"That really is...." Oswald began to mutter angrily between his teeth,--and then controlling his impatience by an effort, he said coldly, lightly tapping the map as he spoke. "A little while ago you did me a favour, and it would be a satisfaction to me to testify my appreciation of your courtesy as soon as possible, but I think your projected alteration of the railway very disadvantageous for the country. However, I am quite ready to consult an expert." The blood of the Cr[oe]sus tingled to his very finger ends. There was something profoundly humiliating in Oswald's pale proud face. He did not comprehend the young man's moral point of view, he perceived only the haughtiness that rang in his words, and it aroused his antagonism. Suddenly he remembered,--and there was a kind of bliss in the thought,--the pecuniary embarrassments in which Oswald was probably involved. This was the only ground upon which he could show superiority, and make the young man aware of it. "Consult an expert? an empty formality!" he said in a changed, harsh voice. "Let us be frank--the interests of the country in this whole affair are of very little consequence--private interests are at stake--yours and mine; I grant that the X---- district will be damaged by the new track, but on the other hand Tornow wilt gain immensely. And such trifles are not to be despised even by a Count Lodrin,--the track passes principally over very unproductive land in your estates my dear Count. You have only to name your price for that land, and I am entirely at your service." For a moment there was absolute silence. An angry gleam flashed from Oswald's eyes as he fixed them on the Conte. The ticking of the two men's watches could almost be heard, the lounging steps of the passers-by in the street below were distinctly audible. At last Oswald said contemptuously and clearly: "The sale of my pastures is not of the slightest importance to me in comparison with public interests. Moreover, we, you and I, do not speak the same language, we might talk together a long time and fail to understand each other. Therefore it seems useless to prolong this conversation." With which he arose. Capriani, however, did not stir, but calmly returned the young man's look. Something like triumphant scorn, something that was almost a menace shone in his eyes. "You refuse then to speak a word to the ministry in favour of my scheme?" he asked slowly and with a sneer. "Decidedly," replied Oswald. With head slightly thrown back, twisting his watch chain around his forefinger, he looked down at the Cr[oe]sus. He was one of the few to whom haughtiness is becoming. Was it possible that Capriani, the least imaginative, the most avaricious of men, could succumb to this personal charm?