"Oh yes; you can have it,—that is if you are inclined to pay for it."
"Zounds! What a girl you have become! Come, give it to me,—here are four groschen."
"Not for the world. You can't have it for one farthing less than twelve. When many a ragged, yellow old bit of parchment,—that one can hardly bear to touch,—is paid for with its weight in gold, certainly such a perfect piece of Nature's workmanship is worth twelve groschen."
"Yellow old parchment! never breathe such a word into scientific ears, if you value your reputation."
"Ah, there are none such to be breathed into here in the forest."
"Take care; Herr von Walde——"
"Is hiding in the Pyramids."
"But he might suddenly return and take a certain self-conceited young person to strict account. He is cock-of-the-walk among learned men."
"Well, for aught I care, they may raise monuments in his honour, and strew laurels in his path, as much as they choose. I cannot forgive him for forgetting, in the midst of all that dead lumber, the claims that the living have upon him. While he is engaged in an enthusiastic search, perhaps, for some wonderfully preserved receipt by Lucullus, or lost in investigations as to whether the Romans did actually feed their fish upon the flesh of slaves, the poor employed upon his estate starve under the baroness' rule—actually crushed beneath the yoke of modern slavery."
"Hallo! how his left ear must burn! What a pity that he cannot hear this confession of faith! Here are your twelve groschen, if you must have them. You want to buy some trinket or other, a feather, or ribbons for your hat, hey?" he said, smiling.