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CHAPTER XVI.
THE MONEY-LENDER.
Since the count's unmannerly treatment at the printseller's, he had
not sufficiently conquered his pride to attempt an application to
another. Therefore, he had no prospect of collecting the money he had
pledged himself to Mrs. Robson to pay but by selling some more of his
valuables to the pawnbroker.
For this purpose he took his sabre, his pistols, and the fated
brilliants he had brought back on a similar errand. He drew them from
their deposit, with less feeling of sacrilege, in so disposing of
such relics of the sacred past, than he had felt on the former
occasion. They were now going to be devoted to gratitude and
benevolence--an act which he knew his parents, were they alive, would
warmly approve; and here he allowed the end to sanctify the means.
About half-past six in the evening, he prepared himself for the task.
Whether it be congenial with melancholy to seek the gloom, or whether
the count found himself less observed under the shades of night, is
not evident; but since his exile, he preferred the dusk to any other
part of the day.
Before he went out, he asked Mrs. Robson for Mr. Vincent's bill.
Sinking with obligation and shame, she put it into his hand, and he
left the house. When he approached a lighted lamp, he opened the
paper to see the amount, and finding that it was almost two pounds,
he hastened forward to the pawn-broker's.
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