Berent. At less than half your valuation; that is to say at—
Tjaelde. You must really forgive me if I use an expression which has been on the tip of my tongue for some time: this is scandalous! You force yourself into a man's house, and then, under pretext of asking for his opinion, you practically—on paper—rob him of his possessions!
Berent. I don't understand you. I am trying to arrive at a basis for values hereabouts; and you said yourself, did you not, that it is a matter that does not concern you alone?
Tjaelde. Certainly; but even in jest—if I may be allowed the expression—one does not take the statement that an honourable man has voluntarily offered and treat it as a mendacious document.
Berent. There are many different points of view from which valuations can be made, obviously. I see nothing more in it than that.
Tjaelde. But don't you understand that this is like cutting into my living flesh? Bit by bit, my property has been brought together or created by my own work, and preserved by the most strenuous exertions on my part under terribly trying conditions—it is bound up with my family, with all that is dear to me—it has become a part of my very life!
Berent (with a bow). I understand that perfectly. You have put down the Brewery at—
Tjaelde. No; I refuse to allow you to go on in this way. You must find some one else's property as a basis for your calculations—you must consult some one else, whose idea of business corresponds somewhat closer to your own ridiculous one.
Berent (leaning back in his chair). That is a pity. The banks were anxious to be acquainted with your answers to my observations.
Tjaelde. Have you sent my statement to the banks?