He wiped his brow where the perspiration stood in beads.

Christian said:  “You don’t understand; you don’t believe in him; you don’t see!  If I do come after his work—­if I do give him everything, and he can’t give all back—­I don’t care!  He’ll give what he can; I don’t want any more.  If you’re afraid of the life for me, uncle, if you think it’ll be too hard—­”

Mr. Treffry bowed his head.  “I do, Chris.”

“Well, then, I hate to be wrapped in cotton wool; I want to breathe.  If I come to grief, it’s my own affair; nobody need mind.”

Mr. Treffry’s fingers sought his beard.  “Ah! yes.  Just so!”

Christian sank on her knees.

“Oh!  Uncle!  I’m a selfish beast!”

Mr. Treffry laid his hand against her cheek.  “I think I could do with a nap,” he said.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, she stole out of the room.

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.”