The latter was from Stiegle, advising strict economy; the other from Wroblewski, in reply to that of Agenor, written on the 30th of November. He said that Raphael had opened the letter addressed to the deceased, and had placed it with other testimony, but he hoped to be able to evade danger if he received thirty thousand gulden. If they were not sent, he intended to escape disgrace by putting a bullet through his head, and he advised the count to do the same. There were a few lines extra from Stiegle, saying he had managed to secure the wished-for ten thousand gulden, but at forty per cent interest; and as he saw certain destruction looming up in the distance, he gave notice that his situation would be vacant by the end of March. Agenor crumpled up Wroblewski's letter in an ungovernable rage. He had credited him with a good deal of avarice and falsehood, but not with such dastardly conduct. Owing to his conversation with Judith, he had quite forgotten to countermand the check, and, besides, it would have been too late, and Wroblewski would perhaps regard it as an advance for future services. And now came this letter! He had delivered himself up into the hands of this scoundrel, though he was, perhaps; not entirely helpless, since this letter proved clearly Wroblewski's rascality. Still, this would do no good so long as the count, by his absence, showed how timorous he was. For that reason he ought to go home, see to his estates, and sell one of them. But Judith, could he leave her alone? Hours passed in these painful reflections, and dinner-time came. He braced himself as best he could, so as to show Judith a cheerful face. It was not a great success, however, for as he lit his cigar after dinner she said, "You had bad news from home to-day. What has happened?" "Nothing of importance," he answered. "Merely money complications. My cousin's old debts--" "Then you must go home and arrange them. It is your duty. I will stay here with the baby, and you can fetch us in April, or we can go alone." "You will be glad to be rid of me?" He said this with a forced smile, but his face was very grave, nevertheless. She knew what he meant, and said, quietly, "You need have no fear, Agenor. You know well the child would hold me to life, under any circumstances. And how could I cause you such sorrow? No matter how you have erred in other ways, you kept your word and made me your wife. I say it openly, Agenor, I believe it would be a blessing to you and to me if I died a natural death." "Judith!" "Forgive me. I ought not to have said it, but it came from my heart, as it were, and forced its way through my lips. And it is perfectly true. Here life is hard enough; what will it be at home? But voluntary death would be a dreadful misfortune for you. Your conscience would never know peace. It is a frightful feeling that the death of a beloved one is on your soul. You, Agenor, shall never experience that. When will you start?"