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diff --git a/old/cspns10.txt b/old/cspns10.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8f12d0d..0000000 --- a/old/cspns10.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,12852 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg Etext of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac -#74 in our series by Honore de Balzac - - -Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check -the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! - -Please take a look at the important information in this header. -We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an -electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. - - -**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** - -**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** - -*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* - -Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and -further information is included below. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* - - - - - -Etext prepared by Dagny, dagnyj@hotmail.com -and John Bickers, jbickers@templar.actrix.gen.nz - - - - - -Cousin Pons - -by Honore de Balzac - - - -Translated by Ellen Marriage - - - - -COUSIN PONS - - - -Towards three o'clock in the afternoon of one October day in the year -1844, a man of sixty or thereabouts, whom anybody might have credited -with more than his actual age, was walking along the Boulevard des -Italiens with his head bent down, as if he were tracking some one. -There was a smug expression about the mouth--he looked like a merchant -who has just done a good stroke of business, or a bachelor emerging -from a boudoir in the best of humors with himself; and in Paris this -is the highest degree of self-satisfaction ever registered by a human -countenance. - -As soon as the elderly person appeared in the distance, a smile broke -out over the faces of the frequenters of the boulevard, who daily, -from their chairs, watch the passers-by, and indulge in the agreeable -pastime of analyzing them. That smile is peculiar to Parisians; it -says so many things--ironical, quizzical, pitying; but nothing save -the rarest of human curiosities can summon that look of interest to -the faces of Parisians, sated as they are with every possible sight. - -A saying recorded of Hyacinthe, an actor celebrated for his repartees, -will explain the archaeological value of the old gentleman, and the -smile repeated like an echo by all eyes. Somebody once asked Hyacinthe -where the hats were made that set the house in a roar as soon as he -appeared. "I don't have them made," he said; "I keep them!" So also -among the million actors who make up the great troupe of Paris, there -are unconscious Hyacinthes who "keep" all the absurd freaks of -vanished fashions upon their backs; and the apparition of some bygone -decade will startle you into laughter as you walk the streets in -bitterness of soul over the treason of one who was your friend in the -past. - -In some respects the passer-by adhered so faithfully to the fashions -of the year 1806, that he was not so much a burlesque caricature as a -reproduction of the Empire period. To an observer, accuracy of detail -in a revival of this sort is extremely valuable, but accuracy of -detail, to be properly appreciated, demands the critical attention of -an expert /flaneur/; while the man in the street who raises a laugh as -soon as he comes in sight is bound to be one of those outrageous -exhibitions which stare you in the face, as the saying goes, and -produce the kind of effect which an actor tries to secure for the -success of his entry. The elderly person, a thin, spare man, wore a -nut-brown spencer over a coat of uncertain green, with white metal -buttons. A man in a spencer in the year 1844! it was as if Napoleon -himself had vouchsafed to come to life again for a couple of hours. - -The spencer, as its name indicates, was the invention of an English -lord, vain, doubtless, of his handsome shape. Some time before the -Peace of Amiens, this nobleman solved the problem of covering the bust -without destroying the outlines of the figure and encumbering the -person with the hideous boxcoat, now finishing its career on the backs -of aged hackney cabmen; but, elegant figures being in the minority, -the success of the spencer was short-lived in France, English though -it was. - -At the sight of the spencer, men of forty or fifty mentally invested -the wearer with top-boots, pistachio-colored kerseymere small clothes -adorned with a knot of ribbon; and beheld themselves in the costumes -of their youth. Elderly ladies thought of former conquests; but the -younger men were asking each other why the aged Alcibiades had cut off -the skirts of his overcoat. The rest of the costume was so much in -keeping with the spencer, that you would not have hesitated to call -the wearer "an Empire man," just as you call a certain kind of -furniture "Empire furniture;" yet the newcomer only symbolized the -Empire for those who had known that great and magnificent epoch at any -rate /de visu/, for a certain accuracy of memory was needed for the -full appreciation of the costume, and even now the Empire is so far -away that not every one of us can picture it in its Gallo-Grecian -reality. - -The stranger's hat, for instance, tipped to the back of his head so as -to leave almost the whole forehead bare, recalled a certain jaunty -air, with which civilians and officials attempted to swagger it with -military men; but the hat itself was a shocking specimen of the -fifteen-franc variety. Constant friction with a pair of enormous ears -had left their marks which no brush could efface from the underside of -the brim; the silk tissue (as usual) fitted badly over the cardboard -foundation, and hung in wrinkles here and there; and some skin-disease -(apparently) had attacked the nap in spite of the hand which rubbed it -down of a morning. - -Beneath the hat, which seemed ready to drop off at any moment, lay an -expanse of countenance grotesque and droll, as the faces which the -Chinese alone of all people can imagine for their quaint curiosities. -The broad visage was as full of holes as a colander, honeycombed with -the shadows of the dints, hollowed out like a Roman mask. It set all -the laws of anatomy at defiance. Close inspection failed to detect the -substructure. Where you expected to find a bone, you discovered a -layer of cartilaginous tissue, and the hollows of an ordinary human -face were here filled out with flabby bosses. A pair of gray eyes, -red-rimmed and lashless, looked forlornly out of a countenance which -was flattened something after the fashion of a pumpkin, and surmounted -by a Don Quixote nose that rose out of it like a monolith above a -plain. It was the kind of nose, as Cervantes must surely have -explained somewhere, which denotes an inborn enthusiasm for all things -great, a tendency which is apt to degenerate into credulity. - -And yet, though the man's ugliness was something almost ludicrous, it -aroused not the slightest inclination to laugh. The exceeding -melancholy which found an outlet in the poor man's faded eyes reached -the mocker himself and froze the gibes on his lips; for all at once -the thought arose that this was a human creature to whom Nature had -forbidden any expression of love or tenderness, since such expression -could only be painful or ridiculous to the woman he loved. In the -presence of such misfortune a Frenchman is silent; to him it seems the -most cruel of all afflictions--to be unable to please! - -The man so ill-favored was dressed after the fashion of shabby -gentility, a fashion which the rich not seldom try to copy. He wore -low shoes beneath gaiters of the pattern worn by the Imperial Guard, -doubtless for the sake of economy, because they kept the socks clean. -The rusty tinge of his black breeches, like the cut and the white or -shiny line of the creases, assigned the date of the purchase some -three years back. The roomy garments failed to disguise the lean -proportions of the wearer, due apparently rather to constitution than -to a Pythagorean regimen, for the worthy man was endowed with thick -lips and a sensual mouth; and when he smiled, displayed a set of white -teeth which would have done credit to a shark. - -A shawl-waistcoat, likewise of black cloth, was supplemented by a -white under-waistcoat, and yet again beneath this gleamed the edge of -a red knitted under-jacket, to put you in mind of Garat's five -waistcoats. A huge white muslin stock with a conspicuous bow, invented -by some exquisite to charm "the charming sex" in 1809, projected so -far above the wearer's chin that the lower part of his face was lost, -as it were, in a muslin abyss. A silk watch-guard, plaited to resemble -the keepsakes made of hair, meandered down the shirt front and secured -his watch from the improbable theft. The greenish coat, though older -by some three years than the breeches, was remarkably neat; the black -velvet collar and shining metal buttons, recently renewed, told of -carefulness which descended even to trifles. - -The particular manner of fixing the hat on the occiput, the triple -waistcoat, the vast cravat engulfing the chin, the gaiters, the metal -buttons on the greenish coat,--all these reminiscences of Imperial -fashions were blended with a sort of afterwaft and lingering perfume -of the coquetry of the Incroyable--with an indescribable finical -something in the folds of the garments, a certain air of stiffness and -correctness in the demeanor that smacked of the school of David, that -recalled Jacob's spindle-legged furniture. - -At first sight, moreover, you set him down either for the gentleman by -birth fallen a victim to some degrading habit, or for the man of small -independent means whose expenses are calculated to such a nicety that -the breakage of a windowpane, a rent in a coat, or a visit from the -philanthropic pest who asks you for subscriptions to a charity, -absorbs the whole of a month's little surplus of pocket-money. If you -had seen him that afternoon, you would have wondered how that -grotesque face came to be lighted up with a smile; usually, surely, it -must have worn the dispirited, passive look of the obscure toiler -condemned to labor without ceasing for the barest necessaries of life. -Yet when you noticed that the odd-looking old man was carrying some -object (evidently precious) in his right hand with a mother's care; -concealing it under the skirts of his coat to keep it from collisions -in the crowd, and still more, when you remarked that important air -always assumed by an idler when intrusted with a commission, you would -have suspected him of recovering some piece of lost property, some -modern equivalent of the marquise's poodle; you would have recognized -the assiduous gallantry of the "man of the Empire" returning in -triumph from his mission to some charming woman of sixty, reluctant as -yet to dispense with the daily visit of her elderly /attentif/. - -In Paris only among great cities will you see such spectacles as this; -for of her boulevards Paris makes a stage where a never-ending drama -is played gratuitously by the French nation in the interests of Art. - -In spite of the rashly assumed spencer, you would scarcely have -thought, after a glance at the contours of the man's bony frame, that -this was an artist--that conventional type which is privileged, in -something of the same way as a Paris gamin, to represent riotous -living to the bourgeois and philistine mind, the most /mirific/ -joviality, in short (to use the old Rabelaisian word newly taken into -use). Yet this elderly person had once taken the medal and the -traveling scholarship; he had composed the first cantata crowned by -the Institut at the time of the re-establishment of the Academie de -Rome; he was M. Sylvain Pons, in fact--M. Sylvain Pons, whose name -appears on the covers of well-known sentimental songs trilled by our -mothers, to say nothing of a couple of operas, played in 1815 and -1816, and divers unpublished scores. The worthy soul was now ending -his days as the conductor of an orchestra in a boulevard theatre, and -a music master in several young ladies' boarding-schools, a post for -which his face particularly recommended him. He was entirely dependent -upon his earnings. Running about to give private lessons at his age!-- -Think of it. How many a mystery lies in that unromantic situation! - -But the last man to wear the spencer carried something about him -besides his Empire Associations; a warning and a lesson was written -large over that triple waistcoat. Wherever he went, he exhibited, -without fee or charge, one of the many victims of the fatal system of -competition which still prevails in France in spite of a century of -trial without result; for Poisson de Marigny, brother of the Pompadour -and Director of Fine Arts, somewhere about 1746 invented this method -of applying pressure to the brain. That was a hundred years ago. Try -if you can count upon your fingers the men of genius among the -prizemen of those hundred years. - -In the first place, no deliberate effort of schoolmaster or -administrator can replace the miracles of chance which produce great -men: of all the mysteries of generation, this most defies the -ambitious modern scientific investigator. In the second--the ancient -Egyptians (we are told) invented incubator-stoves for hatching eggs; -what would be thought of Egyptians who should neglect to fill the -beaks of the callow fledglings? Yet this is precisely what France is -doing. She does her utmost to produce artists by the artificial heat -of competitive examination; but, the sculptor, painter, engraver, or -musician once turned out by this mechanical process, she no more -troubles herself about them and their fate than the dandy cares for -yesterday's flower in his buttonhole. And so it happens that the -really great man is a Greuze, a Watteau, a Felicien David, a Pagnesi, -a Gericault, a Decamps, an Auber, a David d'Angers, an Eugene -Delacroix, or a Meissonier--artists who take but little heed of -/grande prix/, and spring up in the open field under the rays of that -invisible sun called Vocation. - -To resume. The Government sent Sylvain Pons to Rome to make a great -musician of himself; and in Rome Sylvain Pons acquired a taste for the -antique and works of art. He became an admirable judge of those -masterpieces of the brain and hand which are summed up by the useful -neologism "bric-a-brac;" and when the child of Euterpe returned to -Paris somewhere about the year 1810, it was in the character of a -rabid collector, loaded with pictures, statuettes, frames, wood- -carving, ivories, enamels, porcelains, and the like. He had sunk the -greater part of his patrimony, not so much in the purchases themselves -as on the expenses of transit; and every penny inherited from his -mother had been spent in the course of a three-years' travel in Italy -after the residence in Rome came to an end. He had seen Venice, Milan, -Florence, Bologna, and Naples leisurely, as he wished to see them, as -a dreamer of dreams, and a philosopher; careless of the future, for an -artist looks to his talent for support as the /fille de joie/ counts -upon her beauty. - -All through those splendid years of travel Pons was as happy as was -possible to a man with a great soul, a sensitive nature, and a face so -ugly that any "success with the fair" (to use the stereotyped formula -of 1809) was out of the question; the realities of life always fell -short of the ideals which Pons created for himself; the world without -was not in tune with the soul within, but Pons had made up his mind to -the dissonance. Doubtless the sense of beauty that he had kept pure -and living in his inmost soul was the spring from which the delicate, -graceful, and ingenious music flowed and won him reputation between -1810 and 1814. - -Every reputation founded upon the fashion or the fancy of the hour, or -upon the short-lived follies of Paris, produces its Pons. No place in -the world is so inexorable in great things; no city of the globe so -disdainfully indulgent in small. Pons' notes were drowned before long -in floods of German harmony and the music of Rossini; and if in 1824 -he was known as an agreeable musician, a composer of various drawing- -room melodies, judge if he was likely to be famous in 183l! In 1844, -the year in which the single drama of this obscure life began, Sylvain -Pons was of no more value than an antediluvian semiquaver; dealers in -music had never heard of his name, though he was still composing, on -scanty pay, for his own orchestra or for neighboring theatres. - -And yet, the worthy man did justice to the great masters of our day; a -masterpiece finely rendered brought tears to his eyes; but his -religion never bordered on mania, as in the case of Hoffmann's -Kreislers; he kept his enthusiasm to himself; his delight, like the -paradise reached by opium or hashish, lay within his own soul. - -The gift of admiration, of comprehension, the single faculty by which -the ordinary man becomes the brother of the poet, is rare in the city -of Paris, that inn whither all ideas, like travelers, come to stay for -awhile; so rare is it, that Pons surely deserves our respectful -esteem. His personal failure may seem anomalous, but he frankly -admitted that he was weak in harmony. He had neglected the study of -counterpoint; there was a time when he might have begun his studies -afresh and held his own among modern composers, when he might have -been, not certainly a Rossini, but a Herold. But he was alarmed by the -intricacies of modern orchestration; and at length, in the pleasures -of collecting, he found such ever-renewed compensation for his -failure, that if he had been made to choose between his curiosities -and the fame of Rossini--will it be believed?