But first I want to give you a piece of good news. Norbert and Ellen are engaged.

Kellinghausen (_his face lighting up_).

Ha? What? Those two children? I saw it coming, bless their hearts!--but I'd no notion--where are they, Beata? (_Goes to door, left_.)

Richard (_in a low tone, to_ Beata).

He knows nothing.

Beata (_with an effort_).

Michael--never mind--don't speak to them now! To-morrow Norbert will---- (_She breathes painfully_. Richard _makes a startled movement_.)

Kellinghausen.

What is it? Are you ill?

Beata.

No--no, it's nothing. But happiness reverberates so! Norbert is coming back to-morrow. He wishes to tell his mother first.

Kellinghausen.

Ah, that's thoughtful of him. I had forgotten about his mother. Well, shake hands, old man. Confound it--I'm ashamed to look you in the face with this cursed thing hanging over us. And to think how happy we three might be--oh, that hound, that vile infamous hound!

Richard.

Tell me what happened, Michael.

Kellinghausen.

There isn't much to tell. My lawyer had a talk with him. He says his only object is to bring out the facts.

Richard (_after a short pause_).

Well--let him bring them out.

Kellinghausen.

Let him? You should have heard Brachtmann. The man was beside himself.

He began with the old story of the Frenchman who said that if he were accused of stealing the towers of Notre Dame he would take the first train for the frontier. "No matter how blameless you all are, the lie will stick to you," he said. "It will stick to you and to your children and to your party." I had to give him my word of honour that, whatever happens, I will do nothing to bring scandal on the party.

Richard.

But you haven't stuck to your resolve?

Kellinghausen.

How could I? We can't wring the scoundrel's neck without landing ourselves in prison. Norbert was right yesterday. In such cases we have no refuge left but the courts. There is more in that boy's ideas than I was willing to admit at the time. Well--meanwhile I've agreed to think the matter over for twenty-four hours. A mere formality, of course--and yet not quite, after all. The fact is, I wanted to talk it out with you.

Richard.

Very well.

Kellinghausen.

Beata--Richard--I don't need to be told that there's nothing wrong in this house--nothing wrong between you two, to put it plainly. I can see that for myself. But in such a dirty business the most harmless fact may be used against you; and you won't misunderstand me if I ask you--both-- You see, you two have always been in such close sympathy--I don't say that to reproach you--G.o.d forbid! It was natural enough--you're both so much cleverer than I am--but I ask you, for all our sakes, to look back and try to remember if you've ever written each other any letters that might--might seem--to an outsider--a little too friendly? Good heavens! _I_ should understand it if you had!

Or--or--have you ever written anything about _me_? Anything that might--? There are plenty of things to criticise about me. But I must know the truth. There must not be the least pretext for this attack. I ask you to stop and consider.

Richard.

There is nothing to consider, my dear Michael.

Kellinghausen.

Not so fast, my dear fellow! Take time. Think the matter over.

Richard.

There is nothing to think over.

Kellinghausen.

Beata----?

Beata.

My answer is the same as Richard's, of course.

Kellinghausen.

Richard, our fate is in your hands. Do you advise me to bring suit?

Richard.

Oh--if you ask my advice----

Kellinghausen.

I don't ask your advice but your a.s.surance. I have pledged myself not to endanger the party. Give me your word of honour that I can bring suit without doing so.

Richard (_straightening himself_).

I give you my word of honour that--you---- (Beata _gives a suppressed cry_.)

Kellinghausen.

What is the matter? What ails you?