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He was not unaware that they were very glad to make use of his name and money: and he let them do so because it pleased him to despise them. And they despised him for letting them do so: for they knew very well that it served his turn. A fair exchange, Waldhaus lent them his name and fortune: and they brought him their talents, their eye for business and subscribers.
Mannheim was stuttering and stammering and trying to reply. Christophe did not let them speak. He let loose upon them every expression he could think of, and never stopped until he was out of breath and had come to an end of his insults. Waldhaus and Mannheim only found their tongues after he had gone. Mannheim quickly recovered himself: insults slipped from him like water from a duck's back.
As a matter of fact, the attacks were cunningly instigated by Ehrenfeld and Goldenring: they could see no other way of inducing him to stop Christophe's polemics. Their perception was justified. Waldhaus at once declared that Christophe was beginning to weary him: and he withdrew his support. All the staff of the Review then tried hard to silence Christophe!
Mannheim took refuge behind the table and rolled with laughter. But Waldhaus took it very loftily. With dignity, formally, he tried to make himself heard through the row, and said that he would not allow any one to talk to him in such a tone, that Christophe should hear from him, and he held out his card. Christophe flung it in his face. "Mischief-maker!
Waldhaus' review made a great fuss over them. Mannheim and his friends knew or pretended to know about the literary and social life of Paris: they used to repeat gossip picked up in the boulevard newspapers and more or less understood; they represented the French spirit in Germany. That robbed Christophe of any desire to know more about it. Mannheim used to overwhelm him with praises of Paris.
But he stuck to it because people were trying to stop him: he did not wish to appear to have given in. Waldhaus was beginning to be uneasy. As long as he was out of reach he had looked on at the affray with the calmness of an Olympian god.
"Thanks to God, I have been able to send them to the house of your sister, my worthy and pious aunt, at Waldhaus. Her dwelling is at a safe distance; and her heart has received this unfortunate mother and her five orphans, as you, my father, would have welcomed them yourself. A messenger from my aunt reached me, while I was on my way hither, and I know that all is well.
I don't need your card to know what you are.... You are a rascal and a forger!... And you think I would fight with you ... a thrashing is all you deserve!..." His voice could be heard in the street. People stopped to listen. Mannheim closed the windows. The actress tried to escape, but Christophe was blocking the way. Waldhaus was pale and choking.
Christophe sent him packing. The others who had not been attacked found it rather amusing that Mai, who was apt to pontificate over them, should be their scapegoat. Waldhaus was secretly delighted: he said that there was never a fight without a few heads being broken.
"I shall write another article about him. He laughs best who laughs last." "No, no," said Waldhaus anxiously. "I don't think he is laughing at you. It is humility: he is a good Christian. He is holding out the other cheek to the smiter." "So much the better!" said Christophe. "Ah! Coward! He has asked for it: he shall have his flogging." Waldhaus tried to intervene. But the others laughed.
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