--Pons would have -pronounced for his beloved collection. - -Pons was of the opinion of Chenavard, the print-collector, who laid it -down as an axiom--that you only fully enjoy the pleasure of looking at -your Ruysdael, Hobbema, Holbein, Raphael, Murillo, Greuze, Sebastian -del Piombo, Giorgione, Albrecht Durer, or what not, when you have paid -less than sixty francs for your picture. Pons never gave more than a -hundred francs for any purchase. If he laid out as much as fifty -francs, he was careful to assure himself beforehand that the object -was worth three thousand. The most beautiful thing in the world, if it -cost three hundred francs, did not exist for Pons. Rare had been his -bargains; but he possessed the three qualifications for success--a -stag's legs, an idler's disregard of time, and the patience of a Jew. - -This system, carried out for forty years, in Rome or Paris alike, had -borne its fruits. Since Pons returned from Italy, he had regularly -spent about two thousand francs a year upon a collection of -masterpieces of every sort and description, a collection hidden away -from all eyes but his own; and now his catalogue had reached the -incredible number of 1907. Wandering about Paris between 1811 and -1816, he had picked up many a treasure for ten francs, which would -fetch a thousand or twelve hundred to-day. Some forty-five thousand -canvases change hands annually in Paris picture sales, and these Pons -had sifted through year by year. Pons had Sevres porcelain, /pate -tendre/, bought of Auvergnats, those satellites of the Black Band who -sacked chateaux and carried off the marvels of Pompadour France in -their tumbril carts; he had, in fact, collected the drifted wreck of -the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries; he recognized the genius of -the French school, and discerned the merit of the Lepautres and -Lavallee-Poussins and the rest of the great obscure creators of the -Genre Louis Quinze and the Genre Louis Seize. Our modern craftsmen now -draw without acknowledgment from them, pore incessantly over the -treasures of the Cabinet des Estampes, borrow adroitly, and give out -their /pastiches/ for new inventions. Pons had obtained many a piece -by exchange, and therein lies the ineffable joy of the collector. The -joy of buying bric-a-brac is a secondary delight; in the give-and-take -of barter lies the joy of joys. Pons had begun by collecting snuff- -boxes and miniatures; his name was unknown in bric-a-bracology, for he -seldom showed himself in salesrooms or in the shops of well-known -dealers; Pons was not aware that his treasures had any commercial -value. - -The late lamented Dusommerard tried his best to gain Pons' confidence, -but the prince of bric-a-brac died before he could gain an entrance to -the Pons museum, the one private collection which could compare with -the famous Sauvageot museum. Pons and M. Sauvageot indeed resembled -each other in more ways than one. M. Sauvageot, like Pons, was a -musician; he was likewise a comparatively poor man, and he had -collected his bric-a-brac in much the same way, with the same love of -art, the same hatred of rich capitalists with well-known names who -collect for the sake of running up prices as cleverly as possible. -There was yet another point of resemblance between the pair; Pons, -like his rival competitor and antagonist, felt in his heart an -insatiable craving after specimens of the craftsman's skill and -miracles of workmanship; he loved them as a man might love a fair -mistress; an auction in the salerooms in the Rue des Jeuneurs, with -its accompaniments of hammer strokes and brokers' men, was a crime of -/lese-bric-a-brac/ in Pons' eyes. Pons' museum was for his own delight -at every hour; for the soul created to know and feel all the beauty of -a masterpiece has this in common with the lover--to-day's joy is as -great as the joy of yesterday; possession never palls; and a -masterpiece, happily, never grows old. So the object that he held in -his hand with such fatherly care could only be a "find," carried off -with what affection amateurs alone know! - -After the first outlines of this biographical sketch, every one will -cry at once, "Why! this is the happiest man on earth, in spite of his -ugliness!" And, in truth, no spleen, no dullness can resist the -counter-irritant supplied by a "craze," the intellectual moxa of a -hobby. You who can no longer drink of "the cup of pleasure," as it has -been called through all ages, try to collect something, no matter what -(people have been known to collect placards), so shall you receive the -small change for the gold ingot of happiness. Have you a hobby? You -have transferred pleasure to the plane of ideas. And yet, you need not -envy the worthy Pons; such envy, like all kindred sentiments, would be -founded upon a misapprehension. - -With a nature so sensitive, with a soul that lived by tireless -admiration of the magnificent achievements of art, of the high rivalry -between human toil and the work of Nature--Pons was a slave to that -one of the Seven Deadly Sins with which God surely will deal least -hardly; Pons was a glutton. A narrow income, combined with a passion -for bric-a-brac, condemned him to a regimen so abhorrent to a -discriminating palate, that, bachelor as he was, he had cut the knot -of the problem by dining out every day. - -Now, in the time of the Empire, celebrities were more sought after -than at present, perhaps because there were so few of them, perhaps -because they made little or no political pretension. In those days, -besides, you could set up for a poet, a musician, or a painter, with -so little expense. Pons, being regarded as the probable rival of -Nicolo, Paer, and Berton, used to receive so many invitations, that he -was forced to keep a list of engagements, much as barristers note down -the cases for which they are retained. And Pons behaved like an -artist. He presented his amphitryons with copies of his songs, he -"obliged" at the pianoforte, he brought them orders for boxes at the -Feydeau, his own theatre, he organized concerts, he was not above -taking the fiddle himself sometimes in a relation's house, and getting -up a little impromptu dance. In those days, all the handsome men in -France were away at the wars exchanging sabre-cuts with the handsome -men of the Coalition. Pons was said to be, not ugly, but "peculiar- -looking," after the grand rule laid down by Moliere in Eliante's -famous couplets; but if he sometimes heard himself described as a -"charming man" (after he had done some fair lady a service), his good -fortune went no further than words. - -It was between the years 1810 and 1816 that Pons contracted the -unlucky habit of dining out; he grew accustomed to see his hosts -taking pains over the dinner, procuring the first and best of -everything, bringing out their choicest vintages, seeing carefully to -the dessert, the coffee, the liqueurs, giving him of their best, in -short; the best, moreover, of those times of the Empire when Paris was -glutted with kings and queens and princes, and many a private house -emulated royal splendours. - -People used to play at Royalty then as they play nowadays at -parliament, creating a whole host of societies with presidents, vice- -presidents, secretaries and what not--agricultural societies, -industrial societies, societies for the promotion of sericulture, -viticulture, the growth of flax, and so forth. Some have even gone so -far as to look about them for social evils in order to start a society -to cure them. - -But to return to Pons. A stomach thus educated is sure to react upon -the owner's moral fibre; the demoralization of the man varies directly -with his progress in culinary sapience. Voluptuousness, lurking in -every secret recess of the heart, lays down the law therein. Honor and -resolution are battered in breach. The tyranny of the palate has never -been described; as a necessity of life it escapes the criticism of -literature; yet no one imagines how many have been ruined by the -table. The luxury of the table is indeed, in this sense, the -courtesan's one competitor in Paris, besides representing in a manner -the credit side in another account, where she figures as the -expenditure. - -With Pons' decline and fall as an artist came his simultaneous -transformation from invited guest to parasite and hanger-on; he could -not bring himself to quit dinners so excellently served for the -Spartan broth of a two-franc ordinary. Alas! alas! a shudder ran -through him at the mere thought of the great sacrifices which -independence required him to make. He felt that he was capable of -sinking to even lower depths for the sake of good living, if there -were no other way of enjoying the first and best of everything, of -guzzling (vulgar but expressive word) nice little dishes carefully -prepared. Pons lived like a bird, pilfering his meal, flying away when -he had taken his fill, singing a few notes by way of return; he took a -certain pleasure in the thought that he lived at the expense of -society, which asked of him--what but the trifling toll of grimaces? -Like all confirmed bachelors, who hold their lodgings in horror, and -live as much as possible in other people's houses, Pons was accustomed -to the formulas and facial contortions which do duty for feeling in -the world; he used compliments as small change; and as far as others -were concerned, he was satisfied with the labels they bore, and never -plunged a too-curious hand into the sack. - -This not intolerable phase lasted for another ten years. Such years! -Pons' life was closing with a rainy autumn. All through those years he -contrived to dine without expense by making himself necessary in the -houses which he frequented. He took the first step in the downward -path by undertaking a host of small commissions; many and many a time -Pons ran on errands instead of the porter or the servant; many a -purchase he made for his entertainers. He became a kind of harmless, -well-meaning spy, sent by one family into another; but he gained no -credit with those for whom he trudged about, and so often sacrificed -self-respect. - -"Pons is a bachelor," said they; "he is at a loss to know what to do -with his time; he is only too glad to trot about for us.--What else -would he do?" - -Very soon the cold which old age spreads about itself began to set in; -the communicable cold which sensibly lowers the social temperature, -especially if the old man is ugly and poor. Old and ugly and poor--is -not this to be thrice old? Pons' winter had begun, the winter which -brings the reddened nose, and frost-nipped cheeks, and the numbed -fingers, numb in how many ways! - -Invitations very seldom came for Pons now. So far from seeking the -society of the parasite, every family accepted him much as they -accepted the taxes; they valued nothing that Pons could do for them; -real services from Pons counted for nought. The family circles in -which the worthy artist revolved had no respect for art or letters; -they went down on their knees to practical results; they valued -nothing but the fortune or social position acquired since the year -1830. The bourgeoisie is afraid of intellect and genius, but Pons' -spirit and manner were not haughty enough to overawe his relations, -and naturally he had come at last to be accounted less than nothing -with them, though he was not altogether despised. - -He had suffered acutely among them, but, like all timid creatures, he -kept silence as to his pain; and so by degrees schooled himself to -hide his feelings, and learned to take sanctuary in his inmost self. -Many superficial persons interpret this conduct by the short word -"selfishness;" and, indeed, the resemblance between the egoist and the -solitary human creature is strong enough to seem to justify the -harsher verdict; and this is especially true in Paris, where nobody -observes others closely, where all things pass swift as waves, and -last as little as a Ministry. - -So Cousin Pons was accused of selfishness (behind his back); and if -the world accuses any one, it usually finds him guilty and condemns -him into the bargain. Pons bowed to the decision. Do any of us know -how such a timid creature is cast down by an unjust judgment? Who will -ever paint all that the timid suffer? This state of things, now -growing daily worse, explains the sad expression on the poor old -musician's face; he lived by capitulations of which he was ashamed. -Every time we sin against self-respect at the bidding of the ruling -passion, we rivet its hold upon us; the more that passion requires of -us, the stronger it grows, every sacrifice increasing, as it were, the -value of a satisfaction for which so much has been given up, till the -negative sum-total of renouncements looms very large in a man's -imagination. Pons, for instance, after enduring the insolently -patronizing looks of some bourgeois, incased in buckram of stupidity, -sipped his glass of port or finished his quail with breadcrumbs, and -relished something of the savor of revenge, besides. "It is not too -dear at the price!" he said to himself. - -After all, in the eyes of the moralist, there were extenuating -circumstances in Pons' case. Man only lives, in fact, by some personal -satisfaction. The passionless, perfectly righteous man is not human; -he is a monster, an angel wanting wings. The angel of Christian -mythology has nothing but a head. On earth, the righteous person is -the sufficiently tiresome Grandison, for whom the very Venus of the -Crosswords is sexless. - -Setting aside one or two commonplace adventures in Italy, in which -probably the climate accounted for his success, no woman had ever -smiled upon Pons. Plenty of men are doomed to this fate. Pons was an -abnormal birth; the child of parents well stricken in years, he bore -the stigma of his untimely genesis; his cadaverous complexion might -have been contracted in the flask of spirit-of-wine in which science -preserves some extraordinary foetus. Artist though he was, with his -tender, dreamy, sensitive soul, he was forced to accept the character -which belonged to his face; it was hopeless to think of love, and he -remained a bachelor, not so much of choice as of necessity. Then -Gluttony, the sin of the continent monk, beckoned to Pons; he rushed -upon temptation, as he had thrown his whole soul into the adoration of -art and the cult of music. Good cheer and bric-a-brac gave him the -small change for the love which could spend itself in no other way. As -for music, it was his profession, and