Mathias Ráby's heart grew suddenly heavy, and a dark misgiving gripped him in its clutches. "You would be the first to despise me," he exclaimed, "were I to be weakened by your words, and quit my post to fly to another country." "Do you mean then to continue the struggle?" "It is no question of struggle, but rather of right and wrong and just punishment," he answered gloomily. "Ah, well! I suppose it is only womanly weakness that gets the best of me. Yet I, too, have thought out the whole affair. You mean that the embezzlements which you have brought to light shall be avenged?" "Yes, that is what I do mean!" "Now, has it ever occurred to you that if anyone investigates this affair, at least a part of the odium which it incurs, may fall on your wife?" "How can that be, Fruzsinka?" "You remember that absurd housekeeping account, don't you?" "Yes, indeed, the one we all laughed at so heartily. But how would your name be mentioned in connection with such a business? The items were set down by the head cook, and the prefect settled the account." "But everyone knows that it was to my advantage. Now suppose I was confronted with the prefect and the cook, in the case of a formal inquiry? Would not it be a disgrace for you?" "And pray would it not be a disgrace," returned Ráby, "if your husband had to make this confession to the Emperor who sent him: 'Sire, I am no better than all the others you have sent to right your subjects' wrongs, and here I have come back to tell you that everywhere in this world roguery reigns triumphant.' And if he answered me never a word but just looked at me with those keen eyes of his, what shame should I not feel? You shrink at being confronted with the prefect, because the least morsel of the pitch which sticks to him may perchance darken the tip of your little finger, but you do not blush that I may stand before the Emperor and say: 'Sire, here is my wife, with whose paint I have daubed the prefect white.'" Frau Fruzsinka at this changed her point of attack. "Remember," she urged, "that if we fly in the face of my uncle, we risk losing a considerable property." Now it was Ráby's turn. "You fear the prospect of losing the property, but I tremble at the chance of your possessing it." "I do not understand," faltered his wife. "I quite believe you," returned Ráby bitterly. Fruzsinka dared not pursue this tack further, it was time to try another. She threw herself on her husband's neck, and gazed with those wonderful eyes of hers straight into his. "Ráby, did we swear that we would make the people, or ourselves happy, which was it, dear?" At those words, and that glance, Ráby's heart softened. What can one advance to those most unanswerable of arguments? Who will blame Mathias Ráby if he weakly gave way then, as many a strong man had done before him, and threw his half-packed bag into a corner. And as the temptress had gone so far, now she proceeded still further: