Anna had just left the room to consult with her servants about the affairs of the household and kitchen; and Palm, who was comfortably stretched out on the sofa, was engaged in reading. The anxiety which had rendered him so restless during the previous days had left him again; he felt perfectly reassured, and smiled at his own fear which had flitted past him like a threatening cloud.
All at once he was startled from his comfortable repose by a loud conversation in the store, and rose from the divan in order to hear what was the matter.
“I tell you I am unable to assist you,” he heard his book-keeper say. “I am poor myself, and Mr. Palm is not at home.”
“Mr. Palm is at home, and I implore you let me see him,” said a strange, supplicating voice. “He has a generous heart and if I tell him of my distress he will pity me and lend me his assistance.”
“Come back in a few days, then,” exclaimed the book-keeper; “Mr. Palm will then be back, perhaps, from his journey.”
“In a few days!” ejaculated the strange voice—“in a few days my wife and child will be starved to death, for unless I am able to procure relief within this hour, my cruel creditor will have me taken to the debtors’ prison, and I shall be unable then to assist my sick wife and baby. Oh, have mercy on my distress! Let me see Mr. Palm, that I may implore his assistance!”
“Mr. Palm is not at home as I told you already,” exclaimed the book-keeper in an angry voice. “How am I to let you see him, then? Come back in a few days—that is the only advice I can give you. Go now, and do not disturb me any longer!”
“No, people shall never say that I turned a despairing man away from my door,” muttered Palm, rapidly crossing the room and opening the door of the store.
“Stay, poor man,” he said to the beggar, who had already turned around and was about to leave the store—“stay.”
The beggar turned around, and, on perceiving Palm, who stood on the threshold of the door, uttered a joyful cry.