where will you find the man who -is in love with his means of earning a livelihood? For it is with a -profession as with marriage: in the long length you are sensible of -nothing but the drawbacks. - -Brillat-Savarin has deliberately set himself to justify the -gastronome, but perhaps even he has not dwelt sufficiently on the -reality of the pleasures of the table. The demands of digestion upon -the human economy produce an internal wrestling-bout of human forces -which rivals the highest degree of amorous pleasure. The gastronome is -conscious of an expenditure of vital power, an expenditure so vast -that the brain is atrophied (as it were), that a second brain, located -in the diaphragm, may come into play, and the suspension of all the -faculties is in itself a kind of intoxication. A boa constrictor -gorged with an ox is so stupid with excess that the creature is easily -killed. What man, on the wrong side of forty, is rash enough to work -after dinner? And remark in the same connection, that all great men -have been moderate eaters. The exhilarating effect of the wing of a -chicken upon invalids recovering from serious illness, and long -confined to a stinted and carefully chosen diet, has been frequently -remarked. The sober Pons, whose whole enjoyment was concentrated in -the exercise of his digestive organs, was in the position of chronic -convalescence; he looked to his dinner to give him the utmost degree -of pleasurable sensation, and hitherto he had procured such sensations -daily. Who dares to bid farewell to old habit? Many a man on the brink -of suicide has been plucked back on the threshold of death by the -thought of the cafe where he plays his nightly game of dominoes. - -In the year 1835, chance avenged Pons for the indifference of -womankind by finding him a prop for his declining years, as the saying -goes; and he, who had been old from his cradle, found a support in -friendship. Pons took to himself the only life-partner permitted to -him among his kind--an old man and a fellow-musician. - -But for La Fontaine's fable, /Les Deux Amis/, this sketch should have -borne the title of /The Two Friends/; but to take the name of this -divine story would surely be a deed of violence, a profanation from -which every true man of letters would shrink. The title ought to be -borne alone and for ever by the fabulist's masterpiece, the revelation -of his soul, and the record of his dreams; those three words were set -once and for ever by the poet at the head of a page which is his by a -sacred right of ownership; for it is a shrine before which all -generations, all over the world, will kneel so long as the art of -printing shall endure. - -Pons' friend gave lessons on the pianoforte. They met and struck up an -acquaintance in 1834, one prize day at a boarding-school; and so -congenial were their ways of thinking and living, that Pons used to -say that he had found his friend too late for his happiness. Never, -perhaps, did two souls, so much alike, find each other in the great -ocean of humanity which flowed forth, in disobedience to the will of -God, from its source in the Garden of Eden. Before very long the two -musicians could not live without each other. Confidences were -exchanged, and in a week's time they were like brothers. Schmucke (for -that was his name) had not believed that such a man as Pons existed, -nor had Pons imagined that a Schmucke was possible. Here already you -have a sufficient description of the good couple; but it is not every -mind that takes kindly to the concise synthetic method, and a certain -amount of demonstration is necessary if the credulous are to accept -the conclusion. - -This pianist, like all other pianists, was a German. A German, like -the eminent Liszt and the great Mendelssohn, and Steibelt, and Dussek, -and Meyer, and Mozart, and Doelher, and Thalberg, and Dreschok, and -Hiller, and Leopold Hertz, Woertz, Karr, Wolff, Pixis, and Clara Wieck ---and all Germans, generally speaking. Schmucke was a great musical -composer doomed to remain a music master, so utterly did his character -lack the audacity which a musical genius needs if he is to push his -way to the front. A German's naivete does not invariably last him -through his life; in some cases it fails after a certain age; and even -as a cultivator of the soil brings water from afar by means of -irrigation channels, so, from the springs of his youth, does the -Teuton draw the simplicity which disarms suspicion--the perennial -supplies with which he fertilizes his labors in every field of -science, art, or commerce. A crafty Frenchman here and there will turn -a Parisian tradesman's stupidity to good account in the same way. But -Schmucke had kept his child's simplicity much as Pons continued to -wear his relics of the Empire--all unsuspectingly. The true and noble- -hearted German was at once the theatre and the audience, making music -within himself for himself alone. In this city of Paris he lived as a -nightingale lives among the thickets; and for twenty years he sang on, -mateless, till he met with a second self in Pons. [See /Une Fille -d'Eve/.] - -Both Pons and Schmucke were abundantly given, both by heart and -disposition, to the peculiarly German sentimentality which shows -itself alike in childlike ways--in a passion for flowers, in that form -of nature-worship which prompts a German to plant his garden-beds with -big glass globes for the sake of seeing miniature pictures of the view -which he can behold about him of a natural size; in the inquiring turn -of mind that sets a learned Teuton trudging three hundred miles in his -gaiters in search of a fact which smiles up in his face from a wayside -spring, or lurks laughing under the jessamine leaves in the back-yard; -or (to take a final instance) in the German craving to endow every -least detail in creation with a spiritual significance, a craving -which produces sometimes Hoffmann's tipsiness in type, sometimes the -folios with which Germany hedges the simplest questions round about, -lest haply any fool should fall into her intellectual excavations; -and, indeed, if you fathom these abysses, you find nothing but a -German at the bottom. - -Both friends were Catholics. They went to Mass and performed the -duties of religion together; and, like children, found nothing to tell -their confessors. It was their firm belief that music is to feeling -and thought as thought and feeling are to speech; and of their -converse on this system there was no end. Each made response to the -other in orgies of sound, demonstrating their convictions, each for -each, like lovers. - -Schmucke was as absent-minded as Pons was wide-awake. Pons was a -collector, Schmucke a dreamer of dreams; Schmucke was a student of -beauty seen by the soul, Pons a preserver of material beauty. Pons -would catch sight of a china cup and buy it in the time that Schmucke -took to blow his nose, wondering the while within himself whether the -musical phrase that was ringing in his brain--the /motif/ from Rossini -or Bellini or Beethoven or Mozart--had its origin or its counterpart -in the world of human thought and emotion. Schmucke's economies were -controlled by an absent mind, Pons was a spendthrift through passion, -and for both the result was the same--they had not a penny on Saint -Sylvester's day. - -Perhaps Pons would have given way under his troubles if it had not -been for this friendship; but life became bearable when he found some -one to whom he could pour out his heart. The first time that he -breathed a word of his difficulties, the good German had advised him -to live as he himself did, and eat bread and cheese at home sooner -than dine abroad at such a cost. Alas! Pons did not dare to confess -that heart and stomach were at war within him, that he could digest -affronts which pained his heart, and, cost what it might, a good -dinner that satisfied his palate was a necessity to him, even as your -gay Lothario must have a mistress to tease. - -In time Schmucke understood; not just at once, for he was too much of -a Teuton to possess that gift of swift perception in which the French -rejoice; Schmucke understood and loved poor Pons the better. Nothing -so fortifies a friendship as a belief on the part of one friend that -he is superior to the other. An angel could not have found a word to -say to Schmucke rubbing his hands over the discovery of the hold that -gluttony had gained over Pons. Indeed, the good German adorned their -breakfast-table next morning with delicacies of which he went in -search himself; and every day he was careful to provide something new -for his friend, for they always breakfasted together at home. - -If any one imagines that the pair could not escape ridicule in Paris, -where nothing is respected, he cannot know that city. When Schmucke -and Pons united their riches and poverty, they hit upon the economical -expedient of lodging together, each paying half the rent of the very -unequally divided second-floor of a house in the Rue de Normandie in -the Marais. And as it often happened that they left home together and -walked side by side along their beat of boulevard, the idlers of the -quarter dubbed them "the pair of nutcrackers," a nickname which makes -any portrait of Schmucke quite superfluous, for he was to Pons as the -famous statue of the Nurse of Niobe in the Vatican is to the Tribune -Venus. - -Mme. Cibot, portress of the house in the Rue de Normandie, was the -pivot on which the domestic life of the nutcrackers turned; but Mme. -Cibot plays so large a part in the drama which grew out of their -double existence, that it will be more appropriate to give her -portrait on her first appearance in this Scene of Parisian Life. - -One thing remains to be said of the characters of the pair of friends; -but this one thing is precisely the hardest to make clear to ninety- -nine readers out of a hundred in this forty-seventh year of the -nineteenth century, perhaps by reason of the prodigious financial -development brought about by the railway system. It is a little thing, -and yet it is so much. It is a question, in fact, of giving an idea of -the extreme sensitiveness of their natures. Let us borrow an -illustration from the railways, if only by way of retaliation, as it -were, for the loans which they levy upon us. The railway train of -to-day, tearing over the metals, grinds away fine particles of dust, -grains so minute that a traveler cannot detect them with the eye; but -let a single one of those invisible motes find its way into the -kidneys, it will bring about that most excruciating, and sometimes -fatal, disease known as gravel. And our society, rushing like a -locomotive along its metaled track, is heedless of the all but -imperceptible dust made by the grinding of the wheels; but it was -otherwise with the two musicians; the invisible grains of sand sank -perpetually into the very fibres of their being, causing them -intolerable anguish of heart. Tender exceedingly to the pain of -others, they wept for their own powerlessness to help; and their own -susceptibilities were almost morbidly acute. Neither age nor the -continual spectacle of the drama of Paris life had hardened two souls -still young and childlike and pure; the longer they lived, indeed, the -more keenly they felt their inward suffering; for so it is, alas! with -natures unsullied by the world, with the quiet thinker, and with such -poets among the poets as have never fallen into any excess. - -Since the old men began housekeeping together, the day's routine was -very nearly the same for them both. They worked together in harness in -the fraternal fashion of the Paris cab-horse; rising every morning, -summer and winter, at seven o'clock, and setting out after breakfast -to give music lessons in the boarding-schools, in which, upon -occasion, they would take lessons for each other. Towards noon Pons -repaired to his theatre, if there was a rehearsal on hand; but all his -spare moments were spent in sauntering on the boulevards. Night found -both of them in the orchestra at the theatre, for Pons had found a -place for Schmucke, and upon this wise. - -At the time of their first meeting, Pons had just received that -marshal's baton of the unknown musical composer--an appointment as -conductor of an orchestra. It had come to him unasked, by a favor of -Count Popinot, a bourgeois hero of July, at that time a member of the -Government. Count Popinot had the license of a theatre in his gift, -and Count Popinot had also an old acquaintance of the kind that the -successful man blushes to meet. As he rolls through the streets of -Paris in his carriage, it is not pleasant to see his boyhood's chum -down at heel, with a coat of many improbable colors and trousers -innocent of straps, and a head full of soaring speculations on too -grand a scale to tempt shy, easily scared capital. Moreover, this -friend of his youth, Gaudissart by name, had done not a little in the -past towards founding the fortunes of the great house of Popinot. -Popinot, now a Count and a peer of France, after twice holding a -portfolio had no wish to shake off "the Illustrious Gaudissart." Quite -otherwise. The pomps and vanities of the Court of the Citizen-King had -not spoiled the sometime druggist's kind heart; he wished to put his -ex-commercial traveler in the way of renewing his wardrobe and -replenishing his purse. So when Gaudissart, always an enthusiastic -admirer of the fair sex, applied for the license of a bankrupt -theatre, Popinot granted it on condition that Pons (a parasite of the -Hotel Popinot) should be engaged as conductor of the orchestra; and at -the same time, the Count was careful to send certain elderly amateurs -of beauty to the theatre, so that the new manager might be strongly -supported financially by wealthy admirers of feminine charms revealed -by the costume of the ballet. - -Gaudissart and Company, who, be it said, made their fortune, hit upon -the grand idea of operas for the people, and carried it out in a -boulevard theatre in 1834. A tolerable conductor, who could adapt or -even compose a little music upon occasion, was a necessity for ballets -and pantomimes; but the last management had so long been bankrupt, -that they could not afford to keep a transposer and copyist. Pons -therefore introduced Schmucke to the company as copier of music, a -humble calling which requires no small musical knowledge; and -Schmucke, acting on Pons' advice, came to an understanding with the -/chef-de-service/ at the Opera-Comique, so saving himself the clerical -drudgery. - -The partnership between Pons and Schmucke produced one brilliant -result. Schmucke being a German, harmony was his strong point; he -looked over the instrumentation of Pons' compositions, and Pons -provided the airs. Here and there an amateur among the audience -admired the new pieces of music which served as accompaniment to two -or three great successes, but they attributed the improvement vaguely -to "progress." No one cared to know the composer's name; like -occupants of the /baignoires/, lost to view of the house, to gain a -view of the stage, Pons and Schmucke eclipsed themselves by their -success. In Paris (especially since the Revolution of July) no one can -hope to succeed unless he will push his way /quibuscumque viis/ and -with all his might through a formidable host of competitors; but for -this feat a man needs thews and sinews, and our two friends, be it -remembered, had that affection of the heart which cripples all -ambitious effort. - -Pons, as a rule, only went to his theatre towards eight o'clock, when -the piece in favor came on, and overtures and accompaniments needed -the strict ruling of the baton; most minor theatres are lax in such -matters, and Pons felt the more at ease because he himself had been by -no means grasping in all his dealings with the management; and -Schmucke, if need be, could take his place. Time went by, and Schmucke -became an institution in the orchestra; the Illustrious Gaudissart -said nothing, but he was well aware of the value of Pons' -collaborator. He was obliged to include a pianoforte in the orchestra -(following the example of the leading theatres); the instrument was -placed beside the