aid
he at last; "you want to fight a duel with Herr von Fink, a dead shot,
while you are only an apprentice, and not half a year in the business:
impossible."

"I should now be a student if I had not been brought up to be a
merchant. Curses on business, if it so degrades me that I can not even
ask satisfaction for insult. I shall go to Mr. Schroeter at once, and
give in my resignation."

Jordan's surprise increased. Here was the good-natured apprentice
transformed before his eyes. At length it was agreed that he should take
the message; but Fink was not found at home. "Very possibly he has
forgotten all about it, and is amusing himself at some club or other,"
was Jordan's commentary on the fact.

"In that case," said Anton, "I shall at once write to him, and have the
letter laid on his table."

Meanwhile great conferences were held in Jordan's room; for, although
Pix and Specht had promised secrecy, they indulged in such dark and
mysterious hints that the truth was soon known. Baumann stole up to
Anton to implore him not to peril two human lives for the sake of a
rough word; and, when he was gone, Anton found a New Testament on his
table, open at the words, "Bless them that curse you." Although not
exactly in the mood to enter into their spirit, he took up the sacred
book, and, having read the passages his good mother so often repeated to
him, he prepared for bed in a softened frame of mind.

Meanwhile, a rumor of some impending catastrophe pervaded the whole
house.

Sabine was in her treasure-chamber. Along its walls stood great oaken
presses, richly carved; in the middle, a table with twisted legs, and a
few old-fashioned chairs around. On the shelves of the presses appeared
piles of linen, and rows of glass, china, and plate, collected by the
taste of more than three generations. The air was fragrant with old
lavender and recent eau de Cologne. Here Sabine reigned supreme. She
herself took out and replaced whatever was wanted, and was not fond of
admitting any other person. She was now standing at the table, which was
covered with newly-washed linen, and, as she looked over the arabesques
of the exquisitely fine table-napkins, a cloud passed over her brow.
Two, three, four holes! She rang for the servant.

"It is intolerable, Franz," said she; "there are three spoiled now in
No. 24; one of the gentlemen runs his fork through the napkins. There is
surely no need for that here."

"That there is not," was the