a wheedling, submissive voice. “The gentleman has a precious jewel for which Aron will pay whatever the gentleman may ask.”
He plunged his bent fingers into the deep purse. Alfred followed the gesture with sparkling eyes and replied:
“Speak out! What is it that I can sell to you? What is it that I have that I know nothing about?”
The Jew came nearer and whispered: “Character.”
Alfred surveyed him with surprised eyes. “Character? Are you a fool?”
The Jew stepped back, straightened up and spoke boastingly.
“The gentleman is surprised? Well—Aron buys everything; worn out clothes, the virtue of women, old umbrellas, honor, trash, and the divine fire of genius, rabbits’ skins—Aron buys the entire world. Why should he not buy character? Character is a rare thing nowadays—and valuable. There are plenty of people without character—”
Alfred regarded the speaker with terror. Through the window the last light of the setting sun penetrated and gave the Jew a sort of ghostly, inhuman appearance. The purse in his hand became red hot like a coal. The unkempt hair and beard were changed into threads of gold. Gold gleamed from every fold of his caftan. It gleamed from his features, and it was as if two golden ducats shone from his eyes. The Demon of Gold stood before him, bent of neck, with greedy claw-like fingers, that were ready to fall upon any prey and crush the life-blood out.