conductor's chair, and Schmucke played without -increase of salary--a volunteer supernumerary. As Schmucke's -character, his utter lack of ambition or pretence became known, the -orchestra recognized him as one of themselves; and as time went on, he -was intrusted with the often needed miscellaneous musical instruments -which form no part of the regular band of a boulevard theatre. For a -very small addition to his stipend, Schmucke played the viola d'amore, -hautboy, violoncello, and harp, as well as the piano, the castanets -for the /cachucha/, the bells, saxhorn, and the like. If the Germans -cannot draw harmony from the mighty instruments of Liberty, yet to -play all instruments of music comes to them by nature. - -The two old artists were exceedingly popular at the theatre, and took -its ways philosophically. They had put, as it were, scales over their -eyes, lest they should see the offences that needs must come when a -/corps de ballet/ is blended with actors and actresses, one of the -most trying combinations ever created by the laws of supply and demand -for the torment of managers, authors, and composers alike. - -Every one esteemed Pons with his kindness and his modesty, his great -self-respect and respect for others; for a pure and limpid life wins -something like admiration from the worst nature in every social -sphere, and in Paris a fair virtue meets with something of the success -of a large diamond, so great a rarity it is. No actor, no dancer -however brazen, would have indulged in the mildest practical joke at -the expense of either Pons or Schmucke. - -Pons very occasionally put in an appearance in the /foyer/; but all -that Schmucke knew of the theatre was the underground passage from the -street door to the orchestra. Sometimes, however, during an interval, -the good German would venture to make a survey of the house and ask a -few questions of the first flute, a young fellow from Strasbourg, who -came of a German family at Kehl. Gradually under the flute's tuition -Schmucke's childlike imagination acquired a certain amount of -knowledge of the world; he could believe in the existence of that -fabulous creature the /lorette/, the possibility of "marriages at the -Thirteenth Arrondissement," the vagaries of the leading lady, and the -contraband traffic carried on by box-openers. In his eyes the more -harmless forms of vice were the lowest depths of Babylonish iniquity; -he did not believe the stories, he smiled at them for grotesque -inventions. The ingenious reader can see that Pons and Schmucke were -exploited, to use a word much in fashion; but what they lost in money -they gained in consideration and kindly treatment. - -It was after the success of the ballet with which a run of success -began for the Gaudissart Company that the management presented Pons -with a piece of plate--a group of figures attributed to Benvenuto -Cellini. The alarming costliness of the gift caused talk in the green- -room. It was a matter of twelve hundred francs! Pons, poor honest -soul, was for returning the present, and Gaudissart had a world of -trouble to persuade him to keep it. - -"Ah!" said the manager afterwards, when he told his partner of the -interview, "if we could only find actors up to that sample." - -In their joint life, outwardly so quiet, there was the one disturbing -element--the weakness to which Pons sacrificed, the insatiable craving -to dine out. Whenever Schmucke happened to be at home while Pons was -dressing for the evening, the good German would bewail this deplorable -habit. - -"Gif only he vas ony fatter vor it!" he many a time cried. - -And Schmucke would dream of curing his friend of his degrading vice, -for a true friend's instinct in all that belongs to the inner life is -unerring as a dog's sense of smell; a friend knows by intuition the -trouble in his friend's soul, and guesses at the cause and ponders it -in his heart. - -Pons, who always wore a diamond ring on the little finger of his right -hand, an ornament permitted in the time of the Empire, but ridiculous -to-day--Pons, who belonged to the "troubadour time," the sentimental -periods of the first Empire, was too much a child of his age, too much -of a Frenchman to wear the expression of divine serenity which -softened Schmucke's hideous ugliness. From Pons' melancholy looks -Schmucke knew that the profession of parasite was growing daily more -difficult and painful. And, in fact, in that month of October 1844, -the number of houses at which Pons dined was naturally much -restricted; reduced to move round and round the family circle, he had -used the word family in far too wide a sense, as will shortly be seen. - -M. Camusot, the rich silk mercer of the Rue des Bourdonnais, had -married Pons' first cousin, Mlle. Pons, only child and heiress of one -of the well-known firm of Pons Brothers, court embroiderers. Pons' own -father and mother retired from a firm founded before the Revolution of -1789, leaving their capital in the business until Mlle. Pons' father -sold it in 1815 to M. Rivet. M. Camusot had since lost his wife and -married again, and retired from business some ten years, and now in -1844 he was a member of the Board of Trade, a deputy, and what not. -But the Camusot clan were friendly; and Pons, good man, still -considered that he was some kind of cousin to the children of the -second marriage, who were not relations, or even connected with him in -any way. - -The second Mme. Camusot being a Mlle. Cardot, Pons introduced himself -as a relative into the tolerably numerous Cardot family, a second -bourgeois tribe which, taken with its connections, formed quite as -strong a clan as the Camusots; for Cardot the notary (brother of the -second Mme. Camusot) had married a Mlle. Chiffreville; and the well- -known family of Chiffreville, the leading firm of manufacturing -chemists, was closely connected with the whole drug trade, of which M. -Anselme Popinot was for many years the undisputed head, until the -Revolution of July plunged him into the very centre of the dynastic -movement, as everybody knows. So Pons, in the wake of the Camusots and -Cardots, reached the Chiffrevilles, and thence the Popinots, always in -the character of a cousin's cousin. - -The above concise statement of Pons' relations with his entertainers -explains how it came to pass that an old musician was received in 1844 -as one of the family in the houses of four distinguished persons--to -wit, M. le Comte Popinot, peer of France, and twice in office; M. -Cardot, retired notary, mayor and deputy of an arrondissement in -Paris; M. Camusot senior, a member of the Board of Trade and the -Municipal Chamber and a peerage; and lastly, M. Camusot de Marville, -Camusot's son by his first marriage, and Pons' one genuine relation, -albeit even he was a first cousin once removed. - -This Camusot, President of a Chamber of the Court of Appeal in Paris, -had taken the name of his estate at Marville to distinguish himself -from his father and a younger half brother. - -Cardot the retired notary had married his daughter to his successor, -whose name was Berthier; and Pons, transferred as part of the -connection, acquired a right to dine with the Berthiers "in the -presence of a notary," as he put it. - -This was the bourgeois empyrean which Pons called his "family," that -upper world in which he so painfully reserved his right to a knife and -fork. - -Of all these houses, some ten in all, the one in which Pons ought to -have met with the kindest reception should by rights have been his own -cousin's; and, indeed, he paid most attention to President Camusot's -family. But, alas! Mme. Camusot de Marville, daughter of the Sieur -Thirion, usher of the cabinet to Louis XVIII. and Charles X., had -never taken very kindly to her husband's first cousin, once removed. -Pons had tried to soften this formidable relative; he wasted his time; -for in spite of the pianoforte lessons which he gave gratuitously to -Mlle. Camusot, a young woman with hair somewhat inclined to red, it -was impossible to make a musician of her. - -And now, at this very moment, as he walked with that precious object -in his hand, Pons was bound for the President's house, where he always -felt as if he were at the Tuileries itself, so heavily did the solemn -green curtains, the carmelite-brown hangings, thick piled carpets, -heavy furniture, and general atmosphere of magisterial severity -oppress his soul. Strange as it may seem, he felt more at home in the -Hotel Popinot, Rue Basse-du-Rempart, probably because it was full of -works of art; for the master of the house, since he entered public -life, had acquired a mania for collecting beautiful things, by way of -contrast no doubt, for a politician is obliged to pay for secret -services of the ugliest kind. - -President de Marville lived in the Rue de Hanovre, in a house which -his wife had bought ten years previously, on the death of her parents, -for the Sieur and Dame Thirion left their daughter about a hundred and -fifty thousand francs, the savings of a lifetime. With its north -aspect, the house looks gloomy enough seen from the street, but the -back looks towards the south over the courtyard, with a rather pretty -garden beyond it. As the President occupied the whole of the first -floor, once the abode of a great financier of the time of Louis XIV., -and the second was let to a wealthy old lady, the house wore a look of -dignified repose befitting a magistrate's residence. President Camusot -had invested all that he inherited from his mother, together with the -savings of twenty years, in the purchase of the splendid Marville -estate; a chateau (as fine a relic of the past as you will find to-day -in Normandy) standing in a hundred acres of park land, and a fine -dependent farm, nominally bringing in twelve thousand francs per -annum, though, as it cost the President at least a thousand crowns to -keep up a state almost princely in our days, his yearly revenue, "all -told," as the saying is, was a bare nine thousand francs. With this -and his salary, the President's income amounted to about twenty -thousand francs; but though to all appearance a wealthy man, -especially as one-half of his father's property would one day revert -to him as the only child of the first marriage, he was obliged to live -in Paris as befitted his official position, and M. and Mme. de -Marville spent almost the whole of their incomes. Indeed, before the -year 1834 they felt pinched. - -This family schedule sufficiently explains why Mlle. de Marville, aged -three-and-twenty, was still unwed, in spite of a hundred thousand -francs of dowry and tempting prospects, frequently, skilfully, but so -far vainly, held out. For the past five years Pons had listened to -Mme. la Presidente's lamentations as she beheld one young lawyer after -another led to the altar, while all the newly appointed judges at the -Tribunal were fathers of families already; and she, all this time, had -displayed Mlle. de Marville's brilliant expectations before the -undazzled eyes of young Vicomte Popinot, eldest son of the great man -of the drug trade, he of whom it was said by the envious tongues of -the neighborhood of the Rue des Lombards, that the Revolution of July -had been brought about at least as much for his particular benefit as -for the sake of the Orleans branch. - -Arrived at the corner of the Rue de Choiseul and the Rue de Hanovre, -Pons suffered from the inexplicable emotions which torment clear -consciences; for a panic terror such as the worst of scoundrels might -feel at sight of a policeman, an agony caused solely by a doubt as to -Mme. de Marville's probable reception of him. That grain of sand, -grating continually on the fibres of his heart, so far from losing its -angles, grew more and more jagged, and the family in the Rue de -Hanovre always sharpened the edges. Indeed, their unceremonious -treatment and Pons' depreciation in value among them had affected the -servants; and while they did not exactly fail in respect, they looked -on the poor relation as a kind of beggar. - -Pons' arch-enemy in the house was the ladies'-maid, a thin and wizened -spinster, Madeleine Vivet by name. This Madeleine, in spite of, nay, -perhaps on the strength of, a pimpled complexion and a viper-like -length of spine, had made up her mind that some day she would be Mme. -Pons. But in vain she dangled twenty thousand francs of savings before -the old bachelor's eyes; Pons had declined happiness accompanied by so -many pimples. From that time forth the Dido of the ante-chamber, who -fain had called her master and mistress "cousin," wreaked her spite in -petty ways upon the poor musician. She heard him on the stairs, and -cried audibly, "Oh! here comes the sponger!" She stinted him of wine -when she waited at dinner in the footman's absence; she filled the -water-glass to the brim, to give him the difficult task of lifting it -without spilling a drop; or she would pass the old man over -altogether, till the mistress of the house would remind her (and in -what a tone!--it brought the color to the poor cousin's face); or she -would spill the gravy over his clothes. In short, she waged petty war -after the manner of a petty nature, knowing that she could annoy an -unfortunate superior with impunity. - -Madeleine Vivet was Mme. de Marville's maid and housekeeper. She had -lived with M. and Mme. Camusot de Marville since their marriage; she -had shared the early struggles in the provinces when M. Camusot was a -judge at Alencon; she had helped them to exist when M. Camusot, -President of the Tribunal of Mantes, came to Paris, in 1828, to be an -examining magistrate. She was, therefore, too much one of the family -not to wish, for reasons of her own, to revenge herself upon them. -Beneath her desire to pay a trick upon her haughty and ambitious -mistress, and to call her master her cousin, there surely lurked a -long-stifled hatred, built up like an avalanche, upon the pebble of -some past grievance. - -"Here comes your M. Pons, madame, still wearing that spencer of his!" -Madeleine came to tell the Presidente. "He really might tell me how he -manages to make it look the same for five-and-twenty years together." - -Mme. Camusot de Marville, hearing a man's footstep in the little -drawing-room between the large drawing-room and her bedroom, looked at -her daughter and shrugged her shoulders. - -"You always make these announcements so cleverly that you leave me no -time to think, Madeleine." - -"Jean is out, madame, I was all alone; M. Pons rang the bell, I opened -the door; and as he is almost one of the family, I could not prevent -him from coming after me. There he is, taking off his spencer." - -"Poor little puss!" said the Presidente, addressing her daughter, "we -are caught. We shall have to dine at home now.--Let us see," she -added, seeing that the "dear puss" wore a piteous face; "must we get -rid of him for good?" - -"Oh! poor man!" cried Mlle. Camusot, "deprive him of one of his -dinners?" - -Somebody coughed significantly in the next room by way of warning that -he could hear. - -"Very well, let him come in!" said Mme. Camusot, looking at Madeleine -with another shrug. - -"You are here so early, cousin, that you have come in upon us just as -mother was about to dress," said Cecile Camusot in a coaxing tone. But -Cousin Pons had caught sight of the Presidente's shrug, and felt so -cruelly hurt that he could not find a compliment, and contented -himself with the profound remark, "You are always charming, my little -cousin." - -Then, turning to the mother, he continued with a bow: - -"You will not take it amiss, I think, if I have come a little earlier -than usual, dear cousin; I have brought something for you; you once -did me the pleasure of asking me for it." - -Poor Pons! Every time he addressed the President, the President's -wife, or Cecile as "cousin," he gave them excruciating annoyance. As -he spoke, he draw a long, narrow cherry-wood box, marvelously carved, -from his coat-pocket. - -"Oh, did I?