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"This dreadful news of yours startled me; I stepped back " He became too deeply interested in collecting the scattered envelopes to finish the sentence. "Don't trouble yourself," said Vendale. "The clerk will pick the things up." "This dreadful news!" repeated Obenreizer, persisting in collecting the envelopes. "This dreadful news!"
"Do you lock your door at night when travelling?" asked Obenreizer, standing warming his hands by the wood fire in Vendale's chamber, before going to his own. "Not I. I sleep too soundly." "You are so sound a sleeper?" he retorted, with an admiring look. "What a blessing!"
Marguerite's last words to him were, "Don't go!" It was about the middle of the month of February when Vendale and Obenreizer set forth on their expedition. The winter being a hard one, the time was bad for travellers. So bad was it that these two travellers, coming to Strasbourg, found its great inns almost empty.
They gave it a special social attraction and a special social importance. They armed Obenreizer with a certain influence in reserve, which he could always depend upon to make his house attractive, and which he might always bring more or less to bear on the forwarding of his own private ends.
"I ask you to confer upon me the greatest of all favours I ask you to give me her hand in marriage." Obenreizer dropped back into his chair. "Mr. Vendale," he said, "you petrify me." "I will wait," rejoined Vendale, "until you have recovered yourself." "One word before I recover myself. You have said nothing about this to my niece?" "I have opened my whole heart to your niece.
Mimic water was dropping off a mill-wheel under the clock. The visitor had not stood before it, following it with his eyes, a minute, when M. Obenreizer, at his elbow, startled him by saying, in very good English, very slightly clipped: "How do you do? So glad!" "I beg your pardon. I didn't hear you come in." "Not at all! Sit, please."
Obenreizer was a black-haired young man of a dark complexion, through whose swarthy skin no red glow ever shone. When colour would have come into another cheek, a hardly discernible beat would come into his, as if the machinery for bringing up the ardent blood were there, but the machinery were dry. He was robustly made, well proportioned, and had handsome features.
"My friend remains, and consoles our afflicted compatriot. A heart-rending scene, Mr. Vendale! The household gods at the pawnbroker's the family immersed in tears. We all embraced in silence. My admirable friend alone possessed his composure. He sent out, on the spot, for a bottle of wine." "Can I say a word to you in private, Mr. Obenreizer?" "Assuredly." He turned to Madame Dor.
"Assuredly, my poor boy," returned the notary. "All but felons have their legal rights." "And who calls me felon?" said Obenreizer, fiercely. "No one. Be calm under your wrongs. If the House of Defresnier would call you felon, indeed, we should know how to deal with them." While saying these words, he had handed Bintrey's very short letter to Obenreizer, who now read it and gave it back.
"Yes!" said Obenreizer, setting the lighted candle on the table, "it was a bad dream. Only look at me!" His feet were bare; his red-flannel shirt was thrown back at the throat, and its sleeves were rolled above the elbows; his only other garment, a pair of under pantaloons or drawers, reaching to the ankles, fitted him close and tight.
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