Cathewe did so, gently closing the door behind him. Breitmann was in his shirt-sleeves. He rose from his chair and laid down his cigarette. A faint smile broke the thin line of his mouth. He waited for his guest, or, rather, this intruder, to break the silence. And as Cathewe did not speak at once, there was a tableau during which each was speculatively busy with the eyes. "The vicissitudes of time," said Cathewe, "have left no distinguishable marks upon you." Breitmann bowed. He remained standing. And Cathewe had no wish to sit. "I never expected to see you in this house." "A compliment which I readily return." "A private secretary; I never thought of you in that capacity." "One must take what one can," tranquilly. "A good precept." Cathewe rolled the ends of his mustache, a trifle perplexed how to put it. "But there should be exceptions. What," and his voice became crisp and cold, "what was Hildegarde von Mitter to you?" "And what is that to you?" "My question first." "I choose not to answer it." Again they eyed each other like fencers. "Were you married?" Breitmann laughed. Here was his opportunity to wring this man's heart; for he knew that Cathewe loved the woman. "You seem to be in her confidence. Ask her." "A poltroon would say as much. There is a phase in your make-up I have never fully understood. Physically you are a brave man, but morally you are a cad and a poltroon." "Take care!" Breitmann stepped forward menacingly. "There will be no fisticuffs," contemptuously. "Not if you are careful. I have answered your questions; you had better leave at once." "She is loyal to you. It was not her voice that broke that night; it was her heart, you have some hold over her." "None that she can not throw off at any time." Breitmann's mind was working strangely. "If she would have me I would marry her tomorrow," went on Cathewe, playing openly, "I would marry her to-morrow, priest or protestant, for her religion would be mine." There was a spark of admiration in Breitmann's eyes. This man Cathewe was out of the ordinary. Well, as for that, so was he himself. He walked silently to the door and opened it, standing aside for the other to pass. "She is perfectly free. Marry her. She is all and more than you wish her to be. Will you go now?" Cathewe bowed and turned on his heel. Breitmann had really got the better of him. A peculiar interview, and only two strong men could have handled it in so few words. Not a word above normal tones; once or twice only, in the flutter of the eyelids or in the gesture of the hands, was there any sign that had these been primitive times the two would have gone joyously at each other's throats. "I owed her that much," said Breitmann as he locked the door. "It did not matter at all to me," was Cathewe's thought, as he knocked on Fitzgerald's door and heard his cheery call, "I only wanted to know what sort of man he is."