“And so we are to falsify figures? In the first of these legends it was double the truth; and, as I read, it enlarges—oh, but it enlarges,” said Ina, with a Gallicism we shall have to forgive in a lady who spoke five languages.
“Madam,” said Ashmead, dryly, “you must expect your capital to increase rapidly, so long as I conduct it.”
Not being herself swift to shed jokes, Ina did not take them rapidly. She stared at him. He never moved a muscle. She gave a slight shrug of her grand shoulders, and resigned that attempt to reason with the creature.
She had a pill in store for him, though. She told him that, as she had sacrificed the longings of her heart to the poor of the theater, so she should sacrifice a portion of her ill-gotten gains to the poor of the town.
He made a hideously wry face at that, asked what poor-rates were for, and assured her that “pauper” meant “drunkard.”
“It is not written so in Scripture,” said Ina; “and I need their prayers, for I am very unhappy.”
In short, Ashmead was driven out from the presence chamber with a thousand thalers to distribute among the poor of Homburg; and, once in the street, his face did not shine like an angel of mercy's, but was very pinched and morose; hardly recognizable—poor Joe!
By-and-by he scratched his head. Now it is unaccountable, but certain heads often yield an idea in return for that. Joseph's did, and his countenance brightened.
Three days after this Ina was surprised by a note from the burgomaster, saying that he and certain of the town council would have the honor of calling on her at noon.
What might this mean?