Diederich grew indignant and angry by turns. The land alone was worth two hundred thousand. The lieutenant insisted: "A hundred and twenty for the lot."
"Nothing doing"—Diederich made an incautious move towards the door, whereupon the gentleman tackled him seriously. Diederich had to struggle, fell onto a sack of chlorine, and the other on top of him. "Get up," gasped Diederich, "we'll be bleached here." The lieutenant howled aloud as if it already burnt through his clothes—then he suddenly resumed his stiff demeanour. He blinked. "Governor von Wulckow will cut up nasty; if you don't sell, hell do nothing for you. Cousin Quitzin is extending his property hereabouts. He's counting for a certain on your meeting his wishes. A hundred and twenty for the lot." Diederich turned whiter than if he had remained in the chlorine, and tried again: "One hundred and fifty"—but his voice failed him. It was too much for an honourable man! Wulckow insisting upon his official honour, as incorruptible as the Last Judgment! … Disconsolately he once again looked at the figure of this Karnauke, First Lieutenant, Retired. That was the man Wulckow sent; he put himself in the hands of such a person! Couldn't they recently have negotiated the deal between themselves, with all due precautions and with mutual respect? But these Junkers could only spring at your throat: they could not yet understand that business is business. "Just go on ahead to the notary's," whispered Diederich, "I'll he right after you." He showed him out, but when he himself was on the point of leaving, old Sötbier was standing there, with his lips still pursed. "What do you want?" Diederich was exhausted.
"Young master," began the old man in a hollow voice. "I can no longer be responsible for what you are now planning to do."
"You're not asked to be." Diederich recovered his composure. "I am the best judge of what I am doing." The old man raised his hands in dismay.