--I had forgotten," the lady answered drily. - -It was a heartless speech, was it not? Did not those few words deny -all merit to the pains taken for her by the cousin whose one offence -lay in the fact that he was a poor relation? - -"But it is very kind of you, cousin," she added. "How much to I owe -you for this little trifle?" - -Pons quivered inwardly at the question. He had meant the trinket as a -return for his dinners. - -"I thought that you would permit me to offer it you----" he faltered -out. - -"What?" said Mme. Camusot. "Oh! but there need be no ceremony between -us; we know each other well enough to wash our linen among ourselves. -I know very well that you are not rich enough to give more than you -get. And to go no further, it is quite enough that you should have -spent a good deal of time in running among the dealers--" - -"If you were asked to pay the full price of the fan, my dear cousin, -you would not care to have it," answered poor Pons, hurt and insulted; -"it is one of Watteau's masterpieces, painted on both sides; but you -may be quite easy, cousin, I did not give one-hundredth part of its -value as a work of art." - -To tell a rich man that he is poor! you might as well tell the -Archbishop of Granada that his homilies show signs of senility. Mme. -la Presidente, proud of her husband's position, of the estate of -Marville, and her invitations to court balls, was keenly susceptible -on this point; and what was worse, the remark came from a poverty- -stricken musician to whom she had been charitable. - -"Then the people of whom you buy things of this kind are very stupid, -are they?" she asked quickly. - -"Stupid dealers are unknown in Paris," Pons answered almost drily. - -"Then you must be very clever," put in Cecile by way of calming the -dispute. - -"Clever enough to know a Lancret, a Watteau, a Pater, or Greuze when I -see it, little cousin; but anxious, most of all, to please your dear -mamma." - -Mme. de Marville, ignorant and vain, was unwilling to appear to -receive the slightest trifle from the parasite; and here her ignorance -served her admirably, she did not even know the name of Watteau. And, -on the other hand, if anything can measure the extent of the -collector's passion, which, in truth, is one of the most deeply seated -of all passions, rivaling the very vanity of the author--if anything -can give an idea of the lengths to which a collector will go, it is -the audacity which Pons displayed on this occasion, as he held his own -against his lady cousin for the first time in twenty years. He was -amazed at his own boldness. He made Cecile see the beauties of the -delicate carving on the sticks of this wonder, and as he talked to her -his face grew serene and gentle again. But without some sketch of the -Presidente, it is impossible fully to understand the perturbation of -heart from which Pons suffered. - -Mme. de Marville had been short and fair, plump and fresh; at forty- -six she was as short as ever, but she looked dried up. An arched -forehead and thin lips, that had been softly colored once, lent a -soured look to a face naturally disdainful, and now grown hard and -unpleasant with a long course of absolute domestic rule. Time had -deepened her fair hair to a harsh chestnut hue; the pride of office, -intensified by suppressed envy, looked out of eyes that had lost none -of their brightness nor their satirical expression. As a matter of -fact, Mme. Camusot de Marville felt almost poor in the society of -self-made wealthy bourgeois with whom Pons dined. She could not -forgive the rich retail druggist, ex-president of the Commercial -Court, for his successive elevations as deputy, member of the -Government, count and peer of France. She could not forgive her -father-in-law for putting himself forward instead of his eldest son as -deputy of his arrondissement after Popinot's promotion to the peerage. -After eighteen years of services in Paris, she was still waiting for -the post of Councillor of the Court of Cassation for her husband. It -was Camusot's own incompetence, well known at the Law Courts, which -excluded him from the Council. The Home Secretary of 1844 even -regretted Camusot's nomination to the presidency of the Court of -Indictments in 1834, though, thanks to his past experience as an -examining magistrate, he made himself useful in drafting decrees. - -These disappointments had told upon Mme. de Marville, who, moreover, -had formed a tolerably correct estimate of her husband. A temper -naturally shrewish was soured till she grew positively terrible. She -was not old, but she had aged; she deliberately set herself to extort -by fear all that the world was inclined to refuse her, and was harsh -and rasping as a file. Caustic to excess she had few friends among -women; she surrounded herself with prim, elderly matrons of her own -stamp, who lent each other mutual support, and people stood in awe of -her. As for poor Pons, his relations with this fiend in petticoats -were very much those of a schoolboy with the master whose one idea of -communication is the ferule. - -The Presidente had no idea of the value of the gift. She was puzzled -by her cousin's sudden access of audacity. - -"Then, where did you find this?" inquired Cecile, as she looked -closely at the trinket. - -"In the Rue de Lappe. A dealer in second-hand furniture there had just -brought it back with him from a chateau that is being pulled down near -Dreux, Aulnay. Mme. de Pompadour used to spend part of her time there -before she built Menars. Some of the most splendid wood-carving ever -known has been saved from destruction; Lienard (our most famous living -wood-carver) had kept a couple of oval frames for models, as the /ne -plus ultra/ of the art, so fine it is.--There were treasures in that -place. My man found the fan in the drawer of an inlaid what-not, which -I should certainly have bought if I were collecting things of the -kind, but it is quite out of the question--a single piece of -Riesener's furniture is worth three or four thousand francs! People -here in Paris are just beginning to find out that the famous French -and German marquetry workers of the sixteenth, seventeenth, and -eighteenth centuries composed perfect pictures in wood. It is a -collector's business to be ahead of the fashion. Why, in five years' -time, the Frankenthal ware, which I have been collecting these twenty -years, will fetch twice the price of Sevres /pata tendre/." - -"What is Frankenthal ware?" asked Cecile. - -"That is the name of the porcelain made by the Elector of the -Palatinate; it dates further back than our manufactory at Sevres; just -as the famous gardens at Heidelberg, laid waste by Turenne, had the -bad luck to exist before the garden of Versailles. Sevres copied -Frankenthal to a large extent.--In justice to the Germans, it must be -said that they have done admirable work in Saxony and in the -Palatinate." - -Mother and daughter looked at one another as if Pons were speaking -Chinese. No one can imagine how ignorant and exclusive Parisians are; -they only learn what they are taught, and that only when they choose. - -"And how do you know the Frankenthal ware when you see it?" - -"Eh! by the mark!" cried Pons with enthusiasm. "There is a mark on -every one of those exquisite masterpieces. Frankenthal ware is marked -with a C and T (for Charles Theodore) interlaced and crowned. On old -Dresden china there are two crossed swords and the number of the order -in gilt figures. Vincennes bears a hunting-horn; Vienna, a V closed -and barred. You can tell Berlin by the two bars, Mayence by the wheel, -and Sevres by the two crossed L's. The queen's porcelain is marked A -for Antoinette, with a royal crown above it. In the eighteenth -century, all the crowned heads of Europe had rival porcelain -factories, and workmen were kidnaped. Watteau designed services for -the Dresden factory; they fetch frantic prices at the present day. One -has to know what one is about with them too, for they are turning out -imitations now at Dresden. Wonderful things they used to make; they -will never make the like again--" - -"Oh! pshaw!" - -"No, cousin. Some inlaid work and some kinds of porcelain will never -be made again, just as there will never be another Raphael, nor -Titian, nor Rembrandt, nor Van Eyck, nor Cranach. . . . Well, now! -there are the Chinese; they are very ingenious, very clever; they make -modern copies of their 'grand mandarin' porcelain, as it is called. -But a pair of vases of genuine 'grand mandarin' vases of the largest -size, are worth, six, eight, and ten thousand francs, while you can -buy the modern replicas for a couple of hundred!" - -"You are joking." - -"You are astonished at the prices, but that is nothing, cousin. A -dinner service of Sevres /pate tendre/ (and /pate tendre/ is not -porcelain)--a complete dinner service of Sevres /pate tendre/ for -twelve persons is not merely worth a hundred thousand francs, but that -is the price charged on the invoice. Such a dinner-service cost -fifteen thousand francs at Sevres in 1750; I have seen the original -invoices." - -"But let us go back to this fan," said Cecile. Evidently in her -opinion the trinket was an old-fashioned thing. - -"You can understand that as soon as your dear mamma did me the honor -of asking for a fan, I went round of all the curiosity shops in Paris, -but I found nothing fine enough. I wanted nothing less than a -masterpiece for the dear Presidente, and thought of giving her one -that once belonged to Marie Antoinette, the most beautiful of all -celebrated fans. But yesterday I was dazzled by this divine /chef- -d'oeuvre/, which certainly must have been ordered by Louis XV. -himself. Do you ask how I came to look for fans in the Rue de Lappe, -among an Auvergnat's stock of brass and iron and ormolu furniture? -Well, I myself believe that there is an intelligence in works of art; -they know art-lovers, they call to them--'Cht-tt!' " - -Mme. de Marville shrugged her shoulders and looked at her daughter; -Pons did not notice the rapid pantomime. - -"I know all those sharpers," continued Pons, "so I asked him, -'Anything fresh to-day, Daddy Monistrol?'--(for he always lets me look -over his lots before the big buyers come)--and at that he began to -tell me how Lienard, that did such beautiful work for the Government -in the Chapelle de Dreux, had been at the Aulnay sale and rescued the -carved panels out of the clutches of the Paris dealers, while their -heads were running on china and inlaid furniture.--'I did not do much -myself,' he went on, 'but I may make my traveling expenses out of -/this/,' and he showed me a what-not; a marvel! Boucher's designs -executed in marquetry, and with such art!--One could have gone down on -one's knees before it.--'Look, sir,' he said, 'I have just found this -fan in a little drawer; it was locked, I had to force it open. You -might tell me where I can sell it'--and with that he brings out this -little carved cherry-wood box.--'See,' says he, 'it is the kind of -Pompadour that looks like decorated Gothic.'--'Yes,' I told him, 'the -box is pretty; the box might suit me; but as for the fan, Monistrol, I -have no Mme. Pons to give the old trinket to, and they make very -pretty new ones nowadays; you can buy miracles of painting on vellum -cheaply enough. There are two thousand painters in Paris, you know.'-- -And I opened out the fan carelessly, keeping down my admiration, -looked indifferently at those two exquisite little pictures, touched -off with an ease fit to send you into raptures. I held Mme. de -Pompadour's fan in my hand! Watteau had done his utmost for this.-- -'What do you want for the what-not?'--'Oh! a thousand francs; I have -had a bid already.'--I offered him a price for the fan corresponding -with the probable expenses of the journey. We looked each other in the -eyes, and I saw that I had my man. I put the fan back into the box -lest my Auvergnat should begin to look at it, and went into ecstasies -over the box; indeed, it is a jewel.--'If I take it,' said I, 'it is -for the sake of the box; the box tempts me. As for the what-not, you -will get more than a thousand francs for that. Just see how the brass -is wrought; it is a model. There is business in it. . . . It has never -been copied; it is a unique specimen, made solely for Mme. de -Pompadour'--and so on, till my man, all on fire for his what-not, -forgets the fan, and lets me have it for a mere trifle, because I have -pointed out the beauties of his piece of Riesener's furniture. So here -it is; but it needs a great deal of experience to make such a bargain -as that. It is a duel, eye to eye; and who has such eyes as a Jew or -an Auvergnat?" - -The old artist's wonderful pantomime, his vivid, eager way of telling -the story of the triumph of his shrewdness over the dealer's -ignorance, would have made a subject for a Dutch painter; but it was -all thrown away upon the audience. Mother and daughter exchanged cold, -contemptuous glances.--"What an oddity!" they seemed to say. - -"So it amuses you?" remarked Mme. de Marville. The question sent a -cold chill through Pons; he felt a strong desire to slap the -Presidente. - -"Why, my dear cousin, that is the way to hunt down a work of art. You -are face to face with antagonists that dispute the game with you. It -is craft against craft! A work of art in the hands of a Norman, an -Auvergnat, or a Jew, is like a princess guarded by magicians in a -fairy tale." - -"And how can you tell that this is by Wat--what do you call him?" - -"Watteau, cousin. One of the greatest eighteenth century painters in -France. Look! do you not see that it is his work?" (pointing to a -pastoral scene, court-shepherd swains and shepherdesses dancing in a -ring). "The movement! the life in it! the coloring! There it is--see! ---painted with a stroke of the brush, as a writing-master makes a -flourish with a pen. Not a trace of effort here! And, turn it over, -look!--a ball in a drawing-room. Summer and Winter! And what -ornaments! and how well preserved it is! The hinge-pin is gold, you -see, and on cleaning it, I found a tiny ruby at either side." - -"If it is so, cousin, I could not think of accepting such a valuable -present from you. It would be better to lay up the money for -yourself," said Mme. de Marville; but all the same, she asked no -better than to keep the splendid fan. - -"It is time that it should pass from the service of Vice into the -hands of Virtue," said the good soul, recovering his assurance. "It -has taken a century to work the miracle. No princess at Court, you may -be sure, will have anything to compare with it; for, unfortunately, -men will do more for a Pompadour than for a virtuous queen, such is -human nature." - -"Very well," Mme. de Marville said, laughing, "I will accept your -present.--Cecile, my angel, go to Madeleine and see that dinner is -worthy of your cousin." - -Mme. de Marville wished to make matters even. Her request, made aloud, -in defiance of all rules of good taste, sounded so much like an -attempt to repay at once the balance due to the poor cousin, that Pons -flushed red, like a girl found out in fault. The grain of sand was a -little too large; for some moments he could only let it work in his -heart. Cecile, a red-haired young woman, with a touch of pedantic -affectation, combined her father's ponderous manner with a trace of -her mother's hardness. She went and left poor Pons face to face with -the terrible Presidente. - -"How nice she is, my little Lili!" said the mother. She still called -her Cecile by this baby name. - -"Charming!" said Pons, twirling his thumbs. - -"I /cannot/ understand these times in which we live," broke out the -Presidente. "What is the good of having a President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris and a Commander of the Legion of Honor for your -father, and for a grandfather the richest wholesale silk merchant in -Paris, a deputy, and a millionaire that will be a peer of France some -of these days?" - -The President's zeal for the new Government had, in fact, recently -been rewarded with a commander's ribbon--thanks to his friendship with -Popinot, said the envious. Popinot himself, modest though he was, had, -as has been seen, accepted the title of count, "for his son's sake," -he told his numerous friends. - -"Men look for nothing but money nowadays," said Cousin Pons. "No one -thinks anything of you unless you are rich, and--" - -"What would it have been if Heaven had spared my poor little -Charles!