"Wretched--such misery is enough to break one's heart--and no getting rid of it."
"And you are no longer angry with him?" Oswald asked with a touch of good-humoured triumph.
"Heaven forbid! but--," Truyn rubbed his forehead--"Oh, that stock-jobber--that phylloxera!"
Just then there appeared in the road an aged man, spare of habit and somewhat bent, but walking briskly; his features were sharp but not unpleasant, his arms were long, and his old-fashioned coat fluttered about his legs.
"Good-day, Herr Stern," Oswald called out to him in response to his bow.
Truyn doffed his hat and bowed low on his horse's neck.
"Who is it whom you hold worthy of so profound a bow, papa?" Gabrielle asked.
"Rabbi von Selz," Truyn made answer, "in times like these such people should be treated with special respect, if only for the sake of the lower classes who always regulate their conduct somewhat by ours."
"Oho, uncle, your bow was a political demonstration, then," Oswald remarked.
"To a certain degree," Truyn replied, "but Stern is, moreover, a very distinguished man."