvest.… You have no capital reserves.…” Studmann rubbed his nose thoughtfully. Frau von Prackwitz gazed at herself in the mirror. The bored Rittmeister leaned against the stove, hoping that Studman (this eternal nursemaid) would at least have sufficient tact not to talk of his gambling debts.
“Then comes the first of October,” went on Studmann. “On that date the annual rent has to be handed over in cash to Geheimrat von Teschow. This, as you ought to know, is equivalent to three thousand hundredweights of rye, and as far as I’ve been able to find out, the price is round about seven or eight gold marks a hundredweight, which would mean a sum of twenty-five thousand gold marks, not to be expressed in milliards—if only because we don’t know what the price of rye will be in paper marks on the first of October.” Von Studmann gazed at his victims, but they were not yet aware of the significance of his words.
“I’m very much obliged to you, Studmann, for bothering with all these things. But, if you’ll pardon me, we know them. The rent is somewhat high, but I’ve got a very nice crop standing in the fields, and now that I’m getting reapers—”
“Excuse me, Prackwitz, you don’t see the problem. On October the first you’ve got to give Herr von Teschow the value of three thousand hundredweights of rye. Since the gold mark is a fictitious standard, the price of rye in paper marks—”
“I understand all that, my dear Studmann, I know that.”
“But,” continued the inexorable Studmann, “you can’t deliver three thousand hundredweights of rye to the dealer in one day. Judging by your books, you require about fourteen days for that. Now suppose you deliver three hundredweights of rye on September the twentieth. The dealer, let us say, will give you three hundred milliards for it. You put the three hundred milliards in your safe ready for payment on October the first. In the period between September the twentieth and thirtieth the mark continues to fall. On September the thirtieth you’ll get from the dealer, let us say, six hundred milliards for the three hundred hundredweights. Then the three hundred milliards in your safe will only represent the value of one hundred and fifty hundredweights. You would have to deliver another one hundred and fifty hundredweights.… That’s clear, isn’t it?”
“Just a minute,” said the Rittmeister, perplexed. “How was that? Three hundred hundredweights are suddenly only one hundred and fifty?”
“Herr von Studmann is quite right,” asserted Frau von Prackwitz. “But it’s terrible. No one can afford that.”
“It’s a fourteen-day race with inflation,” said Studmann. “And it will exhaust us.”
“But the inflation won’t necessarily keep on like this!” exclaimed the Rittmeister indignantly.
“No, of course not. But one can’t tell. It depends on so much: on the French in the Ruhr, on the firmness of the present government, which wants to continue the Ruhr struggle at all costs and so needs more and more money, on the attitude of England and Italy, who still oppose France’s action. That is to say, on thousands of things we can’t influence—yet we have to pay on October the first whatever happens.”
“Can we do it, Herr von Studmann?”
“We can, Frau von Prackwitz.”
“There you are!” cried the Rittmeister, half laughing, half angry. “Just like Studmann! First he frightens us, then he has the solution to hand.”
“There are people,” said Studmann, unperturbed, “who believe in the perpetual depreciation of our currency, who speculate on a fall. They’d be prepared to buy your rye from you today, Prackwitz, payment to be made on October the first, delivery to be made October to November.… I have a few offers here.”
“The fellows will make a mint of money out of it,” said the Rittmeister bitterly.
“But you’ll be able to pay Papa the rent punctually and without loss, Achim! That’s what we have to consider.”
