or
talking to one's self indicates a kindly disposition, whilst Shund had
no disposition whatever, as they maintain who knew him; or, if he had
ever had one, it had smouldered into a hard, impenetrable crust of
slag.

"Strange--remarkably strange!" said he. "Hem! what can it mean? How am
I to account for it? Has the usurer undergone a transformation during
the night?" And a hideous grin distorted his face. "Am I metamorphosed,
am I enchanted, or am I myself an enchanter? Unaccountable, marvellous,
unheard of!"

The papers had been locked up in the desk. A secret power urged him up
and down the room, and finally into the adjoining sitting-room, where
Mrs. Shund, a pale, careworn lady, sat near a sewing-stand, intent on
her lonely occupation.

"Wife, queer things have befallen me. Only think, all the city notables
have raised their hats to your humble servant, and have saluted me in a
friendly, almost an obsequious manner. And this has happened to me
to-day--to me, the hated and despised usurer! Isn't that quite amazing?
Even the city regent, Schwefel's son, took off his hat, and bowed as if
I were some live grandee. How do you explain that prodigy?"

The careworn woman kept on sewing without raising her head.

"Why don't you answer me, wife? Don't you find that most astonishing?"

"I am incapable of being astonished, since grief and care have so
filled my heart that no room is left in it for feelings of any other
kind."

"Well, well! what is up again?" asked he, with curiosity.

She drew a letter written in a female hand from one of the drawers of
the sewing-stand.

"Read this, villain!"

Hastily snatching the letter, he began to read.

"Hem," growled he indifferently. "The drab complains of being
neglected, of not getting any money from me. That should not be a cause
of rage for you, I should think. The drab is brazen enough to write to
you to reveal my weaknesses, all with the amicable intention of getting
up a thundergust in our matrimonial heaven. Do learn sense, wife, and
stop noticing my secret enjoyments."

"Fie, villain. Fie upon you, shameless wretch!" cried she, trembling in
every limb.

"Listen to me, wife! Above all things, let us not have a scene, an
unnecessary row," interrupted he. "You know how fruitless are your
censures. Don't pester me with your stale lectures on morals."

"Nearly every month I get a letter of that sort written in the most
disreputable purlieus of the town, and addre