--" cried the lady. - -"Oh, with two children you would be poor," returned the cousin. "It -practically means the division of the property. But you need not -trouble yourself, cousin; Cecile is sure to marry sooner or later. She -is the most accomplished girl I know." - -To such depths had Pons fallen by adapting himself to the company of -his entertainers! In their houses he echoed their ideas, and said the -obvious thing, after the manner of a chorus in a Greek play. He did -not dare to give free play to the artist's originality, which had -overflowed in bright repartee when he was young; he had effaced -himself, till he had almost lost his individuality; and if the real -Pons appeared, as he had done a moment ago, he was immediately -repressed. - -"But I myself was married with only twenty thousand francs for my -portion--" - -"In 1819, cousin. And it was /you/, a woman with a head on your -shoulders, and the royal protection of Louis XVIII." - -"Be still, my child is a perfect angel. She is clever, she has a warm -heart, she will have a hundred thousand francs on her wedding day, to -say nothing of the most brilliant expectations; and yet she stays on -our hands," and so on and so on. For twenty minutes, Mme. de Marville -talked on about herself and her Cecile, pitying herself after the -manner of mothers in bondage to marriageable daughters. - -Pons had dined at the house every week for twenty years, and Camusot -de Marville was the only cousin he had in the world; but he had yet to -hear the first word spoken as to his own affairs--nobody cared to know -how he lived. Here and elsewhere the poor cousin was a kind of sink -down which his relatives poured domestic confidences. His discretion -was well known; indeed, was he not bound over to silence when a single -imprudent word would have shut the door of ten houses upon him? And he -must combine his role of listener with a second part; he must applaud -continually, smile on every one, accuse nobody, defend nobody; from -his point of view, every one must be in the right. And so, in the -house of his kinsman, Pons no longer counted as a man; he was a -digestive apparatus. - -In the course of a long tirade, Mme. Camusot de Marville avowed with -due circumspection that she was prepared to take almost any son-in-law -with her eyes shut. She was even disposed to think that at eight-and- -forty or so a man with twenty thousand francs a year was a good match. - -"Cecile is in her twenty-third year. If it should fall out so -unfortunately that she is not married before she is five or six-and- -twenty, it will be extremely hard to marry her at all. When a girl -reaches that age, people want to know why she has been so long on -hand. We are a good deal talked about in our set. We have come to the -end of all the ordinary excuses--'She is so young.--She is so fond of -her father and mother that she doesn't like to leave them.--She is so -happy at home.--She is hard to please, she would like a good name--' -We are beginning to look silly; I feel that distinctly. And besides, -Cecile is tired of waiting, poor child, she suffers--" - -"In what way?" Pons was noodle enough to ask. - -"Why, because it is humiliating to her to see all her girl friends -married before her," replied the mother, with a duenna's air. - -"But, cousin, has anything happened since the last time that I had the -pleasure of dining here? Why do you think of men of eight-and-forty?" -Pons inquired humbly. - -"This has happened," returned the Presidente. "We were to have had an -interview with a Court Councillor; his son is thirty years old and -very well-to-do, and M. de Marville would have obtained a post in the -audit-office for him and paid the money. The young man is a -supernumerary there at present. And now they tell us that he has taken -it into his head to rush off to Italy in the train of a duchess from -the Bal Mabille. . . . It is nothing but a refusal in disguise. The -fact is, the young man's mother is dead; he has an income of thirty -thousand francs, and more to come at his father's death, and they -don't care about the match for him. You have just come in in the -middle of all this, dear cousin, so you must excuse our bad temper." - -While Pons was casting about for the complimentary answer which -invariably occurred to him too late when he was afraid of his host, -Madeleine came in, handed a folded note to the Presidente, and waited -for an answer. The note ran as follows: - - "DEAR MAMMA,--If we pretend that this note comes to you from papa - at the Palais, and that he wants us both to dine with his friend - because proposals have been renewed--then the cousin will go, and - we can carry out our plan of going to the Popinots." - -"Who brought the master's note?" the Presidente asked quickly. - -"A lad from the Salle du Palais," the withered waiting woman -unblushingly answered, and her mistress knew at once that Madeleine -had woven the plot with Cecile, now at the end of her patience. - -"Tell him that we will both be there at half-past five." - -Madeleine had no sooner left the room than the Presidente turned to -Cousin Pons with that insincere friendliness which is about as -grateful to a sensitive soul as a mixture of milk and vinegar to the -palate of an epicure. - -"Dinner is ordered, dear cousin; you must dine without us; my husband -has just sent word from the court that the question of the marriage -has been reopened, and we are to dine with the Councillor. We need not -stand on ceremony at all. Do just as if you were at home. I have no -secrets from you; I am perfectly open with you, as you see. I am sure -you would not wish to break off the little darling's marriage." - -"/I/, cousin? On the contrary, I should like to find some one for her; -but in my circle--" - -"Oh, that is not at all likely," said the Presidente, cutting him -short insolently. "Then you will stay, will you not? Cecile will keep -you company while I dress. - -"Oh! I can dine somewhere else, cousin." - -Cruelly hurt though he was by her way of casting up his poverty to -him, the prospect of being left alone with the servants was even more -alarming. - -"But why should you? Dinner is ready; you may just as well have it; if -you do not, the servants will eat it." - -At that atrocious speech Pons started up as if he had received a shock -from a galvanic battery, bowed stiffly to the lady, and went to find -his spencer. Now, it so happened that the door of Cecile's bedroom, -beyond the little drawing-room, stood open, and looking into the -mirror, he caught sight of the girl shaking with laughter as she -gesticulated and made signs to her mother. The old artist understood -beyond a doubt that he had been the victim of some cowardly hoax. Pons -went slowly down the stairs; he could not keep back the tears. He -understood that he had been turned out of the house, but why and -wherefore he did not know. - -"I am growing too old," he told himself. "The world has a horror of -old age and poverty--two ugly things. After this I will not go -anywhere unless I am asked." - -Heroic resolve! - -Downstairs the great gate was shut, as it usually is in houses -occupied by the proprietor; the kitchen stood exactly opposite the -porter's lodge, and the door was open. Pons was obliged to listen -while Madeleine told the servants the whole story amid the laughter of -the servants. She had not expected him to leave so soon. The footman -loudly applauded a joke at the expense of a visitor who was always -coming to the house and never gave you more than three francs at the -year's end. - -"Yes," put in the cook; "but if he cuts up rough and does not come -back, there will be three francs the less for some of us on New Year's -day." - -"Eh! How is he to know?" retorted the footman. - -"Pooh!" said Madeleine, "a little sooner or a little later--what -difference does it make? The people at the other houses where he dines -are so tired of him that they are going to turn him out." - -"The gate, if you please!" - -Madeleine had scarcely uttered the words when they heard the old -musician's call to the porter. It sounded like a cry of pain. There -was a sudden silence in the kitchen. - -"He heard!" the footman said. - -"Well, and if he did, so much the worser, or rather so much the -better," retorted Madeleine. "He is an arrant skinflint." - -Poor Pons had lost none of the talk in the kitchen; he heard it all, -even to the last word. He made his way home along the boulevards, in -the same state, physical and mental, as an old woman after a desperate -struggle with burglars. As he went he talked to himself in quick -spasmodic jerks; his honor had been wounded, and the pain of it drove -him on as a gust of wind whirls away a straw. He found himself at last -in the Boulevard du Temple; how he had come thither he could not tell. -It was five o'clock, and, strange to say, he had completely lost his -appetite. - -But if the reader is to understand the revolution which Pons' -unexpected return at that hour was to work in the Rue de Normandie, -the promised biography of Mme. Cibot must be given in this place. - -Any one passing along the Rue de Normandie might be pardoned for -thinking that he was in some small provincial town. Grass runs to seed -in the street, everybody knows everybody else, and the sight of a -stranger is an event. The houses date back to the reign of Henry IV., -when there was a scheme afoot for a quarter in which every street was -to be named after a French province, and all should converge in a -handsome square to which La France should stand godmother. The -Quartier de l'Europe was a revival of the same idea; history repeats -itself everywhere in the world, and even in the world of speculation. - -The house in which the two musicians used to live is an old mansion -with a courtyard in front and a garden at the back; but the front part -of the house which gives upon the street is comparatively modern, -built during the eighteenth century when the Marais was a fashionable -quarter. The friends lived at the back, on the second floor of the old -part of the house. The whole building belongs to M. Pillerault, an old -man of eighty, who left matters very much in the hands of M. and Mme. -Cibot, his porters for the past twenty-six years. - -Now, as a porter cannot live by his lodge alone, the aforesaid Cibot -had other means of gaining a livelihood; and supplemented his five per -cent on the rental and his faggot from every cartload of wood by his -own earnings as a tailor. In time Cibot ceased to work for the master -tailors; he made a connection among the little trades-people of the -quarter, and enjoyed a monopoly of the repairs, renovations, and fine -drawing of all the coats and trousers in three adjacent streets. The -lodge was spacious and wholesome, and boasted a second room; wherefore -the Cibot couple were looked upon as among the luckiest porters in the -arrondissement. - -Cibot, small and stunted, with a complexion almost olive-colored by -reason of sitting day in day out in Turk-fashion on a table level with -the barred window, made about twelve or fourteen francs a week. He -worked still, though he was fifty-eight years old, but fifty-eight is -the porter's golden age; he is used to his lodge, he and his room fit -each other like the shell and the oyster, and "he is known in the -neighborhood." - -Mme. Cibot, sometime opener of oysters at the /Cadran Bleu/, after all -the adventures which come unsought to the belle of an oyster-bar, left -her post for love of Cibot at the age of twenty-eight. The beauty of a -woman of the people is short-lived, especially if she is planted -espalier fashion at a restaurant door. Her features are hardened by -puffs of hot air from the kitchen; the color of the heeltaps of -customers' bottles, finished in the company of the waiters, gradually -filters into her complexion--no beauty is full blown so soon as the -beauty of an oyster-opener. Luckily for Mme. Cibot, lawful wedlock and -a portress' life were offered to her just in time; while she still -preserved a comeliness of a masculine order slandered by rivals of the -Rue de Normandie, who called her "a great blowsy thing," Mme. Cibot -might have sat as a model to Rubens. Those flesh tints reminded you of -the appetizing sheen on a pat of Isigny butter; but plump as she was, -no woman went about her work with more agility. Mme. Cibot had -attained the time of life when women of her stamp are obliged to shave ---which is as much as to say that she had reached the age of forty- -eight. A porter's wife with a moustache is one of the best possible -guarantees of respectability and security that a landlord can have. If -Delacroix could have seen Mme. Cibot leaning proudly on her broom -handle, he would assuredly have painted her as Bellona. - -Strange as it may seem, the circumstances of the Cibots, man and wife -(in the style of an indictment), were one day to affect the lives of -the two friends; wherefore the chronicler, as in duty bound, must give -some particulars as to the Cibots' lodge. - -The house brought in about eight thousand francs for there were three -complete sets of apartments--back and front, on the side nearest the -Rue de Normandie, as well as the three floors in the older mansion -between the courtyard and the garden, and a shop kept by a marine -store-dealer named Remonencq, which fronted on the street. During the -past few months this Remonencq had begun to deal in old curiosities, -and knew the value of Pons' collection so well that he took off his -hat whenever the musician came in or went out. - -A sou in the livre on eight thousand francs therefore brought in about -four hundred francs to the Cibots. They had no rent to pay and no -expenses for firing; Cibot's earnings amounted on an average to seven -or eight hundred francs, add tips at New Year, and the pair had -altogether in income of sixteen hundred francs, every penny of which -they spent, for the Cibots lived and fared better than working people -usually do. "One can only live once," La Cibot used to say. She was -born during the Revolution, you see, and had never learned her -Catechism. - -The husband of this portress with the unblenching tawny eyes was an -object of envy to the whole fraternity, for La Cibot had not forgotten -the knowledge of cookery picked up at the /Cadran Bleu/. So it had -come to pass that the Cibots had passed the prime of life, and saw -themselves on the threshold of old age without a hundred francs put by -for the future. Well clad and well fed, they enjoyed among the -neighbors, it is true, the respect due to twenty-six years of strict -honesty; for if they had nothing of their own, they "hadn't nothing -belonging to nobody else," according to La Cibot, who was a prodigal -of negatives. "There wasn't never such a love of a man," she would say -to her husband. Do you ask why? You might as well ask the reason of -her indifference in matters of religion. - -Both of them were proud of a life lived in open day, of the esteem in -which they were held for six or seven streets round about, and of the -autocratic rule permitted to them by the proprietor ("perprietor," -they called him); but in private they groaned because they had no -money lying at interest. Cibot complained of pains in his hands and -legs, and his wife would lament that her poor, dear Cibot should be -forced to work at his age; and, indeed, the day is not far distant -when a porter after thirty years of such a life will cry shame upon -the injustice of the Government and clamor for the ribbon of the -Legion of Honor. Every time that the gossip of the quarter brought -news of such and such a servant-maid, left an annuity of three or four -hundred francs after eight or ten years of service, the porters' -lodges would resound with complaints, which may give some idea of the -consuming jealousies in the lowest walks of life in Paris. - -"Oh, indeed! It will never happen to the like of us to have our names -mentioned in a will! We have no luck, but we do more than servants, -for all that. We fill a place of trust; we give receipts, we are on -the lookout for squalls, and yet we are treated like