Peltzstiefel came in that evening. It was both ridiculous and natural to expect that the first thing the editor of the 'Heavenly Messenger' would do would be to pay the critic his wages, so that he might at least be able to set before his editor a candlestick with a candle in it, and a beer-glass containing beer. Nothing can be more cruel than an anxiety of this sort, because this kind of shame breaks in a moment all the springs in the human machine. Siebenkæs wouldn't let it trouble his head, because he knew Stiefel wouldn't let it trouble his. But Lenette was to be pitied, inasmuch as the blushes of her shame were heightened by her fondness for Stiefel! At last the Rath put his hand in his pocket. They thought now he was going to produce the review-money; but all he took out was his snuff-machine, his tobacco-grater, and he dived back into his coat-tail pocket for half-an-ounce of rappee to put upon this little chopping-bench. But he had grated the half-ounce already. He searched his breeches-pockets for money to send for another half-ounce. Truly--and here he swore an oath for which he would have incurred a fine had he been in England--he had sent, like an ass, not only his purse but also the money for the reviews, carefully counted out and neatly wrapped in paper, with his breeches--they were his plush ones--to the tailor's. He said it wasn't the first time, and it was a lucky job that the tailor was an honest man; the only thing was, he hadn't noticed how much there was in his purse. He innocently requested Lenette to "send and get him an ounce of rappee; he would repay her next morning, when he sent the money for the reviews." Siebenkæs roguishly added, "And send for some beer at the same time, dear." He and Stiefel looked out of window; but he saw that his poor wife--her bosom torn with sighs, and suffering _peine forte et dure_--stole into the bedroom and noiselessly put the spice-mill into her apron.