and deeper within the purse. With fabulous swiftness gold coins were piled up to the ceiling like great columns of marble. The purse evidently was inexhaustible. The more gold he took out, the more gold there was in it. God give all men a purse like this!
Chapter II.
Five years passed.
Alfred stood in the center of a merry crowd where champagne flowed like a river. Diamonds flashed; silks and velvets rustled. Sparkling fountains, bright shadows on water, penetrating perfumes, splendid gardens,—all this the Demon of Gold had brought together in one place. Alfred, too, has changed. He is heavier and more round bodied. His cheeks glow with health; his eyes shine with contentment. It is evident that he had been drinking from the cup of pleasure, with the careful discernment of the epicure. Over there sits his wife. Is she that beautiful motionless maiden, whose vision had so moved him five years ago? Not at all! The ice of her heart had melted under the glow of Alfred’s blazing ducats. The vision charmed him no more, that had once enticed him. He did not love her and she did not love him. They treated each other courteously before the world, but in private—what a difference.
The lack of character of Alfred was an open secret. Every one remarked about it, yet he carried his head high, and everyone bowed before him. His breast was covered with orders. The highest honors were his. Fathers held him up to their sons as model.
