The Breaking of the Storm

to put things straight for him again, as he had so often done. But could he do so? Counting all that he possessed, he could not make up more than about ten thousand thalers. That might not be enough; as much again might perhaps be wanted; it should be found then, it must be found⁠—it must! Ottomar had evidently sent his man for his sash that he might make the necessary communication to his colonel of what had occurred. Herr von Bohl would of course require that the money difficulties should be settled before bringing the matter before a court of honour. He himself would then become surety to the fullest extent for Ottomar’s debts; their old friend would for once⁠—once more! not look too closely into it; he would accept the surety and let the matter rest till all was settled. If only Ottomar would not now, at this very time, let himself be led into taking steps⁠—that must be the meaning of the obscure part of Wallbach’s letter; what else could the man mean?⁠—steps which could only increase the difficulty of arranging the business. That an officer should put his name to a bill with the most exorbitant interest⁠—that was, alas! for Ottomar no new thing! The fact that he had sent for plain clothes as well as for his sash appeared to point to some such intention. There was not a moment to lose! he had lost only too many in his first bewilderment! The General rang the bell. He was himself in plain clothes this morning, as he usually had been since his retirement; he would put on his uniform. It would take him a few minutes longer, but he always felt a little want of confidence without his uniform, and there must be no want of confidence today. As August still did not come after he had rung a second time, he was about to go to his bedroom, when there came a knock at the door, and on his irritable “Come in!” Captain von Schönau entered the room.

“I beg your pardon, General,” said Schönau, “for coming in unannounced, but I did not find your servant outside, and my errand here will bear of no delay.”

The perfect calmness and concentrated energy which generally marked the Captain’s well-cut features had given place to an expression of the deepest anxiety and trouble.

“You come about Ottomar’s affairs?” said the General, mastering his fears, and stretching out his hand to the Captain.

“Yes, General, and I beg and implore you to allow me to keep silence as to how I obtained my knowledge of the state of his affairs. But the state is this, that without any delay whatever, and before the matter comes to Herr von Bohl’s knowledge, those bills of Ottomar’s which are due today, and are in the hands of a banker here, whose address I know, must be paid. I know also the total of them. The sum is large, so large that so far as I know, General, neither you nor I alone could pay it; but together we might find it possible if, as I do not doubt, you will put at my disposal all that you can lay your hands upon, and will allow me to take the further management of the affair into my own hands and deal with it as if it were mine.”

Schönau had spoken with decision, but in breathless haste, and the General could not doubt but that the Captain’s thoughts had taken the same direction as his own. So long as Ottomar was left to himself, and attempted to save himself in his usual fashion, any delay could only increase the difficulties of his position, perhaps make it impossible for his friends, with the best will in the world, to help him. However painfully his pride was wounded by the conviction that he could not avert the threatening danger by his own efforts, he had made up his mind, even while Schönau was speaking, to accept the help so generously offered to him, supposing that he found it possible to repay the debt thus incurred. This he expressed in the fewest words, at the same time explaining the state of his finances and naming the sum which at the utmost could be raised upon the security of his interest in his house.

“Will that suffice!” he asked, “and for how much shall I be indebted to you?”

“It will suffice,” said Schönau; “and I only ask now for a line to your banker, giving me full powers.”

“You have not answered my last question,” said the General, as with rapid pen he wrote the required words.

“I must beg you to excuse me from answering,” replied Schönau; “be satisfied that the remainder does not surpass my means, and that it will be an honour and a pride to me to be able to serve you and your family.”

The young man’s steady clear voice faltered as he said the last words.

As the General continued writing, he remembered that amongst their friends Schönau’s and Elsa’s names had been often coupled together in jest, with the regret that it might not be done in earnest, as the two were far too good friends ever to fall in love with each other. He had shared this view, not without some regret. Could he have been mistaken? Could Schönau⁠—it would be no detraction from his generosity⁠—be offering help less to the father of his friend than to the father of the girl he loved? In the excited state of his mind these thoughts had taken no more time than was required to carry his hand from the end of one line to the beginning of another; and moved by the sudden consideration, he stopped in his writing, and looked up at Schönau who stood by him.

A sad smile played round the Captain’s firmly-closed lips.

“Do not stop, General,” said he; “I desire and expect nothing, I assure you, but the continuation of your friendship and that of your