That fatal number again came forward to injure him. It left its dark fastnesses at the most unexpected moment, in order to snatch from his grasp the happiness he longed for in the possession of Mariana's dowry and of her hand as well. A million which was just about to fall through the chimney, as it were, melted away like smoke—lost at the bottom of the sea. Farewell to a fine establishment, a good table, carriages, and all that made life enjoyable. No. 13 was on hand to defeat his hopes!
And Mariana? Well, her eyes were as bright as ever, her cheeks were as fresh and rosy with the beauty of youth; the joy of her heart was stamped on her smiling lips, and her graceful form still bore itself proudly, undaunted by the vicissitudes of fortune. She lost nothing of her beauty on losing her uncle's millions. She was the same as ever, and laughed as merrily as though nothing had happened, while her appetite continued to be good and she slept as peacefully as a child.
However, Simon thought that the wreck was a bad omen, and determined to renounce her love, for they were both poor. He might live comfortably alone, but if they were married they would have to endure a life of privation.
"She is beautiful, and can find a man who will give her wealth. But I must give her up, though she is so precious to me,” he said.
He began to avoid her and seldom went to see her, but he could find no pretext for breaking off with her, because she always received him with smiles. Sometimes she would chaff him, calling him the Knight of the Rueful
