“He’s there!  Quick!  Hide!”

She shook her head.

With a thrill at his heart, Harz kissed her, then walked towards the entrance.  The curtain was pulled aside.

It was Herr Paul, holding a cigar in one hand, his hat in the other, and breathing hard.

“Pardon!” he said huskily, “your stairs are steep, and dark! mais en, fin! nous voila!  I have ventured to come for a talk.”  His glance fell on the cloaked figure in the shadow.

“Pardon!  A thousand pardons!  I had no idea!  I beg you to forgive this indiscretion!  I may take it you resign pretensions then?  You have a lady here—­I have nothing more to say; I only beg a million pardons for intruding.  A thousand times forgive me!  Good-night!”

He bowed and turned to go.  Christian stepped forward, and let the hood fall from her head.

“It’s I!”

Herr Paul pirouetted.

“Good God!” he stammered, dropping cigar and hat.  “Good God!”

The lantern flared suddenly, revealing his crimson, shaking cheeks.

“You came here, at night!  You, the daughter of my wife!” His eyes wandered with a dull glare round the room.

“Take care!” cried Harz:  “If you say a word against her—–­”

The two men stared at each other’s eyes.  And without warning, the lantern flickered and went out.  Christian drew the cloak round her again.  Herr Paul’s voice broke the silence; he had recovered his self-possession.

“Ah! ah!” he said:  “Darkness!  Tant mieux!  The right thing for what we have to say.  Since we do not esteem each other, it is well not to see too much.”

“Just so,” said Harz.

Christian had come close to them.  Her pale face and great shining eyes could just be seen through the gloom.

Herr Paul waved his arm; the gesture was impressive, annihilating.

“This is a matter, I believe, between two men,” he said, addressing Harz.  “Let us come to the point.  I will do you the credit to suppose that you have a marriage in view.  You know, perhaps, that Miss Devorell has no money till I die?”

“Yes.”

“And I am passably young!  You have money, then?”

“No.”

“In that case, you would propose to live on air?”

“No, to work; it has been done before.”

“It is calculated to increase hunger!  You are prepared to take Miss Devorell, a young lady accustomed to luxury, into places like—­this!” he peered about him, “into places that smell of paint, into the milieu of ‘the people,’ into the society of Bohemians—­who knows? of anarchists, perhaps?”

Harz clenched his hands:  “I will answer no more questions.”

“In that event, we reach the ultimatum,” said Herr Paul.  “Listen, Herr Outlaw!  If you have not left the country by noon to-morrow, you shall be introduced to the police!”

Christian uttered a cry.  For a minute in the gloom the only sound heard was the short, hard breathing of the two men.