By a stroke of Fate Mr. Treffry’s return to Villa Rubein befell at the psychological moment when Herr Paul, in a suit of rather too bright blue, was starting for Vienna.

As soon as he saw the carriage appear between the poplars he became as pensive as a boy caught in the act of stealing cherries.  Pitching his hatbox to Fritz, he recovered himself, however, in time to whistle while Mr. Treffry was being assisted into the house.  Having forgotten his anger, he was only anxious now to smooth out its after effects; in the glances he cast at Christian and his brother-in-law there was a kind of shamed entreaty which seemed to say:  “For goodness’ sake, don’t worry me about that business again!  Nothing’s come of it, you see!”

He came forward:  “Ah!  Mon cher!  So you return; I put off my departure, then.  Vienna must wait for me—­that poor Vienna!”

But noticing the extreme feebleness of Mr. Treffry’s advance, he exclaimed with genuine concern: 

“What is it?  You’re ill?  My God!” After disappearing for five minutes, he came back with a whitish liquid in a glass.

“There!” he said, “good for the gout—­for a cough—­for everything!”

Mr. Treffry sniffed, drained the glass, and sucked his moustache.

“Ah!” he said.  “No doubt!  But it’s uncommonly like gin, Paul.”  Then turning to Christian, he said:  “Shake hands, you two!”

Christian looked from one to the other, and at last held out her hand to Herr Paul, who brushed it with his moustache, gazing after her as she left the room with a queer expression.

“My dear!” he began, “you support her in this execrable matter?  You forget my position, you make me ridiculous.  I have been obliged to go to bed in my own house, absolutely to go to bed, because I was in danger of becoming funny.”

“Look here, Paul!” Mr. Treffry said gruffly, “if any one’s to bully Chris, it’s I.”

“In that case,” returned Herr Paul sarcastically, “I will go to Vienna.”

“You may go to the devil!” said Mr. Treffry; “and I’ll tell you what—­in my opinion it was low to set the police on that young chap; a low, dirty trick.”

Herr Paul divided his beard carefully in two, took his seat on the very edge of an arm-chair, and placing his hands on his parted knees, said: 

“I have regretted it since—­mais, que diable!  He called me a coward—­it is very hot weather!—­there were drinks at the Kurhaus—­I am her guardian—­the affair is a very beastly one—­there were more drinks—­I was a little enfin!” He shrugged his shoulders.  “Adieu, my dear; I shall be some time in Vienna; I need rest!” He rose and went to the door; then he turned, and waved his cigar.  “Adieu!  Be good; get well!  I will buy you some cigars up there.”  And going out, he shut the door on any possibility of answer.

Mr. Treffry lay back amongst his cushions.  The clock ticked; pigeons cooed on the veranda; a door opened in the distance, and for a moment a treble voice was heard.  Mr. Treffry’s head drooped forward; across his face, gloomy and rugged, fell a thin line of sunlight.