“Come, Fulvius,” said the old man sternly, looking as cold as a grey rock in the morning mist; “no softness, I hope, in this matter. Do you remember what day is to-morrow?”
“Yes, the twelfth before the calends of February.”[195]
“The critical day always for you. It was on this day that to gain another’s wealth, you committed——”
“Peace, peace!” interrupted Fulvius in agony. “Why will you always remind me of every thing I most wish to forget?”
“Because of this: you wish to forget yourself, and that must not be. I must take from you every pretence to be guided by conscience, virtue, or even honor. It is folly to affect compassion for any one’s life, who stands in the way of your fortune, after what you did to her.”
Fulvius bit his lip in silent rage, and covered his crimson face with his hands. Eurotas roused him by saying: “Well, then, to-morrow is another, and probably a final critical day for you. Let us calmly weigh its prospects. You will go to the emperor, and ask for your rightful share in the confiscated property. Suppose it is granted?”
“I will sell it as quick as possible, pay my debts, and retire to some country where my name has never been heard.”
“Suppose your claims are rejected?”
“Impossible, impossible!” exclaimed Fulvius, racked by the very idea; “it is my right, hardly earned. It cannot be denied me.”
“Quietly, my young friend; let us discuss the matter coolly. Remember our proverb: ‘From the stirrup to the saddle there has been many a fall.’ Suppose only that your rights are refused you.”