u my wishes through
him, and Mrs. Ehrenthal, your wife, has told you them too. I am become a
man who can rank with the best men of business; I can show you a safe
capital larger than you imagine. Why should we not put our money
together? If you will give me your daughter Rosalie to wife, I shall be
able to act for you as your son-in-law."

Old Ehrenthal looked at the suitor with a glance in which something of
his old cunning shone through his half-wittedness. "If you want my
daughter Rosalie," replied he, "hear the only question I have to put:
What will you give me if I give you Rosalie?"

"I will reckon it up to you at once," cried Veitel.

"You can reckon up a good deal, I dare say," said Ehrenthal, declining
the statement, "but I will only require one thing: if you can give me
back my son Bernhard, you may have my daughter. If you can not bring
Bernhard out of the grave, so long as I have any voice left I shall say,
'Get out with you! get out of my office!' Get out!" screamed he, in a
sudden transport of rage, clenching both fists against the suitor.
Veitel quietly retreated into the shadow cast by the door, the old man
sunk down again on his chair, and threatened and muttered to himself.
Itzig watched him till his words again became unintelligible, when he
shrugged his shoulders and left the room.

As he went up stairs to pay his visit to the ladies, he repeated the
movement occasionally, to express his utter contempt of the poor
imbecile below. He rang the bell, and was admitted by the untidy cook
with a familiar smile.

Meanwhile Eugene drifted helplessly from one officer's room to another.
He went to Feroni's; the oysters were flavorless, the Burgundy tasted
like ink. Again he paced up and down the streets, the sweat of anguish
on his brow. At last he sat down in a confectioner's shop, tired to
death, and revolved every possible contingency. If Wohlfart were only
here! But there was no time to write to him. These agents had put him
off from day to day; it was only last night that they had both finally
referred him to Mr. Itzig. But, though it was too late to write to
Anton, might not this obliging friend have some acquaintance in the
town? In recommending young Sturm, Anton had told him that the future
bailiff's father was a safe man, not without substance. Perhaps he could
get money from the father of a hussar now in the service of his family,
if, indeed, the old man had any money. That was the question.