Apollonius went and Fritz supplemented his speech with, “it was not meant as you would have me believe, old fox.  And wasn’t it meant as I took it?  You think—­The workman is a bad fellow; but you would never have warned me if you hadn’t needed an excuse.”  He turned on his heel with a movement that suggested his feeling of superiority.  In his desolate state of mind it had pleased him to make successful use of his father’s diplomatic method of concealing his thoughts by half expressing them.

His pleasure was short-lived; his old worry fastened him again to the rack.  And a newer one had been added to it.  He had neglected the business.  In his master’s absence from the shed the workman had had opportunity enough to steal, and had certainly made use of it.  It was long since Fritz had done any work at the church; Apollonius had been obliged to engage another workman and put him in his brother’s place.  He had earned nothing now for a long time and yet never missed any public amusement.  The esteem of the important people showed a growing inclination to fall, and could only be kept up by increasing quantities of champagne.  He had plunged himself into debt, and continued to add to his obligations daily.  And yet the moment was bound to come when the appearance of prosperity which he had been at such pains to sustain would disappear.

Anne Wohlig had often been at the house since Apollonius’ arrival; and Christiane, with the credulity which in simple souls is the natural consequence of their own truthfulness, had seen nothing suspicious in her most far-fetched pretexts.  This was not so today.  She had suddenly grown so keen-sighted that what she recognized to be an excuse assumed in her eyes the proportions of an unpardonable crime.  She disliked any girl that could be so double-faced, and she herself was too honest to hide her opinion.  Anne sought the reason for Christiane’s treatment of her in the latter’s dislike of her brother-in-law.  It was well known that she begrudged the poor fellow his brother’s affection.  She herself had said that she would turn him down if he should dare to ask her for a dance.  And Apollonius’ appearance showed that she made it impossible for him to enjoy his stay in his father’s house.  Vexation made Anne honest, too, and she expressed her thoughts as far as she could without touching on the delicate point of her own feeling for Apollonius.  Christiane was now obliged to hear the same reproach from a stranger’s mouth that she had already heard from her own child.

The girl went.  Apollonius, on his way back from his brother, passed by again.  He was still in time to see Anne leaving.  But nothing showed in his face to confirm Christiane’s only half understood fear.