Bertram answered sadly:  “What do you care about the street gossip of envious people?  You know that you have enemies, because you are rich and high-minded.  You have long been envied because your house is the most extensive and solid in all Europe, and because your drafts stand at par in all the markets.  They are jealous of the fame of your firm, and for that very reason they whisper all sorts of things that they do not dare to say aloud.  But why should you let such miserable scandal worry you?”

Bertram tried to smile, but it was a sorrowful, anxious one, which did not escape Gotzkowsky.  “Ah!” said he, “these light whisperings of calumny are like the single snow-flakes which finally collect together and roll on and on, and at last become an avalanche which buries up our honor and our good name.  Tell me, then, Bertram, what do they whisper?”

Bertram answered in a low, timid voice:  “They pretend to know that your house has suffered immense losses; that you were not able to meet your drafts; that all your wealth is unfounded; and that—­but why should I repeat all the old women’s and newspaper stories?”

“Even the newspapers talk about it, then?” muttered Gotzkowsky to himself.

“Yes, the Vossian Gazette,” continued Bertram, “has an article in which it speaks mysteriously and sympathizingly of the impending failure of one of our most eminent houses.  This is said to aim at you, father.”

“And the other paper, Spener’s Journal?”

“Is sorry to join in the statement, and confirms it to-day.”

Gotzkowsky broke out into a mocking laugh, his countenance brightened with indignation, and his features expressed their former energy and decision.  “O world!  O men!” he exclaimed, “how pitiful, how mean you are!  You know, Bertram, how much good I have done these men.  I have protected them as a friend in the time of their need and affliction.  I saved them from punishment and shame.  In return they trumpet forth my misfortunes, and that which might have been altered by the considerate silence of my friends, they cry aloud to all the world, and thereby precipitate my fall.”

“It is, then, really true?” asked Bertram, turning pale.  “You are in danger?”

“To-day is the last term for the payment of the five hundred thousand dollars, which I have to pay our king, for the town of Leipsic.  Our largest banking-houses have bought up these claims of the king against me.”

“But that is not your own debt.  You only stood good for Leipsic.”

“That I did; and as Leipsic cannot pay, I must.”

“But Leipsic can assume a portion of the debt least.”