over; I shall, at all events, put off the forming of the company for a
month."

From that day forth the baron was deluged with letters, notes, and
messages. First Ehrenthal wrote to say he had got the month's delay;
then Herr Karfunkelstein, one of the projected company, wrote to say he
resigned his pretensions; then Ehrenthal wrote again, inclosing the
yearly accounts of a similar factory, that the profits might be judged
of. Then a Herr Wolfsdorf wrote to offer capital at a low rate of
interest. Then, lastly, an unknown person of the name of Itzigveit wrote
to beg that at least the baron would not enter into partnership with
Ehrenthal, as was rumored in the town, for, though a rich, he was a very
selfish man, and that the writer could advance capital on much better
terms; whereupon Ehrenthal wrote again that some of his enemies were, he
knew, intriguing against him, and wishing to make money themselves in
the baron's promising undertaking, but that the baron must please
himself; that, for his part, he was an honorable man, and did not wish
to push himself forward.

The consequence of all these communications was, that the baron grew
familiar with the thought of building his factory with borrowed money.
However, there was one thing that offended his pride, and that was the
thought of Ehrenthal as a shareholder; so far the letter of the unknown
Itzigveit had taken effect.

During the next month he was the prey of a miserable irresolution, and
his wife, in silent sorrow, observed his excitement. He often went to
town, and often inspected similar factories. True, the evidence thus
collected was not encouraging, but this he attributed to dread of his
competition, or to unfavorable details of site or management.

The month was over, and a letter came from Ehrenthal to beg for a
decision, as some members of the company were impatient of further
delay.

It was on the evening of a hot day that the baron wandered restlessly
over his grounds. Heavy black, clouds gathered over an arch of yellow
sky. The grasshoppers chirped far louder than their wont. The little
birds twittered as if in apprehension of some coming evil. The swallows
flew low, and darted by close to the baron, as if they did not see him.
The wild flowers along the road hung down covered with dust. The
shepherd who passed him looked gray and spectral in the lurid light.

The baron strolled on to the other side of the lake whence Anton had
taken his last loo