"I would rather perish," cried he, putting on his hat, "than ask that woman for a shilling."
When the count laid his treasure on the table of the worthy pawnbroker, he desired to have the value of the settings of the pictures, and the portraits themselves put into leather cases. With the other little things, there were a pair of gold spurs, the peculiar insignia of his princely rank, which the palatine himself had buckled on his grandson's heels on mounting his noble charger for his first field. There was a peculiar pang in parting with these—a sort of last relic of what he had been! But there was no alternative: all that had any intrinsic value must pass from him.
Having examined the setting of the miniatures, and the gold of the other trinkets, with that of the spurs (which their hard service had something marred), Mr. Burket declared, on the word of an honest man, that he could not give more than fifteen pounds.
With difficulty Thaddeus stifled as torturing a sigh as ever distended his breast, whilst he said,
"I will take it, I only implore you to be careful of the things, trifling as they are; circumstances with which they were connected render them valuable to me to redeem."
"You may depend on me, sir," replied the pawnbroker, presenting him the notes and acknowledgment.
When Thaddeus took them, Mr. Burket's eye was caught by the ring on his finger.
"That ring seems curious? If you won't think me impertinent, may I ask to look at it?"
The count pulled it off, and forcing a smile, replied, "I suppose it is of little jewel value. The setting is slight, though the painting is fine."
Burket breathed on the diamonds. "If you were to sell it," returned he, "I don't think it would fetch more than three guineas. The diamonds are flawed, and the emeralds would be of little use, being out of fashion here; as for the miniature, it goes for nothing."