“In that case, my dear sir, I am afraid you will have to remain here and suffer the same distressing fate as Lot’s unfortunate wife—”
“Sir, pray be serious, for my business here is of a very serious character. Five hundred dollars is no trifle; a man may squander them in a few days, but they may cause him also to commit suicide. Pay me, sir, pay me; I want my money!”
“For God’s sake, do not shout in this manner. I told you once already that I cannot stand it. I know very well that five hundred dollars is a serious matter, and that you must have your money. I will make an effort, nay, I will do my utmost to get it for you; but you must be quiet. I pledge you my word that I will exert myself to the best of my power in order to obtain that amount for you, but in return you must promise me to go home quietly and peaceably, and to wait there until I bring you the money.”
“What are you going to do? How are you going to get the money? You told me just now you were unable to borrow any thing.”
“But somebody may give me those miserable five hundred dollars, and it seems to me that would do just as well.”
“Oh, you are laughing at me.”
“By no means, sir. Just be still and let me write a letter. I will afterward show you the address, and thereby let you know from whom I am expecting assistance.”
He walked rapidly to his desk, penned a few lines, and placed the paper in a large envelope, which he sealed and directed.
“Read the address,” he said, showing the letter to Mr. Werner.
“To his excellency the minister of the treasury, Count von Schulenburg-Kehnert, general of artillery,” read Werner, with a hesitating tongue, and casting astonished and inquisitive glances upon Gentz. “And this is the distinguished gentleman to whom you apply for the money. Mr. Counsellor?”