“You are late,” said Alfred, glancing at the clock.
“Yes—on account of bribes,” was the reply. “And I lost a noble character, too, which I bought abroad. On the boundary they confiscated it. One would think character contraband of war.”
“You bring my pawned pledge back, do you?” interrupted Alfred.
“Of course, Your Grace!” replied the Jew, and drew from his pocket the little dirty box.
“Keep it! Keep it! I don’t care anything about it. I am convinced that one lives better without character. But there is something I’d like to sell you.”
“Well?”
“A little feeling of shame that has remained with me—and sometimes makes me uncomfortable.”
Aron shrugged his shoulders, shook his head and laughed disagreeably.
“Nothing doing! The article is out of fashion—something nobody buys. As a proof—Your Grace—I beg you to consider these portraits which hang upon your walls—”
