The man of the black beard took a seat, and, having noticed the handsome collection of banknotes, his coarse face settled itself into a not very attractive grin.
“I want to impart to you my intention of erecting a villa on the Sauerberg, near the middle of our estate at Wilheim,” continued the millionaire.
“Ah, that is a capital idea!” And the man of the beard became very deeply interested. “The site is charming, no view equal to it; healthy location, vineyards round about, your own vineyards moreover. I could put you up a gem there.”
“That is what I think, Mr. Sand! My father, who has been abroad for the last three months, is quite satisfied with the plan; in fact, he is the original projector of it.”
“I know, I know! your father has a taste for what is grand. We shall try and give him satisfaction, which, by the bye, is not so very easy. But you have the money, and fine fortunes can command fine houses.”
“What I want principally is to get you to draw a plan, consulting your own taste and experience in doing so. You will show it to me when ready, and I will tell you whether I like it or not.”
“Very well, Mr. Greifmann, very well! But I must know beforehand what amount of money you are willing to spend upon the house; for all depends upon the cost.”
“Well,” said the millionaire, after some deliberation, “I am willing to spend eighty thousand florins on it, and something over, perhaps.”
“Ah, well, for that amount of money something can be put up—something small but elegant. Are you in a hurry with the building?”