He had parted long ago with an old silver watch, of which the chain had even sooner found its way to the lender's.

A long-cherished ring had disappeared last winter, by an odd coincidence, at the very time when Johann Schmidt's oldest child was lying ill with diphtheria.

As for clothing, he had nothing to offer.

The secrets of his outward appearance were known to him alone, but they were of a nature to discourage the hope of raising money on coat or trousers.

A few well-thumbed volumes of Russian authors could not be expected to find a brilliant sale in Munich at a moment's notice.
He looked about, and he saw that there was nothing, and he turned very pale.
"And yet, before midnight, it must be paid," he said.