family that the scions thereof cannot, of course, be measured by the same standard as common mortals." "And do you not perceive any way of escape from this vicious circle our friend is wandering in?" Bertram asked. "Only the one you have already pointed to," the lawyer made answer. "But how the deuce can you advise a man who will not be advised, or rather, who accepts all the advice you give him and never acts upon it for all that ...? And there is one thing yet in which you have, too, judged aright. It is by no means too late yet! If he give up those factories of his which will never pay, even if--and on that his whole hope is now centred--the new line of rails passes straight through his estates, and if he meets My Lady with a _sic voleo, sic jubeo_, and if, with one determined cut, he severs the boundlessly costly train from My Lady's garment, leaving it, for all that, a very respectable garment, he would be enabled to discharge his other liabilities gradually, or at once if somebody would, at fair interest, lend him a biggish capital. This, of course, times being bad, will not be very easy to manage, more particularly if people begin to talk about his being embarrassed." "And how large, think you, should that capital be?" "I think that I could settle everything if I had a hundred thousand thalers at my disposal, without there being any formal arrangement with his creditors, or even a voluntary surrender." "In that case I beg to put the sum mentioned at your disposal." The lawyer looked up in amazement. "I had no idea that you were so wealthy," he said simply. "It does not represent half my fortune. Anyhow, I am not running any risk." "No, to be sure," replied the lawyer; "I should be able to secure you against any loss; the rate of interest, as I observed before, would be low. But I may tell you beforehand that your generous offer will be refused. I know our friend. He would rather borrow from the most unscrupulous cut-throat of a usurer than from you, for whom he has, as I know, the profoundest respect. For, though you may be the best of friends, you are not his brother, not his cousin, not a kinsman at all. If you could say to him, you owe it to our family to do so--such an appeal to the family honour, which he holds in the highest esteem, he would comprehend much better. But as it is, his very pride, or his vanity rather--for vanity is distinctly his ruling passion--will be hurt; he will appear to be immensely grateful to you, will say that you are his good angel, and--will not accept a farthing from you, as long as he sees, or fancies he sees, any other way out. He may possibly come to his senses when his last hope, the railway, proves illusory. I fear--I am a keen promoter of the project myself, but on different grounds--I fear that will occur presently. Meanwhile, try your luck, or his rather, by all means. But I repeat, you will not succeed with the mere appeal to your friendship."