The merchant went and closed the door of the room, and drew the bolt, so that no other eyes should look upon the anguish of his fellow-man.
“My sister; where is she?” at length asked Justin.
“She returned to Washington, enriched by the will of her uncle, who constituted her the sole heiress of his immense wealth.”
“Enriched in fortune, but, oh, how impoverished in home!” groaned Justin. Then rising, he held out his hand to the merchant, saying, “I thank you, sir, for the information you have given, as well as for your delicate kindness to a heavily-stricken man; and I will bid you good-day.”
“Have you a carriage at the door?” inquired the practical merchant.
“No.”
“Then I must order one for you. You are not in a condition to walk through the streets, Mr. Rosenthal.”
Justin bowed his thanks and resumed his seat.
And when the carriage was announced, he took leave of the friendly merchant and drove to his hotel. He went at once to his own room, and gave way to the sorrow that was almost bursting his bosom.
Some hours later, when he had attained some degree of calmness, he entered the sitting-room, occupied in common by himself and Britomarte.