lose. I shall do all I can to
help you look the papers over." She led Anton into the next room, called
in Eugene, and unlocked the baron's desk. As she opened it she lost her
self-command for a moment, and moving to the window, the quivering of
the curtains betrayed the anguish that shook her fragile frame.

The mournful task began. Hour after hour passed. Eugene was in no
condition to peruse any thing, but his mother reached letters and
documents to Anton, and, though often obliged to desist a while, she
bravely returned to the task. Anton placed the papers in order, and
sought, by glancing over each, to arrive at least at a superficial view
of the facts of the case.

It was evening, when the old servant opened the door in dismay, and
called out, "He is there again." The baroness could not repress a slight
scream, and made a gesture of aversion.

"I have told him that no one is at home, but he will not be dismissed;
he makes such a noise on the steps. I can not get rid of him."

"It will kill me if I hear his voice again," murmured the baroness.

"If the man be Ehrenthal," said Anton, rising, "I will try to get him
away. We have now done what was most necessary; have the goodness to
lock up these papers, and to allow me to return to-morrow." The baroness
silently assented, and sank back in her chair. Anton hurried off to the
ante-room, whence he could hear Ehrenthal's loudly-raised voice.

The appearance of the usurer shocked him. His hat pushed half off his
head, his pale face swelled as if by drinking, his glazed eyes red with
tears, Ehrenthal stood before him, calling in broken sentences for the
baron, wailing and cursing alternately. "He must come! he must come at
once!" cried he; "the wicked man! A nobleman, indeed! he is a vagabond,
after whom I will send the police. Where is my money? Where is my
security? I want my mortgage from this man who is not at home."

Anton went straight up to him, and asked, "Do you know me, Mr.
Ehrenthal?" Ehrenthal turned his glazed eyes upon him, and gradually
recognized the friend of his dead son.

"He loved you!" he cried, in a lamentable voice. "He spoke to you more
than to his father. You were the only friend that he had on earth. Have
you heard what has happened in the house of Ehrenthal?" continued he, in
a whisper. "Just as they stole the papers he died. He died with a hand
like this," and clenching his fist he struck his forehead. "Oh my son!
my son! why didst not th