“Care,” said the drunken man in a persuasive bass. “We have different views of life, sir. What is honor? But an empty name. But to business. I was once a teacher, yes, sir, a teacher,—you are surprised? But to-day. . . . Fate can easily cast down a man. I will not, however, allow any one to trample upon my rights. . . . My daughter belongs to me. I have the points of law all at hand. . . .”
“Enough of this,” Jiří interrupted him with a sudden calm, smiling scornfully. He drew out his pocketbook, and pressed something into the hand of the drunkard.
Being disarmed, and at the same time tamed, he grasped Jiří’s hand.
“Sir, you are an honorable man, you are in sympathy with us,” his deep bass trembled with unexpected gratefulness, “I entrust my daughter to you. She is my happiness,—the Antigone of my misery. You, sir, will come to value her . . . Lucy, make a note of my good fatherly advice:
