"Heroism! extraordinary, antediluvian heroism! I repeat, I regard you with admiring awe, Leo; although I, poor grovelling earth-worm that I am, cannot climb to your sublime heights. And this is just why I am so infatuated about you,--for if you were like me! should find you as desperately tiresome as all the rest of the world,--and why I am anxious about you, for with your prehistoric truth and honour you'll hardly have much luck in this present world. Just now for example, you are in a charming little scrape, and I am really anxious to know how you will pull through it. You have sent in your resignation and have to begin life with nothing, or next to nothing. Tell me frankly how much money you have laid by, for I am convinced that you are an admirable economist and have contrived to lay by something." "No, I have laid by nothing, but I inherited from my mother about two thousand thalers which I have never touched, and which will be amply sufficient to support me until I have arranged my future existence." "And you are going to diminish that pittance? Will you not at last be reasonable, Leo, and see that you can give me no greater pleasure----" "Not a word more, Paul! You know that you can never offend me except by offering me money." "I am dumb, but I cannot suppress the remark that you are a greater egotist than I. What the deuce is the good of my money if the man whom I love best in the world will never take a penny of it, and looks as if he would bite me if I so mach as mention his doing so? But there, I am dumb. I must take you as you are. You will live on your two thousand thalers then until you have arranged your future existence,--what sort of an existence? I am greatly mistaken if you contemplate acceding to your amiable uncle's proposal." "Never! the mere idea of marrying for money disgusts me!" "I thought so. For my part, my sentiments are expressed in the saying, 'Wealth is no disgrace, and poverty no virtue;' but you would of course refuse your cousin Hilda's hand, just because she happened to be wealthy." "No; if I loved her and was loved by her, I should, although I admit it would be difficult and against the grain, try to forget that she was rich; but I do not love her, and I never can love her!" "You don't know her yet. To be sure, judging from her father, whose letter is not exactly instinct in every line with delicacy of sentiment, there is not very much to be expected of her; but she may, nevertheless, be an extremely charming girl." "And if she were,--if she were possessed of the beauty and amiability of an angel,--still I could never love her!"