The only valuable result of the amusing ghost story was, that it brought about a reconciliation between father and son, and the former, as a matter of fact, felt such deep respect for priests and their ghosts in consequence of the apparition, that a short time after his wife had left purgatory for the last time, in order to talk with him, he turned Protestant.

CRASH

Love is stronger than death, and consequently also, than the greatest crash.

A young, and by no means bad-looking son of Palestine, and one of the barons of the Almanac of the Ghetto, who had left the field covered with wounds in the last general engagement on the Stock Exchange, used to go very frequently to the Universal Exhibition in Vienna in 1873, in order to divert his thoughts, and to console himself amidst the varied scenes, and the numerous objects of attraction there.  One day he met a newly married couple in the Russian section, who had a very old coat of arms, but on the other hand, a very modest income.

This latter circumstance had frequently emboldened the stockbroker to make secret overtures to the delightful little lady; overtures which might have fascinated certain Viennese actresses, but which were sure to insult a respectable woman.  The baroness, whose name appeared in the Almanack de Gotha, therefore felt something very like hatred for the man from the Ghetto, and for a long time her pretty little head had been full of various plans of revenge.

The stockbroker, who was really, and even passionately in love with her, got close to her in the Exhibition buildings, which he could do all the more easily, since the little woman’s husband had taken to flight, foreseeing mischief, as soon as she went up to the show-case of a Russian fur dealer, before which she remained standing in rapture.

“Do look at that lovely fur,” the baroness said, while her dark eyes expressed her pleasure; “I must have it.”

But she looked at the white ticket on which the price was marked.

“Four thousand roubles,” she said in despair; “that is about six thousand florins.”

“Certainly,” he replied, “but what of that?  It is a sum not worth mentioning in the presence of such a charming lady.”

“But my husband is not in a position ...”

“Be less cruel than usual for once,” the man from the Ghetto said to the young woman in a low voice, “and allow me to lay this sable skin at your feet.”

“I presume that you are joking.”

“Not I ...”

“I think you must be joking, as I cannot think that you intend to insult me.”

“But, Baroness, I love you....”

“That is one reason more why you should not make me angry.”

“But ...”

“Oh!  I am in such a rage,” the energetic little woman said; “I could flog you like Venus in the Fur[2] did her slave.”