"I--I--my letters lately--the presence of the ladies here--there are so many claims upon me----"
"So it seems," replied Herr von Strummin, taking a letter out of his pocket. "I got my banker to write to me yesterday, as I saw what was impending, and have carried his letter about with me since this morning. I have already been over to Golm, too, to tell you of it." He unfolded the letter: "Sundin-Wissows were offered freely to-day at thirty-five; no buyers. They then rose to forty-five on large purchases. When it became known, however, that Lübbener himself was the buyer, merely to keep up the price, they fell rapidly, and closed at twenty-five! Please telegraph distinct orders whether to sell at any price. A further fall is inevitable.' There you have the whole affair."
"It is certainly bad," murmured the Count.
"And whom have we to thank for all this?" cried Herr von Strummin. "You--you only! You first led us into the affair, and promised all sorts of things, and then prudently left us in the dark until you had pocketed your profits as promoter. Then we fell further into the trap, and had to pay up heavily; and finally you throw half a million into the market, and bring down the value of our own shares. And I, like a fool, gave you the last penny I had; and instead of looking after your own affairs, as it was your bounden duty to do, you hang about here with the women, and----"
"I think that last clause has nothing to do with the matter." said the Count, getting up.
"Nothing to do with it!" cried the other, also springing to his feet. "Very well! very well! ruin yourself if you please, but at least leave other people out of the game. And I tell you, that if by twelve o'clock the day after to-morrow my five thousand thalers, which I lent you on your word of honour, are not lying on my table at Strummin to the uttermost farthing----"
"For heaven's sake do not speak so loud," said the Count; "you shall have your money, although I am convinced that the great trousseau is only a pretext----"
"A pretext? a pretext?" cried Herr von Strummin, raising his rough voice if possible still louder; "pretext indeed! when Meta is herself gone this morning to Berlin, to----"
"This morning?" said the Count, with a jeering laugh; "excuse my remarking, mon cher, that was very imprudent of you! Our shares may rise again, and--the stone-cutter will not run away." Herr von Strummin's light blue eyes almost started out of his burning face. He became suddenly hoarse with passion.
"What, what, what!" he snarled. "A stone-cutter? An artist! and a great artist, who every year makes his six to ten thousand--a stone-cutter?"