“Have the goodness to communicate them,” said Ebenstreit.
“The first is, pay the gambling-debt of my husband, who has played away the entire sum you allow us yearly, and do not deduct it from our income. The second is, increase your allowance five hundred thalers, without letting the general know it, and pay it to me.”
“It is impossible,” cried Ebenstreit, terrified. “You mistake me for a Croesus, whose wealth is inexhaustible. If this expenditure and demand increase, my colossal fortune will be entirely wasted, and—”
“You exaggerate,” interrupted Marie, with a peculiar brilliancy in her eyes. “Such wealth as yours is never-ending, and the banking business, which you are still engaged in under another name, is an inexhaustible source of wealth. I beg you to accept these conditions, that we may at last be at peace.”
“Very well,” said Ebenstreit, to whom the words of Marie sounded as the sweetest music. “I will then accord your wishes, and you shall have the five hundred thalers for yourself.”
“For me alone?”
“Yes, for yourself alone, Frau von Werrig.”
“Who vouches for the fulfilment of your promise?”
“My word, Frau von Werrig.”
“I have no confidence but in a written promise.”