"Wife, queer things have befallen me. Only think, all the city notables have raised their hats to your humble servant, and have saluted me in a friendly, almost an obsequious manner. And this has happened to me to-day--to me, the hated and despised usurer! Isn't that quite amazing? Even the city regent, Schwefel's son, took off his hat, and bowed as if I were some live grandee. How do you explain that prodigy?"
The careworn woman kept on sewing without raising her head.
"Why don't you answer me, wife? Don't you find that most astonishing?"
"I am incapable of being astonished, since grief and care have so filled my heart that no room is left in it for feelings of any other kind."
"Well, well! what is up again?" asked he, with curiosity.
She drew a letter written in a female hand from one of the drawers of the sewing-stand.
"Read this, villain!"
Hastily snatching the letter, he began to read.
"Hem," growled he indifferently. "The drab complains of being neglected, of not getting any money from me. That should not be a cause of rage for you, I should think. The drab is brazen enough to write to you to reveal my weaknesses, all with the amicable intention of getting up a thundergust in our matrimonial heaven. Do learn sense, wife, and stop noticing my secret enjoyments."
"Fie, villain. Fie upon you, shameless wretch!" cried she, trembling in every limb.