e to address you in this way,
what would you do?"

"Supposing the case, sir, although it is not possible, but supposing
the case, what would I do? I would do precisely what that person would
have told me, and a great deal more. I would work day and night. Every
day, at evening prayer, I would get on my knees with my wife and
children, and invoke God's protection on that person. I would do that,
sir; but, as I said, the case is impossible."

"Nevertheless, suppose it did happen," explained Seraphin in a
preliminary way. "Give me your hand that you will fulfil the promise
you have just given."

For a moment Seraphin's hand lay in a callous, iron palm, which pressed
his soft fingers in an uncomfortable but well-meant grasp.

"Well, now follow me," said Gerlach.

He led the way; Holt followed with an unsteady step like a drunken man.
They presented themselves before the banker's counter. The latter was
standing behind the trellis of his desk, and on a table lay ten rolls
of money.

"You have just now by word and hand confirmed a promise," said Gerlach,
turning to the countryman, "which cannot be appreciated in money, for
that promise comprises almost all the duties of the father of a family.
But to make the fulfilment of the promise possible, a thousand florins
are needed. Here lies the money. Accept it from me as a gift, and be
happy."

Holt did not stir. He looked from the money at Gerlach, was motionless
and rigid, until, at last, the paralyzing surprise began to resolve
itself into a spasmodic quivering of the lips, and then into a mighty
flood of tears. Seizing Seraphin's hands, he kissed them with an
emotion that convulsed his whole being.

"That will do now," said the millionaire, "take the money, and go
home."

"My God! I cannot find utterance," said Holt, stammering forth the
words with difficulty. "Good heaven! is it possible? Is it true? I am
still thinking 'tis only a dream."

"Downright reality, my man!" said the banker. "Stop crying; save your
tears for a more fitting occasion. Put the rolls in your pocket, and go
home."

Greifmann's coldness was effective in sobering down the man intoxicated
with joy.

"May I ask, sir, what your name is, that I may at least know to whom I
owe my rescue?"

"Seraphin is my name."

"Your name sounds like an angel's, and you are an angel to me. I am not
acquainted with you, but God knows you, and he will requite you
according to your deeds."

Gerlach nodded