Nicholas Falk was sitting in his office; it was the morning of the day before Christmas Eve. He was a little changed; time had thinned his fair hair, and the passions had delved little channels in his face, for the acids which the parched soil distilled. He was stooping over a little book of the shape and size of the Catechism, and his busy pen seemed to prick out designs.

There was a knock at the door; immediately the book disappeared beneath the flap of his writing-desk, and was replaced by the morning paper. Falk was absorbed in its perusal when his wife entered.

"Take a seat," he said, politely.

"No, thank you; I'm in a hurry. Have you read the morning paper?"

"No!"

"But you are reading it at this very minute!"

"I've only just taken it up."

"Have you seen the review of Arvid's poems?"

"Yes."

"Well? They were much praised."

"He wrote the review himself."

"You said the same thing last night when you were reading the Grey Bonnet."

"What have you come here for?"

"I've just met the admiral's wife; she's accepted our invitation and said she would be delighted to meet the young poet."

"Did she really?"

"She did, indeed."

"Hm! Of course it's possible to make a mistake, although I don't admit that I made one. I suppose you're again wanting money?"

"Again? How long ago is it since you gave me any?"

"Here you are, then! But now go, and don't bother me again before Christmas; you know it's been a bad year."

"Indeed! I don't know that at all! Everybody says it's been a splendid year."

"For the agriculturist yes, but not for the insurance societies. Run away now!"

Mrs. Falk went, making way for Fritz Levin, who entered cautiously, as if he were afraid of a trap.

"What have you come for?" asked Falk.

"Oh, I just wanted to wish you a good morning in passing."

"A good idea! I've been wanting to see you."

"Have you really?"

"You know young Levi?"

"Of course I do!"

"Read this paper, aloud, please!"

Levin read, in a loud voice: "Magnificent bequest: With a generosity which is not now infrequently met with among the merchant class, the wholesale merchant Mr. Charles Nicholas Falk, in order to commemorate the anniversary of a happy marriage, has bequeathed to the crÈche 'Bethlehem' the sum of twenty thousand crowns, one half of it to be paid at once, and the other half after the death of the generous donor. The bequest is all the more significant as Mrs. Falk is one of the founders of the philanthropic institution."

"Will that do?" asked Falk.

"Splendidly! The new year will bring you the order of Vasa!"

"I want you to take the deed of gift and the money to the Administrative Committee of the crÈche, that is to say, to my wife, and then go and find young Levi. Do you understand?"

"Quite."

Falk gave him the deed of gift, written on parchment, and the amount.

"Count the money to see whether it is right."

Levin opened a packet of papers and stared, wide-eyed, at fifty sheets covered with lithographic designs, in all possible colours.

"Is that money?" he asked.

"These are securities," answered Falk; "fifty shares at two hundred crowns each in the 'Triton,' which I bequeath to the crÈche Bethlehem."

"Haha! It's all over with the 'Triton,' then, and the rats are leaving the sinking ship!"

"I didn't say that," replied Falk, laughing maliciously.

"But if it should be the case, the crÈche will be bankrupt."

"That doesn't concern me, and it concerns you even less. But there is something else I want you to do. You must—you know what I mean when I say you must...."

"I know, I know, bailiffs, promissory notes—go on!"

"You must induce Arvid to come here to dinner on Bank Holiday...."

"It will be about as easy as bringing you three hairs out of the giant's beard. Now do you admit that I was wise when I refused to give him your message of last spring? Haven't I always predicted this?"

"Did you? Well, never mind, hold your tongue and do as you are told! So much for that! There's another thing! I have noticed symptoms of remorse in my wife. She must have met her mother, or one of her sisters. Christmas is a sentimental season. Go to my mother-in-law and stir up a little strife!"

"A very unpleasant commission!"

"Off you go! Next man...."

Levin went. The next visitor was schoolmaster NystrÖm, who was admitted by a secret door in the background. At his entrance the morning paper was dropped, and the long, narrow book reappeared.

NystrÖm had gone to pieces. His body was reduced to a third of its former size, and his clothes were extremely shabby. He remained humbly standing at the door, took a much-used pocket-book out of his pocket and waited.

"Ready?" asked Falk, keeping the place in the book with his first finger.

"Ready," replied NystrÖm, opening the pocket-book.

"No. 26. Lieutenant Kling, 1500 crowns. Paid?"

"Not paid."

"Prolong, with extra interest and commission. Call at his private address."

"Never receives at home."

"Threaten him by post with a visit at the barracks."

"No. 27. Judge Dahlberg, 800 crowns. Let's see. Son of the wholesale merchant Dahlberg, estimated at 35,000. Grant a respite at present, but see that he pays the interest. Keep an eye on him."

"He never pays the interest."

"Send him a postcard to his office."

"No. 28. Captain Stjernborst, 4000. Good for nothing fellow, that! Paid?"

"Not paid."