dogs, neither -more nor less, and that's the truth!" - -"Some find fortune and some miss fortune," said Cibot, coming in with -a coat. - -"If I had left Cibot here in his lodge and taken a place as cook, we -should have our thirty thousand francs out at interest," cried Mme. -Cibot, standing chatting with a neighbor, her hands on her prominent -hips. "But I didn't understand how to get on in life; housed inside of -a snug lodge and firing found and want for nothing, but that is all." - -In 1836, when the friends took up their abode on the second floor, -they brought about a sort of revolution in the Cibot household. It -befell on this wise. Schmucke, like his friend Pons, usually arranged -that the porter or the porter's wife should undertake the cares of -housekeeping; and being both of one mind on this point when they came -to live in the Rue de Normandie, Mme. Cibot became their housekeeper -at the rate of twenty-five francs per month--twelve francs fifty -centimes for each of them. Before the year was out, the emeritus -portress reigned in the establishment of the two old bachelors, as she -reigned everywhere in the house belonging to M. Pillerault, great -uncle of Mme. le Comtesse Popinot. Their business was her business; -she called them "my gentlemen." And at last, finding the pair of -nutcrackers as mild as lambs, easy to live with, and by no means -suspicious--perfect children, in fact--her heart, the heart of a woman -of the people, prompted her to protect, adore, and serve them with -such thorough devotion, that she read them a lecture now and again, -and saved them from the impositions which swell the cost of living in -Paris. For twenty-five francs a month, the two old bachelors -inadvertently acquired a mother. - -As they became aware of Mme. Cibot's full value, they gave her -outspoken praises, and thanks, and little presents which strengthened -the bonds of the domestic alliance. Mme. Cibot a thousand times -preferred appreciation to money payments; it is a well-known fact that -the sense that one is appreciated makes up for a deficiency in wages. -And Cibot did all that he could for his wife's two gentlemen, and ran -errands and did repairs at half-price for them. - -The second year brought a new element into the friendship between the -lodge and the second floor, and Schmucke concluded a bargain which -satisfied his indolence and desire for a life without cares. For -thirty sous per day, or forty-five francs per month, Mme. Cibot -undertook to provide Schmucke with breakfast and dinner; and Pons, -finding his friend's breakfast very much to his mind, concluded a -separate treaty for that meal only at the rate of eighteen francs. -This arrangement, which added nearly ninety francs every month to the -takings of the porter and his wife, made two inviolable beings of the -lodgers; they became angels, cherubs, divinities. It is very doubtful -whether the King of the French, who is supposed to understand economy, -is as well served as the pair of nutcrackers used to be in those days. - -For them the milk issued pure from the can; they enjoyed a free -perusal of all the morning papers taken by other lodgers, later -risers, who were told, if need be, that the newspapers had not come -yet. Mme. Cibot, moreover, kept their clothes, their rooms, and the -landing as clean as a Flemish interior. As for Schmucke, he enjoyed -unhoped-for happiness; Mme. Cibot had made life easy for him; he paid -her about six francs a month, and she took charge of his linen, -washing, and mending. Altogether, his expenses amounted to sixty-six -francs per month (for he spent fifteen francs on tobacco), and sixty- -six francs multiplied by twelve produces the sum total of seven -hundred and ninety-two francs. Add two hundred and twenty francs for -rent, rates, and taxes, and you have a thousand and twelve francs. -Cibot was Schmucke's tailor; his clothes cost him on average a hundred -and fifty francs, which further swells the total to the sum of twelve -hundred. On twelve hundred francs per annum this profound philosopher -lived. How many people in Europe, whose one thought it is to come to -Paris and live there, will be agreeably surprised to learn that you -may exist in comfort upon an income of twelve hundred francs in the -Rue de Normandie in the Marais, under the wing of a Mme. Cibot. - -Mme. Cibot, to resume the story, was amazed beyond expression to see -Pons, good man, return at five o'clock in the evening. Such a thing -had never happened before; and not only so, but "her gentleman" had -given her no greeting--had not so much as seen her! - -"Well, well, Cibot," said she to her spouse, "M. Pons has come in for -a million, or gone out of his mind!" - -"That is how it looks to me," said Cibot, dropping the coat-sleeve in -which he was making a "dart," in tailor's language. - -The savory odor of a stew pervaded the whole courtyard, as Pons -returned mechanically home. Mme. Cibot was dishing up Schmucke's -dinner, which consisted of scraps of boiled beef from a little cook- -shop not above doing a little trade of this kind. These morsels were -fricasseed in brown butter, with thin slices of onion, until the meat -and vegetables had absorbed the gravy and this true porter's dish was -browned to the right degree. With that fricassee, prepared with loving -care for Cibot and Schmucke, and accompanied by a bottle of beer and a -piece of cheese, the old German music-master was quite content. Not -King Solomon in all his glory, be sure, could dine better than -Schmucke. A dish of boiled beef fricasseed with onions, scraps of -/saute/ chicken, or beef and parsley, or venison, or fish served with -a sauce of La Cibot's own invention (a sauce with which a mother might -unsuspectingly eat her child),--such was Schmucke's ordinary, varying -with the quantity and quality of the remnants of food supplied by -boulevard restaurants to the cook-shop in the Rue Boucherat. Schmucke -took everything that "goot Montame Zipod" gave him, and was content, -and so from day to day "goot Montame Zipod" cut down the cost of his -dinner, until it could be served for twenty sous. - -"It won't be long afore I find out what is the matter with him, poor -dear," said Mme. Cibot to her husband, "for here is M. Schmucke's -dinner all ready for him." - -As she spoke she covered the deep earthenware dish with a plate; and, -notwithstanding her age, she climbed the stair and reached the door -before Schmucke opened it to Pons. - -"Vat is de matter mit you, mein goot friend?" asked the German, scared -by the expression of Pons' face. - -"I will tell you all about it; but I have come home to have dinner -with you--" - -"Tinner! tinner!" cried Schmucke in ecstasy; "but it is impossible!" -the old German added, as he thought of his friend's gastronomical -tastes; and at that very moment he caught sight of Mme. Cibot -listening to the conversation, as she had a right to do as his lawful -housewife. Struck with one of those happy inspirations which only -enlighten a friend's heart, he marched up to the portress and drew her -out to the stairhead. - -"Montame Zipod," he said, "der goot Pons is fond of goot dings; shoost -go rount to der /Catran Pleu/ und order a dainty liddle tinner, mit -anjovies und maggaroni. Ein tinner for Lugullus, in vact." - -"What is that?" inquired La Cibot. - -"Oh! ah!" returned Schmucke, "it is veal /a la pourcheoise/" -(/bourgeoise/, he meant), "a nice fisch, ein pottle off Porteaux, und -nice dings, der fery best dey haf, like groquettes of rice und shmoked -pacon! Bay for it, und say nodings; I vill gif you back de monny -to-morrow morning." - -Back went Schmucke, radiant and rubbing his hands; but his expression -slowly changed to a look of bewildered astonishment as he heard Pons' -story of the troubles that had but just now overwhelmed him in a -moment. He tried to comfort Pons by giving him a sketch of the world -from his own point of view. Paris, in his opinion, was a perpetual -hurly-burly, the men and women in it were whirled away by a -tempestuous waltz; it was no use expecting anything of the world, -which only looked at the outsides of things, "und not at der -inderior." For the hundredth time he related how that the only three -pupils for whom he had really cared, for whom he was ready to die, the -three who had been fond of him, and even allowed him a little pension -of nine hundred francs, each contributing three hundred to the amount ---his favorite pupils had quite forgotten to come to see him; and so -swift was the current of Parisian life which swept them away, that if -he called at their houses, he had not succeeded in seeing them once in -three years--(it is a fact, however, that Schmucke had always thought -fit to call on these great ladies at ten o'clock in the morning!)-- -still, his pension was paid quarterly through the medium of -solicitors. - -"Und yet, dey are hearts of gold," he concluded. "Dey are my liddle -Saint Cecilias, sharming vimmen, Montame de Bordentuere, Montame de -Fantenesse, und Montame du Dilet. Gif I see dem at all, it is at die -Jambs Elusees, und dey do not see me . . . yet dey are ver' fond of -me, und I might go to dine mit dem, und dey vould be ver' bleased to -see me; und I might go to deir country-houses, but I vould much rader -be mit mine friend Bons, because I kann see him venefer I like, und -efery tay." - -Pons took Schmucke's hand and grasped it between his own. All that was -passing in his inmost soul was communicated in that tight pressure. -And so for awhile the friends sat like two lovers, meeting at last -after a long absence. - -"Tine here, efery tay!" broke out Schmucke, inwardly blessing Mme. de -Marville for her hardness of heart. "Look here! Ve shall go a prick-a- -pracking togeders, und der teufel shall nefer show his tail here." - -"Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders!" for the full comprehension of -those truly heroic words, it must be confessed that Schmucke's -ignorance of bric-a-brac was something of the densest. It required all -the strength of his friendship to keep him from doing heedless damage -in the sitting-room and study which did duty as a museum for Pons. -Schmucke, wholly absorbed in music, a composer for love of his art, -took about as much interest in his friend's little trifles as a fish -might take in a flower-show at the Luxembourg, supposing that it had -received a ticket of admission. A certain awe which he certainly felt -for the marvels was simply a reflection of the respect which Pons -showed his treasures when he dusted them. To Pons' exclamations of -admiration, he was wont to reply with a "Yes, it is ver' bretty," as a -mother answers baby-gestures with meaningless baby-talk. Seven times -since the friends had lived together, Pons had exchanged a good clock -for a better one, till at last he possessed a timepiece in Boule's -first and best manner, for Boule had two manners, as Raphael had -three. In the first he combined ebony and copper; in the second-- -contrary to his convictions--he sacrificed to tortoise-shell inlaid -work. In spite of Pons' learned dissertations, Schmucke never could -see the slightest difference between the magnificent clock in Boule's -first manner and its six predecessors; but, for Pons' sake, Schmucke -was even more careful among the "chimcracks" than Pons himself. So it -should not be surprising that Schmucke's sublime words comforted Pons -in his despair; for "Ve shall go prick-a-pracking togeders," meant, -being interpreted, "I will put money into bric-a-brac, if you will -only dine here." - -"Dinner is ready," Mme. Cibot announced, with astonishing self- -possession. - -It is not difficult to imagine Pons' surprise when he saw and relished -the dinner due to Schmucke's friendship. Sensations of this kind, that -came so rarely in a lifetime, are never the outcome of the constant, -close relationship by which friend daily says to friend, "You are a -second self to me"; for this, too, becomes a matter of use and wont. -It is only by contact with the barbarism of the world without that the -happiness of that intimate life is revealed to us as a sudden glad -surprise. It is the outer world which renews the bond between friend -and friend, lover and lover, all their lives long, wherever two great -souls are knit together by friendship or by love. - -Pons brushed away two big tears, Schmucke himself wiped his eyes; and -though nothing was said, the two were closer friends than before. -Little friendly nods and glances exchanged across the table were like -balm to Pons, soothing the pain caused by the sand dropped in his -heart by the President's wife. As for Schmucke, he rubbed his hands -till they were sore; for a new idea had occurred to him, one of those -great discoveries which cause a German no surprise, unless they sprout -up suddenly in a Teuton brain frost-bound by the awe and reverence due -to sovereign princes. - -"Mine goot Bons?" began Schmucke. - -"I can guess what you mean; you would like us both to dine together -here, every day--" - -"Gif only I vas rich enof to lif like dis efery tay--" began the good -German in a melancholy voice. But here Mme. Cibot appeared upon the -scene. Pons had given her an order for the theatre from time to time, -and stood in consequence almost as high in her esteem and affection as -her boarder Schmucke. - -"Lord love you," said she, "for three francs and wine extra I can give -you both such a dinner every day that you will be ready to lick the -plates as clean as if they were washed." - -"It is a fact," Schmucke remarked, "dat die dinners dat Montame Zipod -cooks for me are better as de messes dey eat at der royal dable!" In -his eagerness, Schmucke, usually so full of respect for the powers -that be, so far forgot himself as to imitate the irreverent newspapers -which scoffed at the "fixed-price" dinners of Royalty. - -"Really?" said Pons. "Very well, I will try to-morrow." - -And at that promise Schmucke sprang from one end of the table to the -other, sweeping off tablecloth, bottles, and dishes as he went, and -hugged Pons to his heart. So might gas rush to combine with gas. - -"Vat happiness!" cried he. - -Mme. Cibot was quite touched. "Monsieur is going to dine here every -day!" she cried proudly. - -That excellent woman departed downstairs again in ignorance of the -event which had brought about this result, entered her room like -Josepha in /William Tell/, set down the plates and dishes on the table -with a bang, and called aloud to her husband: - -"Cibot! run to the /Cafe Turc/ for two small cups of coffee, and tell -the man at the stove that it is for me." - -Then she sat down and rested her hands on her massive knees, and gazed -out of the window at the opposite wall. - -"I will go to-night and see what Ma'am Fontaine says," she thought. -(Madame Fontaine told fortunes on the cards for all the servants in -the quarter of the Marais.) "Since these two gentlemen came here, we -have put two thousand francs in the savings bank. Two thousand francs -in eight years! What luck! Would it be better to make no profit out of -M. Pons' dinner and keep him here at home? Ma'am Fontaine's hen will -tell me that." - -Three years ago Mme. Cibot had begun to cherish a hope that her name -might be mentioned in "her gentlemen's" wills; she had redoubled her -zeal since that covetous thought tardily sprouted up in the midst of -that so honest moustache. Pons hitherto had dined abroad, eluding her -desire to have both of "her gentlemen" entirely under her management; -his "troubadour" collector's life had scared away certain vague ideas -which hovered in La Cibot's brain; but now her shadowy projects -assumed the formidable shape of a definite plan, dating from that -memorable dinner. Fifteen minutes later she reappeared in the dining- -room with two cups of excellent coffee, flanked by a couple of tiny -glasses of /kirschwasser/. - -"Long lif Montame Zipod!" cried Schmucke; "she haf guessed right!" - -The diner-out bemoaned himself a little, while Schmucke met his -lamentations with coaxing fondness, like a home pigeon welcoming back -a wandering bird. Then the pair set out for the theatre. - -Schmucke could not leave his friend in the condition to which he had -been brought