Just as Freyer reached the door, a man hurried in with a letter, Freyer recognized the large well-known chirography on the envelope as he passed--Countess Wildenau's handwriting. His brain reeled, and he was compelled to cling to the door post. The burgomaster noticed it. "Please sit down a moment, Herr Freyer--the letter is addressed to me, but will probably concern you."
The man retired. Freyer stood irresolute.
The burgomaster read the contents of the note at a glance, then handed it to Freyer.
"Thank you--I do not read letters which are not directed to me."
"Very well, then I must tell you. The Countess Wildenau, not having your address, requests me to take charge of a considerable sum of money which I am to invest for you in landed property or in stocks, according to my own judgment. You were not to hear of it until the gift had been legally attested. But I deem it my duty to inform you of this."
Freyer stood calmly before him, with a clear, steadfast gaze. "I cannot be forced to accept a gift if I do not desire it, can I?"
"Certainly not."
"Then please write to the countess that I can accept neither gifts nor any kind of assistance from--strangers, and that you, as well as I, will positively decline every attempt to show her generosity in this way."
"Freyer!" cried the burgomaster, "will you not some day repent the pride which rejects a fortune thus flung into your lap?"
"I am not proud--I begged my bread on my way here, Herr Burgomaster--and if there were no other means of livelihood, I would not be ashamed to accept the crust the poorest man would share with me--but from Countess Wildenau I will receive nothing--I would rather starve."