II
The old banker remembered all this, and thought:
"To-morrow at twelve o'clock he will regain his freedom. By our agreement I ought to pay
him two millions. If I do pay him, it is all over with me: I shall be utterly ruined."
Fifteen years before, his millions had been beyond his reckoning; now he was afraid to ask
himself which were greater, his debts or his assets. Desperate gambling on the Stock
Exchange, wild speculation and the excitability which he could not get over even in
advancing years, had by degrees led to the decline of his fortune and the proud, fearless,
self-confident millionaire had become a banker of middling rank, trembling at every rise
and fall in his investments. "Cursed bet!" muttered the old man, clutching his head in
despair "Why didn't the man die? He is only forty now. He will take my last penny from
me, he will marry, will enjoy life, will gamble on the Exchange; while I shall look at him
with envy like a beggar, and hear from him every day the same sentence: 'I am indebted to
you for the happiness of my life, let me help you!' No, it is too much! The one means of
being saved from bankruptcy and disgrace is the death of that man!"
It struck three o'clock, the banker listened; everyone was asleep in the house and nothing
could be heard outside but the rustling of the chilled trees. Trying to make no noise, he took
from a fireproof safe the key of the door which had not been opened for fifteen years, put on
his overcoat, and went out of the house.
It was dark and cold in the garden. Rain was falling. A damp cutting wind was racing about
the garden, howling and giving the trees no rest. The banker strained his eyes, but could see
neither the earth nor the white statues, nor the lodge, nor the trees. Going to the spot where the lodge stood, he twice called the watchman. No answer followed. Evidently the
watchman had sought shelter from the weather, and was now asleep somewhere either in
the kitchen or in the greenhouse.