Petrowitsch found the family at the "Lion" rather disturbed. The wife had told her husband that she had offered the wood at the Morgenhalde to Petrowitsch, and that he would have nothing to do with it. The Landlord was furious at this overhasty confidential communication, and ended by saying, "Petrowitsch will no doubt now spread a report that I am in want of money." "But you said that you were in want of money," said his wife snappishly. "If it were so, I don't want your interference; only I don't wish to sell any of my securities at the present rate of exchange;" cried the Landlord in an unusually loud voice, just as Petrowitsch came into the room. The latter secretly chuckled, and thought to himself, "You talk so loudly and so pompously that I feel sure you are in want of money!" Just as they were sitting down to table, the postman brought several letters, and some registered ones among them; the Landlord signed the receipt for these, but did not open the letters, saying in a loud voice as he seated himself at dinner, what indeed he frequently had said before: "I never read my letters before dinner, for whether agreeable or disagreeable, they are equally bad for digestion. Railway scrip shall never disturb me." There was, however, a malicious scoffer at another table, who was not taken in by this superior wisdom, and who thought--"A steam-engine is driving round and round you for all that, in spite of your indifference;" and this scoffer was, of course, Petrowitsch. After dinner, Pilgrim passed the table repeatedly at which Petrowitsch was seated, and several times stood opposite to it: four eyes stared at him with amazement. Bueble, who was perched on his master's knee, fixed his eyes on him suspiciously and growled, for he had a perception that some service was to be claimed from his master, and Petrowitsch glanced up repeatedly from his newspaper: "What does the man want--has he a wood, too, that he wishes to sell?" Pilgrim ran his fingers restlessly through his long thin hair, but this did not help him any nearer to Petrowitsch, who at this moment rose, paid his score, and went away. Pilgrim hurried after him into the street, saying, "Herr Lenz! pray allow me a couple of words." "Good day,--that is exactly a couple of words." "Herr Lenz! I want nothing for myself; but I consider it my duty to----" "Your duty is nothing to me." "But it does concern you, Herr Lenz. Just imagine that another person is telling you what I am about to say; it is right you should know it." "I am not at all curious." "Briefly,--it concerns your nephew, Lenz." "Really? I suspected as much." "But more than that; you may secure his happiness for life." "Each man must secure his own." "It will only cost you a visit to the Doctor." "Is Lenz ill?"