“Infamous!” cried Paula.  “Hiram did not steal the gem, as you must know who stole it.  The emerald he sold was my property; and were those stones really so much alike that even the seller. . .”

“Yes, indeed.  He could not tell one from the other.  Evil spirits have been at work all through, devilish, malignant demons.  It would be enough to turn one’s brain, if life were not so full of enigmas!  You yourself are the greatest.—­Did you give the Syrian your emerald to sell in order to fly from this house with the money?—­You are silent?  Then I am right.  What can my father be to you—­you do not love my mother—­and the son!—­Paula, Paula, you are perhaps doing him an injustice—­you hate him, and it is a pleasure to you to injure him.”

“I do not wish to hurt you or any one,” replied the girl.  “And you have guessed wrongly.  Your father refused me the means of seeking mine.”

“And you wanted to procure money to search for one who is long since dead!—­Even my mother admits that you speak the truth; if she is right, and you really take no pleasure in doing me a mischief, listen to me, follow my advice, and grant my prayer!  I do not ask any great matter.”

“Speak on then.”

“Do you know what a man’s honor is to him?  Need I tell you that I am a lost and despised man if I am found guilty of this act of the maddest folly by the judges of my own house?  It may cost my father his life if he hears that the word ‘guilty’ is pronounced on me; and I—­I—­what would become of me I cannot foresee!—­I—­oh God, oh God, preserve me from frenzy!—­But I must be calm; time presses. . . .  How different it is for your servant; he seems ready even now to take the guilt on himself, for, whatever he is asked, he still keeps silence.  Do you do the same; and if the judges insist on knowing what you had to do with the Syrian last night—­for the dogs traced the scent to your staircase—­hazard a conjecture that the faithful fellow stole the emerald in order to gratify your desire to search for your father, his beloved master.  If you can make up your mind to so great a sacrifice—­oh, that I should have to ask it of you!—­I swear to you by all I hold sacred, by yourself and by my father’s head, I will set Hiram free within three days, unbeaten and unhurt, and magnificently indemnified; and I will myself help him on the way whither he may desire to go, or you to send him, in search of your father.—­Be silent; remain neutral in the background; that is all I ask, and I will keep my word—­that, at any rate, you do not doubt?” She had listened to him with bated breath; she pitied him deeply as he stood there, a suppliant in bitter anguish of soul, a criminal who still could not understand that he was one, and who relied on the confidence that, only yesterday, he still had had the right to exact from all the world.  He appeared before her like a fine proud tree struck by lightning, whose riven trunk, trembling to its fall, must be crushed to the earth by the first storm, unless the gardener props it up.  She longed to be able to forget all he had brought upon her and to grasp his hand in friendly consolation; but her deeply aggrieved pride helped her to preserve the cold and repellent manner she had so far succeeded in assuming.