Well, he had pulled himself together, and had reviewed the whole situation; had reassured, reinforced, made head. And then, in the midst of the struggle, among telegrams, letters, and calculations, this last blow broke upon him as well: B. Grünlich, his daughter’s husband, was insolvent. In a long, whining, confused letter he had implored, begged, and prayed for an assistance of a hundred to a hundred and twenty thousand marks. The Consul replied curtly and non-committally that he would come to Hamburg to meet Herr Grünlich and Kesselmeyer the banker, made a brief, soothing explanation to his wife, and started off. Tony received him in the salon. She was fond of receiving visits in her brown silk salon, and she made no exception now; particularly as she had a very profound impression of the importance of the present occasion, without comprehending in the least what it was about. She looked blooming and yet becomingly serious, in her pale grey frock with its laces at breast and wrists, its bell-shaped sleeves and long train, and little diamond clasp at the throat. “How are you, Papa? At last you have come to see us again. How is Mamma? Is there good news from Tom? Take off your things, Father dear. Will you dress? The guest-room is ready for you. Grünlich is dressing.” “Don’t call him, my child. I will wait for him here. You know I have come for a talk with your husband--a very, very serious talk, my dear Tony. Is Herr Kesselmeyer here?” “Yes, he is in the pensée-room looking at the album.” “Where is Erica?” “Up in the nursery with Tinka. She is very well. She is bathing her doll--of course, not in real water; I mean--she is a wax-doll, she only--” “Of course.” The Consul drew a deep breath and went on: “Evidently you have not been informed as to--to the state of affairs with your husband.” He had sat down in an arm-chair near the large table, and Tony placed herself at his feet on a little seat made of three cushions on top of one another. The finger of her right hand toyed gently with the diamond at her throat. “No, Papa,” answered Tony. “I must confess I know nothing. Heavens, I am a goose!--I have no understanding at all. I heard Kesselmeyer talking lately to Grünlich--at the end it seemed to me he was just joking again--he always talks so drolly. I heard your name once or twice--” “You heard my name? In what connection?” “Oh, I know nothing of the connection, Papa. Grünlich has been insufferably sulky ever since that day, I must say. Until yesterday--yesterday he was in a good mood, and asked me a dozen times if I loved him, and if I would put in a good word for him with you if he had something to ask you.” “Oh!” “Yes, he told me he had written you and that you were coming here. It is good you have. Everything is so queer. Grünlich had the card-table put in here. There are a lot of paper and pencils on it--for you to sit at, and hold a council together.”