"Good. Instructions: Call on him at noon at the guards room. Dress—you that is—compromisingly. Your red overcoat with the yellow seams, you know what I mean."

"No use! I've called on him at the guards room in the depth of the winter without any overcoat."

"Then go to his guarantors!"

"I've been and they told me to go to hell. They said that a guarantee was only a matter of form."

"Then call on him on a Wednesday afternoon at one o'clock at the offices of the 'Triton'; take Andersson with you, then there'll be two of you."

"Been done already."

"Has it? How did the directors take it?" asked Falk, rising.

"They were embarrassed."

"Really? Much embarrassed?"

"Much embarrassed."

"And he himself?"

"He took us into the corridor and promised to pay if we never called on him there again."

"Indeed! He spends two hours a week there, and receives six thousand crowns, because his name is Stjernborst. Let's see! It's Saturday to-day. Be at the 'Triton' punctually at half-past twelve; if you should see me there, which I expect you will, not a flicker of an eyelid. Do you understand? Right! Any fresh business?"

"Thirty-five new requests."

"Yes, yes, it's Christmas Eve to-morrow."

Falk turned over a bundle of promissory notes; every now and then he smiled, or muttered a word.

"Good Heavens! Has he come to that? And this one—and that one—who was looked upon as such a steady fellow! Yes, yes—hard times are in store for all of us. Oh! He, too, wants money? Then I shall buy his house...."

Another knock at the door. The desk was closed, papers and catechism vanished into thin air, and NystrÖm disappeared through the secret door.

"At half-past twelve," whispered Falk, as he went. "One thing more! Have you finished the poem?"

"Yes," replied a muffled voice.

"Right! Keep Levin's promissory note in readiness, so that it can be submitted to his head office at any time. Some day I shall smash him. The rascal's deceitful."

He arranged his tie, pulled out his cuffs and opened the door leading to a little waiting-room.

"Ah! Good morning, Mr. Lundell! Very glad to see you! Please come in! How are you? I had locked my door for a few moments."

It really was Lundell; Lundell dressed in the height of fashion like a shop assistant; he wore a watch-chain, rings, gloves and overshoes.

"I am not calling at an inconvenient time, I hope?"

"Not at all! Do you think, Mr. Lundell, that you will be able to finish it by to-morrow?"

"Must it be finished by to-morrow?"

"It absolutely must! It will be a red-letter day for the crÈche to-morrow; Mrs. Falk will publicly present my portrait to the institution, to be hung in the dining-room."

"Then we must not let any obstacles stand in our way," replied Lundell, taking an easel and an almost finished canvas from a cupboard. "If you will sit to me for a few moments, sir, I will give the picture the finishing touches."

"With all the pleasure in the world."

Falk sat down in a chair, crossed his legs, threw himself into the attitude of a statesman and tried to look aristocratic.

"Won't you talk, sir? Although your face is an exceedingly interesting one when at rest, yet the more characteristics I can bring out, the better."

Falk smirked; a glimmer of pleasure and gratification lit up his coarse features.

"I hope you'll be able to dine with us on bank holiday, Mr. Lundell?"

"Thank you...."

"You'll be able to study the faces of many men of distinction, then, men whose features deserve being fixed on canvas far more than mine do."

"Perhaps I may have the honour of painting them?"

"You will, if I recommend you."

"Oh, do you really think so?"

"Certainly I do!"

"I just caught a new expression in your face. Try and keep it for a few moments. There! This is excellent! I'm afraid I shall have to work at this portrait all day long. There are so many details which one only discovers gradually. Your face is rich in interesting features."

"In that case we had better dine together! We must see a good deal of each other, Mr. Lundell, so that you may have an opportunity of studying my face for a second edition, which it is always well to have. Really, I must say, there are few people to whom I felt so strongly drawn from the first moment, as I did to you, Mr. Lundell."

"Oh, my dear sir!"

"And let me tell you that my eyes are keen and well able to distinguish truth from flattery."

"I knew that from the first," answered Lundell unscrupulously. "My profession has given me an insight into human character."

"You are a very keen observer indeed. Not everybody understands me. My wife, for instance...."

"Oh! Women cannot be expected...."

"No, that wasn't altogether what I meant. But may I offer you a glass of good old port?"

"Thank you, sir; I never drink when I'm working, on principle...."

"Quite right! I respect this principle—I always respect principles—all the more because I share it."

"But when I'm not at work, I enjoy a glass."

"Just as I do."

It struck half-past twelve. Falk rose.

"Excuse me, I must leave you for a short time, on business. I shall be back almost immediately."

"Certainly, business first."

Falk put on his hat and coat and went. Lundell was left alone.

He lit a cigar and studied the portrait. No observer, however keen, could have guessed his thoughts; he had acquired sufficient knowledge of the art of life to hide his opinions even when he was alone; nay, more than that, he was afraid of coming to a clear understanding with himself.