"And?"
"And a virtuous girl." The count drew a long breath, and colored to the roots of his hair, while his fingers closed upon the ivory paper-knife with which he had been playing, with such a firm grip that it snapped in two.
The magistrate's eyes were wide open now; he winked slyly, and puckered his mouth as if to whistle. He then said softly: "One must be loyal. You have an old friend here on whom you can rely unconditionally--unconditionally, and in everything, my dear count."
The young aristocrat turned suddenly; his face was still red, and his lips trembled.
"What do you mean?" he inquired, brusquely. Wroblewski looked straight at him and smiled, but made no answer.
The count cast down his eyes. "We had better not say any more about it, at least not to-day. As regards your protégé, young Wolczinski, I cannot oblige him."
He arose, and the magistrate took up his hat. "Farewell, my dear friend," he said, offering his right hand.
But the count kept both hands in the pockets of his short riding-coat. "Adieu, Herr von Wroblewski!"
The magistrate smiled more deprecatingly than ever; but he stopped in the corridor, and soliloquized: "I did not think you were so young, my noble patron. But you shall pay dearly for that shake of the hand you gave me."
Proceeding to the Wolczinski house, his communication again started the fountains flowing. Only Herr Jan retained his composure. "Heaven will not allow two young noblemen to murder each other for the sake of a Jewess. Rest assured, God will work some miracle."