He covered his face with his two hands. When he looked up again the sun had set, and the Jew had resumed his ordinary appearance. The nimbus of gold had vanished. “Well, my dear Sir, will you sell your character? Aron pays—pays fine. There is a great sale for character just now—and not much to meet the demand. Will you sell? Aron will pay you a prodigious sum.”
The Jew took a ducat from the purse and held it up between his fingers. Alfred looked longingly toward the shining circle, then he turned his head away and replied firmly; “No,—I will not sell!”
The Jew shook his head.
“No? By heaven,—a fine character! I’ll give twice as much for it. Three times—a noble character! No? I’ll make you a millionaire! You shall dwell in palaces, drink wine of the choicest vintage, kiss the sweetest lips—”
Alfred looked about as if some beautiful vision floated before him in space. Then he repeated with a sigh: “I will not sell.”
“Well—just as the gentleman pleases. Keep your character together with your misery. Aron will keep his gold. I bid you good day.” He threw the ducats back into the purse, placed it in his caftan, and turned to go away. In the door he paused and looked back.
“Aron has a good heart. He does not like to leave a man like you in such misery. Do you know something? I’ll lend you the gold, and you pledge me your character. How does this offer please the gentleman?”
