The day following the Professor entered the room of his colleague Struvelius more composedly.

"You can imagine!" he began, "that I have read your treatise with especial interest. After what I have communicated to you concerning an unknown ma.n.u.script of Tacitus, you must perceive that our prospect of discovering this ma.n.u.script is very much diminished, if the strip of parchment has been cut from the leaves of a Tacitus which was preserved in Germany two hundred years ago."

"If it has been cut?" repeated Struvelius, sharply. "It _has_ been cut from it. And what you have communicated to me about this concealed treasure at Rossau was very indefinite and I am not of the opinion that much value is to be attached to it. If, in reality, there was a ma.n.u.script of Tacitus in existence there, it has undoubtedly been cut up, and this ends the question."

"_If_ such a ma.n.u.script was in existence there?" retorted Felix. "It _was_ in existence. But I have come to request you to show me the parchment leaf. Since the contents have been published there can be no objection to it."

Struvelius looked embarra.s.sed and answered: "I regret that I cannot meet your wishes, which are certainly quite justifiable, but I am no longer in possession of the strip."

"To whom am I to apply?" asked the Professor, surprised.

"Even upon that point I am at present obliged to be silent."

"That is strange," exclaimed Felix; "and forgive me for speaking plainly, it is worse than unfriendly. For be the importance of this fragment great or little, it ought not to be withdrawn from the eyes of others after the publication of its contents. It is inc.u.mbent upon you to enable others to prove the correctness of your restoration of the text."

"That I allow," replied Struvelius. "But I am not in a position to enable you to see this strip."

"Have you sufficiently considered," exclaimed the Professor, excitedly, "that by this refusal you expose yourself to the misinterpretation of strangers, to charges which never ought to be brought in contact with your name?"

"I consider myself quite capable of being the keeper of my own good name and must beg of you to leave its care entirely in my hands."

"Then I have nothing further to say to you," replied Felix, and went toward the door.

In going he observed that the middle door opened, and the Professor's wife, alarmed at the loud tones of the speakers, made her appearance like a good spirit, with her hands stretched imploringly toward him.

But he, after a hurried salutation, closed the door and went angrily home.

The cloud had gathered and the heavens were darkened. The Professor once more took up the treatise of his ungracious colleague. It was as if a mountain-lion, wildly shaking his mane, had dashed in upon the prey of a lynx or fox, and wresting the booty from the clutches of the weaker animal, ignominiously routed him.

Twice Ilse called her husband to dinner in vain; when she approached his chair anxiously she saw a disturbed countenance. "I cannot eat," he said, abruptly; "send over and ask Fritz to come here directly."

Ilse, alarmed, sent for their neighbor and seated herself in the Professor's room, following him with her eyes as he strode up and down.

"What has so excited you, Felix?" she asked, anxiously.

"I beg of you, dear wife, to dine without me to-day," he said, continuing his rapid strides.

The Doctor entered hastily. "The fragment is not from a ma.n.u.script of Tacitus," said the Professor, to his friend.

"Vivat Bachhuber!" replied he, while still at the door, waving his hat.

"There is no reason to rejoice," interrupted the Professor, gloomily; "the fragment, wherever it may have come from, contains a pa.s.sage of Tacitus."

"It must have come from some place," said the Doctor.

"No," cried the Professor, loudly; "the whole is a forgery. The upper part of the text contains words put together at random and the attempts of the editor to bring them into a rational connection are not happy.

The lower portion of the so-called fragment has been transcribed from one of the old fathers, who has introduced a hitherto un.o.bserved sentence of Tacitus. The forger has written certain words of this quotation under one another on the parchment strip, regularly omitting the words lying between. This cannot be doubted."

He led the Doctor, who now looked as much perplexed as himself, to his books, and demonstrated to him the correctness of his statement.

"The forger gathered his learning from the printed text of the father, for he has been clumsy enough to transcribe an error in the print made by the compositor. So there is an end of the parchment sheet and of a German scholar also!"

He took out his handkerchief to dry the perspiration on his forehead and threw himself into a chair.

