"He must be mad. He's still sitting there. He said he would wait until you came down."
"Can't you get rid of the fellow?" he said angrily.
"No. He said he'd sit there now until you came. I'm at my wits' end!"
It was the old tailor, who had lost by the bankruptcy all his savings, upon which Wangen had promised him such good interest. He came almost every day and wanted to speak to Wangen; but the latter was afraid of him, because his eyes had latterly acquired such a wild expression.
It was not this tailor only who was constantly reminding him of the sad consequences of his failure. He received despairing letters, begging him for only a third of the money that had been entrusted to him; and letters that threatened and cursed him. People were continually coming to the house with tears and threats. It was enough to make one mad.
These people still believed that he and no other was to blame for the disaster. And that was not the worst; for in Wangen's inner consciousness, dark arms were extended, and he had to hasten to think of something else.
"Here!" he said, holding out the tray to her.
"But you haven't drunk your coffee!" she said in surprise.
He lay down again with his hands under his head.
"No," he said; "you take one's appetite away, Karen."
"Well, yes, to tell the truth. I can't think what pleasure you can have in telling me this about the tailor. I think you ought rather to ask him to go to Norby." And he breathed hard, as if something exceedingly painful were working in him.
"Well, I'm sorry," she said, sighing; and taking the tray, she left the room.
Since the inquiry Wangen had lived as if in a fever. His tactics for asserting his innocence, namely, trying to prove that the forgery was only a link in a chain of conspiracies against his business, had turned out miserably. It had only increased people's suspicion of him. It did not, however, on that account occur to him that he had chosen a wrong method of procedure, but only worked his suspicion up to greater certainty. The belief in this conspiracy was just what had given him a good conscience in the midst of the troubles after his failure.
The trial, which was either to condemn or acquit him, was approaching inexorably. It was not the fear of being found guilty of forgery that made Wangen ill with anxiety as to the result, for of that he could acquit himself; but the dread he felt was of having his illusion concerning the conspiracy torn to pieces, and thus being obliged to condemn himself. Moreover, because this belief in the malice of his enemies made him feel good, it seemed like treachery in his wife when she defended them. He grew angry, and felt inclined to fly at her; she wanted to take away from him the plank with which he kept himself up.