give Ehrenthal another
mortgage on his property, and the money-broker would be equally
satisfied. The baron kept banishing the thought, and yet it ceaselessly
returned. It struck one, it struck two: he rang for his servant, and
ordered the carriage round, carelessly asking if the stranger were still
there. The coachman drove up; the stranger was on the steps; the baron
went down without looking at him, got into the carriage, and when he was
asked by the footman, hat off, whither the coachman was to drive, it
first occurred to him that he did not know. At length he said, "To
Ehrenthal's."

Meanwhile Ehrenthal had been spending a troubled morning. He began to
suspect that some other, too, was speculating against the baron. He sent
for Pinkus, overwhelmed him with reproaches, and tried in every sort of
way to discover whence he had got his capital; but Pinkus had been well
schooled: he was bold, rude, and silent. Then Ehrenthal sent for Itzig.
Itzig was nowhere to be found.

Consequently, Ehrenthal was in a very bad temper when the baron
returned, and he told him dryly that the day had come when his payments
must cease. A painful scene ensued; the baron left the office in bitter
mood, and determined to pay a last visit to an early comrade, who was
known to be a rich man.

It was past four when he returned hopeless to his lodgings. A thin
figure was leaning against the steps, and bowed low to the baron as he
hurried past. His strength was exhausted; he sat on the sofa as he had
done the day before, and blindly stared before him. He knew there was no
rescue but that which waited on the steps below. Prostrate, powerless,
he heard the clock strike the quarter to five; his pulses beat like
hammers, and each throb brought the moment nearer that was to decide his
fate. The last stroke of the hour was over. The ante-room bell rang; the
baron rose. Itzig opened the door, holding the two papers in his hand.

"I can not pay," the baron cried, in a hoarse voice.

Itzig bowed again and offered him the other paper: "Here is the sketch
of a contract."

The baron took up his hat, and said, without looking at him, "Come to an
attorney."

It was evening when the baron returned to the castle of his forefathers.
The pale moonlight shone on the turrets, the lake was black as ink, and
colorless as they was the face of the man who leaned back in the
carriage, with close compressed lips, like one who, after a long
struggle, had come to a