"Well, you see, Junker Hermann," he returned slowly, turning the ring on his finger, "this is a costly piece of jewelry. The carbuncle alone is worth fifty thalers; besides, the ring is an heirloom. I wouldn't sell it for seventy thalers."
"Would you sell it for eighty?"
"I wouldn't let anyone but you, Junker Hermann, have it at any price! As you seem to have taken such a fancy to it, then take it, in God's name, for eighty thalers."
"All right," said I. "Just keep the eighty thalers out of the two-thousand you owe me."
At mention of the two-thousand thalers Agnes helped me to a second dish of chocolate cream.
"I will draw up a note for the amount," said her father. "We are only human, and no one can tell what may happen to me."
"Write whatever you like and I'll scrawl my signature to it," I replied disdainfully.
When he had quitted the room, Agnes whispered to me:
"I am very sorry father sold his ring. It is a talisman in our family, and was given to my mother as a wedding-present."
"And suppose"—I whispered back to her—"my buying it does not take it out of the family?"