If, however, there was any one not entirely satisfied with this way of life, it was the baroness. A certain preoccupation and restlessness had stolen over her husband—the cloudless serenity of former years was gone. It was but a slight change, visible only to the wife's eyes; and even she owned to herself that she was hardly justified in grieving over it.
Just at this time, too, a great joy awaited her. Eugene had passed his examination, and promised them a visit to show them his epaulettes. His mother had his room newly fitted up, and his father placed some first-rate guns and a new hunting-dress in it as a present for him. On the day of his arrival he rode out to meet him, and it was a pleasant sight to see the two noble-looking men embrace, and then ride home together.
"We will surprise the ladies," said the baron, and soon the baroness clasped her son in her arms. This was the climax of happiness at the castle. Both parents' eyes glistened whenever they rested on their son. True, some of his expressions and gestures savored of the riding-school, but the baroness only smiled at them all. From time immemorial, indeed, the stable has been for the young cavalier the ante-chamber of the saloon. Eugene soon became supreme among the band of young ladies; he paid visits all around, invited friends in return; in short, one gayety succeeded another.
To all this there was only one drawback of which the baron was conscious. He could no longer live within his income. What had been possible for twenty years now became manifestly an utter impossibility. The winter residence in town, the epaulettes of his son, Lenore's gauzes and laces—even the additional interest of his promissory notes, all tended to embarrass him. The returns from his property were eagerly expected, and already in part forestalled; nor were they increased. Nay, many a projected improvement of former years remained unaccomplished. He had once meant to plant a sandy waste at the extremity of his estate, but even that small outlay was inconvenient, and the yellow sand still glistened in the sun. Again he was obliged to open the inlaid casket, and take out some of the fair parchments, and again his brow grew clouded and his mind troubled; but it was no longer the same agony of anxiety as before: he had had a little practice, and looked at things with a calmer eye. Something would turn up—there would be some way or other of becoming freed from these embarrassments; at most, he need only spend two more winters in town till Lenore's education should be quite completed, and then he would devote himself energetically to the care of his property. Meanwhile, he resolved to talk matters over a little with Ehrenthal, for, on the whole, he was an honorable man, that is, as far as a tradesman could be so; and, what was more, he knew the baron's circumstances exactly, and it was easier to discuss them with him than with a stranger.
As usual, Ehrenthal appeared just when wanted. His diamond breast-pin shone as usual, his obsequious compliments were as ludicrous as ever, and his admiration of the property as boundless. The baron took him all over the farm, and good-humoredly said, "You must give me some advice, Ehrenthal."
Only two or three years had passed since a similar walk over this farm, and how the times had changed! Then, Ehrenthal had to insinuate his advice to the proud baron, and now the baron himself asked him for it.
In the lightest tone that he could assume, he went on to say, "I have had greater expenses than usual this year. Even the promissory notes do not yield enough, and I must therefore think of increasing my income. What would you consider the best means of doing this?"
The usurer's eyes brightened; but he answered, with all due deference, "The baron must be a better judge of that than I can be."
"None of your bargains, however, Ehrenthal. I shall not enter into partnership with you again."
Ehrenthal replied, shaking his head, "There are not, indeed, many such bargains to be made, which I could conscientiously recommend. The baron has five-and-forty thousand dollars' worth of promissory notes. Why do you keep them when they pay so small an interest? If you were, instead, to buy a good mortgage at five per cent, you would pay four per cent to the Joint-stock Company, and one per cent. would be your own; in other words, a yearly addition of four hundred and fifty dollars. But you might make a better thing of them than that. There are many safe mortgages which are offered to sale for ready money, at a great profit to the purchaser. You might, perhaps, for forty thousand dollars, or even less, get a mortgage that would bring you in five per cent. on forty-five thousand dollars."
"I have thought of that," replied the baron; "but the security for such mortgages as these, which come into the hands of you brokers, is exceedingly poor, and I can not rely on it."
Ehrenthal waived off this reproach, and said, in a tone of virtuous indignation against all dealers in insecure mortgages, "For my own part, I am very shy of mortgages altogether, and such as are in the market are not fit for the baron, of course. You must apply to a trustworthy man; your own lawyer, for instance, may be able to procure you a good mortgage."
"Then you really know of none?" said the baron, secretly hoping that he did.
"I know of none," was the positive reply; "but if you wish, I can inquire; there are always some to be had. Your lawyer can tell you what he would consider good security; only you would have to pay down the sum total in case you procured it from him, whereas, if you could get one from a commercial man, you might make a profit of some thousands."
Now this profit was a most important point to the baron, and his mind was made up to realize it if possible. But he only said, "There is no hurry; should you hear of any thing desirable, you can let me know."
"I will do all I can," was the cautious reply; "but it will be well that the baron should also make inquiries himself, for I am not accustomed to deal in mortgages."
If this assertion were not strictly true, it was, at all events, politic, for the cool indifference of the tradesman increased the baron's confidence in him tenfold. The following day he went to town, and had a consultation with his lawyer, who strongly advised him to give up the idea of making any such profit as he contemplated, because such a mortgage would infallibly prove insecure. But this good advice only confirmed the baron in his intention of taking his own way in the matter.
A few days later, a tall stout man, with a shining red face, called upon the baron—a Mr. Pinkus, from the capital. He had heard, he said, that the baron wished to invest, and he knew of a remarkably safe and desirable mortgage, on a large property in the neighboring province, belonging to the rich Count Zaminsky, who lived abroad. This property had every possible advantage, including two thousand acres of magnificent natural wood. The mortgage was at present in Count Zaminsky's own hands. It was possible, Pinkus mysteriously hinted, to purchase it for ninety per cent.; in other words, for thirty-six thousand dollars. Certainly, it was a pity that the property lay in another province, where agriculturists had many primitive peculiarities. But it was only six miles from the frontier—the neighboring town was on the high road—the estate was princely. In short, the drawbacks were so small, and the advantages so great, that Pinkus never could have made up his mind to let a stranger purchase it, had he not been such an example of human perfection as the baron.
The baron received the compliment in a dignified manner, and before his departure Pinkus laid down a heavy roll of parchment, that the question of the security might be carefully investigated.
Early the next morning the baron took the deeds to his man of business, and himself ascended the dirty staircase that led to the white door of Ehrenthal, who was overjoyed to hear of his visit—dressed himself with the utmost rapidity, and insisted upon the baron doing him the infinite honor of breakfasting with him. The baron was not cruel enough to refuse, and accordingly he was ushered into the state apartment, where the contrast between splendor and shabbiness amused him not a little, as did also that between the gorgeous attire of the beautiful Rosalie, and the sneaking, crouching manner of her father.
During breakfast the baron asked Ehrenthal whether he happened to know a Mr. Pinkus.
At this business-like inquiry Rosalie vanished, and her father sat bolt upright. "Yes, I do know him," said he; "he is in a very small way, but I believe him an upright