"Hold!" exclaimed the Doctor. "Here the honor and reputation of a scholar are concerned. Let us once more examine calmly whether this may not be an accidental coincidence."

"Try, if you can," said the Professor; "I have done with it."

The Doctor long and anxiously collated the restored text of Struvelius with the printed words of the father.

At last he said sorrowfully: "What Struvelius has restored agrees with the sense and tenor of the words of the father so remarkably, that one cannot help considering the slight variation in the words of his restoration as a cunning concealment of his acquaintance with the quotation; but still it is not impossible that by good luck and acuteness a person might arrive at the true connection, as he found it."

"I do not doubt for a moment that Struvelius made the restoration honorably and in good faith," replied the Professor; "but still his position is as annoying as possible. Deceiver or deceived, the unfortunate treatise is a terrible humiliation, not only for him but for our University."

"The words of the parchment strip itself," continued the Doctor, "are undoubtedly transcribed and undoubtedly a forgery; and it is your duty to reveal the true state of the case."

"The duty of my husband!" exclaimed Ilse, rising.

"Of him who has discovered the forgery, and if Struvelius were his most intimate friend, Felix would have to do it."

"Explain it first to him," implored Ilse. "Do not treat him as he has treated you. If he has been in error let him repair it himself."

The Professor reflected a moment and nodding to his friend said: "She is right." He hastened to the table and wrote to Professor Struvelius, expressing a wish to speak to him immediately on an important subject.

He gave the letter to Gabriel and his heart felt lighter; he was now ready to enjoy his dinner.

Ilse begged the Doctor to remain with her husband and endeavored to lead their thoughts to other subjects. She took a letter from Mrs.

Rollmaus from her pocket, in which the latter begged Ilse to send her something profound to read, selected by the Professor; and Ilse expressed a wish that they might thus make some return for the partridges and other game that Mrs. Rollmaus had sent to them. This helped in some degree to cast the sanguinary thoughts of the gloomy men into the background. At last she produced a huge round sausage, which Mrs. Rollmaus had especially destined for the Doctor, and placed it on the table. When they looked at the sausage as it lay there so peaceable and comfortable in its ample dimensions, encircled by a blue ribbon, it was impossible not to acknowledge that, in spite of false appearances and empty presumption, there was still something sterling to be found on earth. As they contemplated the good solid dish, their hearts softened, and a gentle smile betrayed their natural human weakness.

There was a ring at the door and Professor Struvelius made his appearance. The Professor collected himself and went with firm steps into his room; the Doctor went quietly away, promising to return again shortly.

It must have been apparent to Struvelius, after a glance at his colleague, that their last conversation was doomed to throw a shadow over their present meeting, for he looked frightened and his hair stood on end. The Professor laid before him the printed pa.s.sage of the old monk and only added these words: "This pa.s.sage has possibly escaped you."

"It has, indeed," exclaimed Struvelius, and sat for some time poring over it. "I ought to be satisfied with this confirmation," he said at last, looking up from the folio.

But the Professor laid his finger on the book, saying:

"An extraordinary typographical error in this edition has been copied into the text of the parchment strip which you have restored--an error which is corrected at the end of the book. The words of the parchment strip are thus partly put together from this printed pa.s.sage and are a forgery."

Struvelius remained mute, but he was much alarmed, and looked anxiously upon the contracted brow of his colleague.

"It will now be to your interest to give the necessary explanations concerning this forgery to the public."

"A forgery is impossible," retorted Struvelius, incautiously. "I myself removed the old glue that covered the text from the parchment."

"Yet you tell me that the strip is not in your possession. You will believe that it is no pleasure to me to enter the ranks against a colleague; therefore you yourself must without delay make the whole matter public. For it stands to reason the forgery must be made known."

Struvelius reflected.

"I take for granted that you speak with the best intentions," he began at last, "but I am firmly convinced that the parchment is genuine, and I must leave it to you to do what you consider your duty. If you choose to attack your colleague publicly, I shall do my best to bear it."