Next morning Borgert had just risen when the second-hand dealer arrived.
The officer saluted him pleasantly and bade him enter. Then he completed his toilet and began negotiations with the Hebrew merchant.
“Will you, please, take the trouble to examine the furniture and all the other equipments in these apartments?” said he. “I mean to sell all of it, just as it stands, since I have been transferred to another garrison. But as to this point—I mean my transference—I must beg to preserve silence for the moment, as it is not yet generally known. How much could you offer me?”
The Jew pensively let his keen eyes wander all about the dwelling, mentally going through a rapid process of addition, subtraction, and silence. Then he proceeded to a more minute examination. He handled every single piece, using his knuckles to ascertain its exact condition; he subjected hangings, rugs, and carpets, as well as the expensive carving of the book-cases and stands, to a similar process. Then he drew forth a small note-book, greasy and worn, and squinted at each single object as he noted down its price. Finally he turned to Borgert and said, with an obsequious smile:
“Fifteen hundred marks, Herr First Lieutenant, counting it out in gold on this table.”
“What! fifteen hundred marks?” and Borgert gave a snort of disapproval. “Why, man, you must be dreaming. I have paid almost ten thousand marks for the things.”
“Sorry, Herr First Lieutenant,” the Jew said, shrugging his shoulders in deprecation of such high figures. “Old things are not new things, and you won’t get any more from anybody.”
“That is not enough; that would be giving the things away.”
“Well, I will pay you two thousand marks, then, but not a penny more.”