“Extraordinary! most extraordinary!” said the Councillor; “as the agent of the Baroness, to whom the half belongs, we certainly allowed him to invest the whole, but still—”
“Beware! beware!” gasped the other. “There is something wrong—very wrong. Yesterday Golm throws half a million into the market; I keep up the price notwithstanding to thirty; this morning that abominable speech of Lasker’s—down they go to twenty; this afternoon I have to pay Giraldi every farthing of the Golm mortgage. I have struggled, I am struggling still desperately, but there are limits to everything.”
“It is very hard,” said the Councillor, sighing. “Our splendid, splendid enterprise! The Minister, too, was quite in despair today; but—shall we not go upstairs? We can go on with our conversation there. I have several things of importance to communicate to you.”
“Hush!” said Lübbener.
He stood listening intently, then walked quickly to the big window from which he could see out of the cloakroom into the vestibule, shook his head and came back to the Councillor, muttering unintelligibly between his pale lips.
“What is the matter now?” said the Councillor anxiously.
The banker’s little black eyes glanced towards the servants in the cloakroom. They could hear nothing, and were moreover occupied in arranging their numbers; then he made the Councillor a sign to stoop his tall figure to him.
“I ought to have consulted you properly, but the danger that he”—the banker pointed with his finger in the direction from which the noise of the ball came—“was too great. Our four millions preference shares which would have to be issued now—”
“Good heavens!” said the Councillor.
“It was a mere vague suspicion, but it left me no peace. He and I, you know, have the keys, and when after the office was shut, I told the clerk I had some business still to do—true enough”—the Councillor had bent his head so low that the banker was whispering into his ear. Then they looked fixedly into each other’s eyes. The Councillor’s long face had turned as grey as the other’s.
“But this is a matter for the police,” he said.
An evil smile crossed the banker’s compressed lips.
“It has cost me a great deal of trouble to convince them of it.”
“So then—”
The banker nodded.
“And when?”
“I expect them every minute. They wanted me to show myself here, because my remaining away altogether—”
“Quite right! Quite true!” said the Councillor. “It is very, very painful—still—I will certainly—under these circumstances—”
And he made a step towards the cloakroom table.
“Councillor, you will not,” cried Lübbener, holding fast by his coattail.
At this moment a tremendous flourish of trumpets sounded in the vestibule. The servants rushed from behind their table to the window. The pretty girls who had been waiting upon the ladies ran past them; “They are coming, they are coming.”
The two gentlemen had also gone to the window, as the flourish sounded a second time, from long trumpets, which eight men dressed as heralds were blowing on the broad landing of the staircase. They turned their instruments upwards to right and left, as if to summon the assembly from above. And in fact they had scarcely uttered their call for the third time, before the company, who had been prepared beforehand, began to appear.
A splendid sight, whose magnificence even the Councillor, in spite of his thoughts being full of anxiety and care, could not but allow, whilst the servants broke out into loud cries of admiration; only Herr Lübbener’s grey countenance kept the look of a man who is too much behind the scenes to take much pleasure in the play himself.
The guests came down the marble stairs from both sides, the width being more than sufficient for two couples at once. The brilliant streams met on the landing, but only to separate again, and swarm down the lower stairs to the vestibule, which already began to fill, whilst the staircase and surrounding passages were still swarming with the gay crowd, which while waiting for the stairs to be free for them, could meanwhile enjoy the brilliant spectacle from above all the longer. Preceded by the trumpeting heralds they paraded the vestibule, which was decorated by Justus’s four statues, and brightly lighted by an immense chandelier and numerous candelabra, while it was divided from the outer hall by splendid columns, till suddenly the great folding-doors were flung open, and, as the trumpets ceased, soft music sounding from within invited to the pleasures of the table.
“Did you see him?” asked Lübbener, with a grim smile.
“How could I avoid it?” answered the Councillor, sighing; “with my old friend Baroness Kniebreche on his arm. Wonderful! The man has nerves of steel.”
“I think you had better come in with me, Councillor,” said Lübbener; “if only for the reason that I suspect you could not get out of the house now.”
“Do you think so?” said the Councillor, sighing; “then there is really nothing else to be done.”
And he followed his resolute companion, with anything but a festive countenance, into the vestibule, where they mingled with the last comers, who, now that the ranks had been broken, were pressing most impatiently into the supper-room.
VI
Any anxiety about finding places proved quite unfounded. There would have been room for the whole party in the gorgeous dining-room, if every seat had been occupied at the little tables laid for eight or ten people each. But as it had been foreseen that this would not be the case, tables were also laid in the great conservatory, which stood at right angles with the dining-room and connected this wing of the house with the other. The last comers had the privilege of supping under palm trees, as Justus laughingly remarked to Ottomar, both being amongst the latest arrivals.
“Stay with us,” said Ottomar, pointing to his table, at which three or four officers and some ladies belonging to the theatre, amongst whom was Bertalda, were trying to arrange themselves. “I think there is room enough, if not we will make room.”
“I am sorry,” answered
