"If you have really done this, Paul," she said in a restrained voice, "you have done a very unkind thing, and what is worse, you have made us all ridiculous.But perhaps you have not done it?""I have done it," cried Herr Paul, staring dreadfully: "I have done it, I tell you, I have done it--""Very well, you have done it--and why, pray? What conceivable good was there in it? I suppose you know that Nicholas has driven him to the frontier? Nicholas is probably more dead than alive by this time; you know his state of health."Herr Paul's fingers ploughed up his beard.
"Nicholas is mad--and the girl is mad! Leave me alone! I will not be made angry; do you understand? I will not be worried--I am not fit for it." His prominent brown eyes stared round the room, as if looking for a way of escape.
"If I may prophesy, you will be worried a good deal," said Mrs.Decie coldly, "before you have finished with this affair."The anxious, uncertain glance which Herr Paul gave her at these words roused an unwilling feeling of compunction in her.
"You are not made for the outraged father of the family," she said.
"You had better give up the attitude, Paul; it does not suit you."Herr Paul groaned.
"I suppose it is not your fault," she added.
Just then the door was opened, and Fritz, with an air of saying the right thing, announced:
"A gentleman of the police to see you, sir."Herr Paul bounded.
"Keep him out!" he cried.
Mrs.Decie, covering her lips, disappeared with a rustling of silk;in her place stood a stiff man in blue....
Thus the morning dragged itself away without any one being able to settle to anything, except Herr Paul, who was settled in bed.As was fitting in a house that had lost its soul, meals were neglected, even by the dog.
About three o'clock a telegram came for Christian, containing these words: "All right; self returns to-morrow.Treffry." After reading it she put on her hat and went out, followed closely by Greta, who, when she thought that she would not be sent away, ran up from behind and pulled her by the sleeve.
"Let me come, Chris--I shall not talk."
The two girls walked on together.When they had gone some distance Christian said:
"I'm going to get his pictures, and take charge of them!""Oh!" said Greta timidly.
"If you are afraid," said Christian, "you had better go back home.""I am not afraid, Chris," said Greta meekly.
Neither girl spoke again till they had taken the path along the wall.
Over the tops of the vines the heat was dancing.
"The sun-fairies are on the vines!" murmured Greta to herself.
At the old house they stopped, and Christian, breathing quickly, pushed the door; it was immovable.
"Look!" said Greta, "they have screwed it!" She pointed out three screws with a rosy-tipped forefinger.
Christian stamped her foot.
"We mustn't stand here," she said; "let's sit on that bench and think.""Yes," murmured Greta, "let us think." Dangling an end of hair, she regarded Christian with her wide blue eyes.
"I can't make any plan," Christian cried at last, "while you stare at me like that.""I was thinking," said Greta humbly, "if they have screwed it up, perhaps we shall screw it down again; there is the big screw-driver of Fritz.""It would take a long time; people are always passing.""People do not pass in the evening," murmured Greta, "because the gate at our end is always shut."Christian rose.
"We will come this evening, just before the gate is shut.""But, Chris, how shall we get back again?""I don't know; I mean to have the pictures.""It is not a high gate," murmured Greta.
After dinner the girls went to their room, Greta bearing with her the big screw-driver of Fritz.At dusk they slipped downstairs and out.
They arrived at the old house, and stood, listening, in the shadow of the doorway.The only sounds were those of distant barking dogs, and of the bugles at the barracks.
"Quick!" whispered Christian; and Greta, with all the strength of her small hands, began to turn the screws.It was some time before they yielded; the third was very obstinate, till Christian took the screw-driver and passionately gave the screw a starting twist.
"It is like a pig--that one," said Greta, rubbing her wrists mournfully.
The opened door revealed the gloom of the dank rooms and twisting staircase, then fell to behind them with a clatter.
Greta gave a little scream, and caught her sister's dress.
"It is dark," she gasped; "O Chris! it is dark!"Christian groped for the bottom stair, and Greta felt her arm shaking.
"Suppose there is a man to keep guard! O Chris! suppose there are bats!""You are a baby!" Christian answered in a trembling voice."You had better go home!"Greta choked a little in the dark.
"I am--not--going home, but I'm afraid of bats.O Chris! aren't you afraid?""Yes," said Christian, "but I'm going to have the pictures."Her cheeks were burning; she was trembling all over.Having found the bottom step she began to mount with Greta clinging to her skirts.
The haze above inspired a little courage in the child, who, of all things, hated darkness.The blanket across the doorway of the loft had been taken down, there was nothing to veil the empty room.
"Nobody here, you see," said Christian.
"No-o," whispered Greta, running to the window, and clinging to the wall, like one of the bats she dreaded.
"But they have been here!" cried Christian angrily."They have broken this." She pointed to the fragments of a plaster cast that had been thrown down.
Out of the corner she began to pull the canvases set in rough, wooden frames, dragging them with all her strength.
"Help me!" she cried; "it will be dark directly."They collected a heap of sketches and three large pictures, piling them before the window, and peering at them in the failing light.
Greta said ruefully:
"O Chris! they are heavy ones; we shall never carry them, and the gate is shut now!"Christian took a pointed knife from the table.
