Rosalie was handsome and rich, for Bernhard would not live to inherit his father's wealth.

Perhaps he might desire to become Ehrenthal's son-in-law, perhaps not; at all events, there was no hurry about that.

There was one other whom he must get on a secure footing--the little black man now drinking that expensive wine down stairs.

Henceforth he would pay him for whatever he did for him, but he would not confide in him.
These were the resolves of Veitel Itzig; and, having concocted his plans, he locked his door, threw himself down exhausted on his hard bed, the imaginary possessor of Baron Rothsattel's fair property.
That evening the baroness and her daughter sat together in the conservatory, and both were silent; the baroness intently watching a bright moth, which was bent upon flying into the lamp, and came knocking its thick little body over and over against the glass which saved its life.
Lenore bent over her book, but often cast an inquiring glance at her mother's thoughtful face.
There came a quick step along the gravel, and the old bailiff, cap in hand, asked for the master.
"What do you want ?" said Lenore; "has any thing happened ?" "It's all over with the old black horse," said the bailiff, in great concern; "he has been biting and kicking like mad, and now he is gasping his last." Lenore sprang up with an exclamation for which her mother chid her.
"I will come and see to him myself," said she, and hurried off with the old man.
The sick horse lay on his straw, with the sweat running down, and his sides heaving violently.

The stable-boys stood around, looking at him phlegmatically.