by the Camusots--mistresses and servants. He knew Pons so -well; he feared lest some cruel, sad thought should seize on him at -his conductor's desk, and undo all the good done by his welcome home -to the nest. - -And Schmucke brought his friend back on his arm through the streets at -midnight. A lover could not be more careful of his lady. He pointed -out the edges of the curbstones, he was on the lookout whenever they -stepped on or off the pavement, ready with a warning if there was a -gutter to cross. Schmucke could have wished that the streets were -paved with cotton-down; he would have had a blue sky overhead, and -Pons should hear the music which all the angels in heaven were making -for him. He had won the lost province in his friend's heart! - -For nearly three months Pons and Schmucke dined together every day. -Pons was obliged to retrench at once; for dinner at forty-five francs -a month and wine at thirty-five meant precisely eighty francs less to -spend on bric-a-brac. And very soon, in spite of all that Schmucke -could do, in spite of his little German jokes, Pons fell to regretting -the delicate dishes, the liqueurs, the good coffee, the table talk, -the insincere politeness, the guests, and the gossip, and the houses -where he used to dine. On the wrong side of sixty a man cannot break -himself of a habit of thirty-six years' growth. Wine at a hundred and -thirty francs per hogshead is scarcely a generous liquid in a -/gourmet's/ glass; every time that Pons raised it to his lips he -thought, with infinite regret, of the exquisite wines in his -entertainers' cellars. - -In short, at the end of three months, the cruel pangs which had gone -near to break Pons' sensitive heart had died away; he forgot -everything but the charms of society; and languished for them like -some elderly slave of a petticoat compelled to leave the mistress who -too repeatedly deceives him. In vain he tried to hide his profound and -consuming melancholy; it was too plain that he was suffering from one -of the mysterious complaints which the mind brings upon the body. - -A single symptom will throw light upon this case of nostalgia (as it -were) produced by breaking away from an old habit; in itself it is -trifling, one of the myriad nothings which are as rings in a coat of -chain-mail enveloping the soul in a network of iron. One of the -keenest pleasures of Pons' old life, one of the joys of the dinner- -table parasite at all times, was the "surprise," the thrill produced -by the extra dainty dish added triumphantly to the bill of fare by the -mistress of a bourgeois house, to give a festal air to the dinner. -Pons' stomach hankered after that gastronomical satisfaction. Mme. -Cibot, in the pride of her heart, enumerated every dish beforehand; a -salt and savor once periodically recurrent, had vanished utterly from -daily life. Dinner proceeded without /le plat couvert/, as our -grandsires called it. This lay beyond the bounds of Schmucke's powers -of comprehension. - -Pons had too much delicacy to grumble; but if the case of -unappreciated genius is hard, it goes harder still with the stomach -whose claims are ignored. Slighted affection, a subject of which too -much has been made, is founded upon an illusory longing; for if the -creature fails, love can turn to the Creator who has treasures to -bestow. But the stomach! . . . Nothing can be compared to its -sufferings; for, in the first place, one must live. - -Pons thought wistfully of certain creams--surely the poetry of -cookery!--of certain white sauces, masterpieces of the art; of -truffled chickens, fit to melt your heart; and above these, and more -than all these, of the famous Rhine carp, only known at Paris, served -with what condiments! There were days when Pons, thinking upon Count -Popinot's cook, would sigh aloud, "Ah, Sophie!" Any passer-by hearing -the exclamation might have thought that the old man referred to a lost -mistress; but his fancy dwelt upon something rarer, on a fat Rhine -carp with a sauce, thin in the sauce-boat, creamy upon the palate, a -sauce that deserved the Montyon prize! The conductor of the orchestra, -living on memories of past dinners, grew visibly leaner; he was pining -away, a victim to gastric nostalgia. - -By the beginning of the fourth month (towards the end of January, -1845), Pons' condition attracted attention at the theatre. The flute, -a young man named Wilhelm, like almost all Germans; and Schwab, to -distinguish him from all other Wilhelms, if not from all other -Schwabs, judged it expedient to open Schmucke's eyes to his friend's -state of health. It was a first performance of a piece in which -Schmucke's instruments were all required. - -"The old gentleman is failing," said the flute; "there is something -wrong somewhere; his eyes are heavy, and he doesn't beat time as he -used to do," added Wilhelm Schwab, indicating Pons as he gloomily took -his place. - -"Dat is alvays de vay, gif a man is sixty years old," answered -Schmucke. - -The Highland widow, in /The Chronicles of the Canongate/, sent her son -to his death to have him beside her for twenty-four hours; and -Schmucke could have sacrificed Pons for the sake of seeing his face -every day across the dinner-table. - -"Everybody in the theatre is anxious about him," continued the flute; -"and, as the /premiere danseuse/, Mlle. Brisetout, says, 'he makes -hardly any noise now when he blows his nose.' " - -And, indeed, a peal like a blast of a horn used to resound through the -old musician's bandana handkerchief whenever he raised it to that -lengthy and cavernous feature. The President's wife had more -frequently found fault with him on that score than on any other. - -"I vould gif a goot teal to amuse him," said Schmucke, "he gets so -dull." - -"M. Pons always seems so much above the like of us poor devils, that, -upon my word, I didn't dare to ask him to my wedding," said Wilhelm -Schwab. "I am going to be married--" - -"How?" demanded Schmucke. - -"Oh! quite properly," returned Wilhelm Schwab, taking Schmucke's -quaint inquiry for a gibe, of which that perfect Christian was quite -incapable. - -"Come, gentlemen, take your places!" called Pons, looking round at his -little army, as the stage manager's bell rang for the overture. - -The piece was a dramatized fairy tale, a pantomime called /The Devil's -Betrothed/, which ran for two hundred nights. In the interval, after -the first act, Wilhelm Schwab and Schmucke were left alone in the -orchestra, with a house at a temperature of thirty-two degrees -Reaumur. - -"Tell me your hishdory," said Schmucke. - -"Look there! Do you see that young man in the box yonder? . . . Do you -recognize him?" - -"Nefer a pit--" - -"Ah! That is because he is wearing yellow gloves and shines with all -the radiance of riches, but that is my friend Fritz Brunner out of -Frankfort-on-the-Main." - -"Dat used to komm to see du blav und sit peside you in der orghestra?" - -"The same. You would not believe he could look so different, would -you?" - -The hero of the promised story was a German of that particular type in -which the sombre irony of Goethe's Mephistopheles is blended with a -homely cheerfulness found in the romances of August Lafontaine of -pacific memory; but the predominating element in the compound of -artlessness and guile, of shopkeeper's shrewdness, and the studied -carelessness of a member of the Jockey Club, was that form of disgust -which set a pistol in the hands of a young Werther, bored to death -less by Charlotte than by German princes. It was a thoroughly German -face, full of cunning, full of simplicity, stupidity, and courage; the -knowledge which brings weariness, the worldly wisdom which the veriest -child's trick leaves at fault, the abuse of beer and tobacco,--all -these were there to be seen in it, and to heighten the contrast of -opposed qualities, there was a wild diabolical gleam in the fine blue -eyes with the jaded expression. - -Dressed with all the elegance of a city man, Fritz Brunner sat in full -view of the house displaying a bald crown of the tint beloved by -Titian, and a few stray fiery red hairs on either side of it; a -remnant spared by debauchery and want, that the prodigal might have a -right to spend money with the hairdresser when he should come into his -fortune. A face, once fair and fresh as the traditional portrait of -Jesus Christ, had grown harder since the advent of a red moustache; a -tawny beard lent it an almost sinister look. The bright blue eyes had -lost something of their clearness in the struggle with distress. The -countless courses by which a man sells himself and his honor in Paris -had left their traces upon his eyelids and carved lines about the -eyes, into which a mother once looked with a mother's rapture to find -a copy of her own fashioned by God's hand. - -This precocious philosopher, this wizened youth was the work of a -stepmother. - -Herewith begins the curious history of a prodigal son of Frankfort-on- -the-Main--the most extraordinary and astounding portent ever beheld by -that well-conducted, if central, city. - -Gideon Brunner, father of the aforesaid Fritz, was one of the famous -innkeepers of Frankfort, a tribe who make law-authorized incisions in -travelers' purses with the connivance of the local bankers. An -innkeeper and an honest Calvinist to boot, he had married a converted -Jewess and laid the foundations of his prosperity with the money she -brought him. - -When the Jewess died, leaving a son Fritz, twelve years of age, under -the joint guardianship of his father and maternal uncle, a furrier at -Leipsic, head of the firm of Virlaz and Company, Brunner senior was -compelled by his brother-in-law (who was by no means as soft as his -peltry) to invest little Fritz's money, a goodly quantity of current -coin of the realm, with the house of Al-Sartchild. Not a penny of it -was he allowed to touch. So, by way of revenge for the Israelite's -pertinacity, Brunner senior married again. It was impossible, he said, -to keep his huge hotel single-handed; it needed a woman's eye and -hand. Gideon Brunner's second wife was an innkeeper's daughter, a very -pearl, as he thought; but he had had no experience of only daughters -spoiled by father and mother. - -The second Mme. Brunner behaved as German girls may be expected to -behave when they are frivolous and wayward. She squandered her -fortune, she avenged the first Mme. Brunner by making her husband as -miserable a man as you could find in the compass of the free city of -Frankfort-on-the-Main, where the millionaires, it is said, are about -to pass a law compelling womankind to cherish and obey them alone. She -was partial to all the varieties of vinegar commonly called Rhine wine -in Germany; she was fond of /articles Paris/, of horses and dress; -indeed, the one expensive taste which she had not was a liking for -women. She took a dislike to little Fritz, and would perhaps have -driven him mad if that young offspring of Calvinism and Judaism had -not had Frankfort for his cradle and the firm of Virlaz at Leipsic for -his guardian. Uncle Virlaz, however, deep in his furs, confined his -guardianship to the safe-keeping of Fritz's silver marks, and left the -boy to the tender mercies of this stepmother. - -That hyena in woman's form was the more exasperated against the pretty -child, the lovely Jewess' son, because she herself could have no -children in spite of efforts worthy of a locomotive engine. A -diabolical impulse prompted her to plunge her young stepson, at -twenty-one years of age, into dissipations contrary to all German -habits. The wicked German hoped that English horses, Rhine vinegar, -and Goethe's Marguerites would ruin the Jewess' child and shorten his -days; for when Fritz came of age, Uncle Virlaz had handed over a very -pretty fortune to his nephew. But while roulette at Baden and -elsewhere, and boon companions (Wilhelm Schwab among them) devoured -the substance accumulated by Uncle Virlaz, the prodigal son himself -remained by the will of Providence to point a moral to younger -brothers in the free city of Frankfort; parents held him up as a -warning and an awful example to their offspring to scare them into -steady attendance in their cast-iron counting houses, lined with -silver marks. - -But so far from perishing in the flower of his age, Fritz Brunner had -the pleasure of laying his stepmother in one of those charming little -German cemeteries, in which the Teuton indulges his unbridled passion -for horticulture under the specious pretext of honoring his dead. And -as the second Mme. Brunner expired while the authors of her being were -yet alive, Brunner senior was obliged to bear the loss of the sums of -which his wife had drained his coffers, to say nothing of other ills, -which had told upon a Herculean constitution, till at the age of -sixty-seven the innkeeper had wizened and shrunk as if the famous -Borgia's poison had undermined his system. For ten whole years he had -supported his wife, and now he inherited nothing! The innkeeper was a -second ruin of Heidelberg, repaired continually, it is true, by -travelers' hotel bills, much as the remains of the castle of -Heidelberg itself are repaired to sustain the enthusiasm of the -tourists who flock to see so fine and well-preserved a relic of -antiquity. - -At Frankfort the disappointment caused as much talk as a failure. -People pointed out Brunner, saying, "See what a man may come to with a -bad wife that leaves him nothing and a son brought up in the French -fashion." - -In Italy and Germany the French nation is the root of all evil, the -target for all bullets. "But the god pursuing his way----" (For the -rest, see Lefranc de Pompignan's Ode.) - -The wrath of the proprietor of the Grand Hotel de Hollande fell on -others besides the travelers, whose bills were swelled with his -resentment. When his son was utterly ruined, Gideon, regarding him as -the indirect cause of all his misfortunes, refused him bread and salt, -fire, lodging, and tobacco--the force of the paternal malediction in a -German and an innkeeper could no farther go. Whereupon the local -authorities, making no allowance for the father's misdeeds, regarded -him as one of the most ill-used persons in Frankfort-on-the-Main, came -to his assistance, fastened a quarrel on Fritz (/une querelle -d'Allemand/), and expelled him from the territory of the free city. -Justice in Frankfort is no whit wiser nor more humane than elsewhere, -albeit the city is the seat of the German Diet. It is not often that a -magistrate traces back the stream of wrongdoing and misfortune to the -holder of the urn from which the first beginnings trickled forth. If -Brunner forgot his son, his son's friends speedily followed the old -innkeeper's example. - -Ah! if the journalists, the dandies, and some few fair Parisians among -the audience wondered how that German with the tragical countenance -had cropped up on a first night to occupy a side box all to himself -when fashionable Paris filled the house,--if these could have seen the -history played out upon the stage before the prompter's box, they -would have found it far more interesting than the transformation -scenes of /The Devil's Betrothed/, though indeed it was the two -hundred thousandth representation of a sublime allegory performed -aforetime in Mesopotamia three thousand years before Christ was born. - -Fritz betook himself on foot to Strasbourg, and there found what the -prodigal son of the Bible failed to find--to wit, a friend. And herein -is revealed the superiority of Alsace, where so many generous hearts -beat to show Germany the beauty of a combination of Gallic wit and -Teutonic solidity. Wilhelm Schwab, but lately left in possession of a -hundred thousand francs by the death of both parents, opened his arms, -his heart, his house, his purse to Fritz. As for describing Fritz's -feelings, when dusty, down on his luck, and almost like a leper, he -crossed the Rhine and found a real twenty-franc piece held out by the -hand of a real friend,--that moment transcends the powers of the prose -writer; Pindar alone could give it forth to humanity in Greek that -should rekindle the dying warmth of friendship in the world. - -Put the names of Fritz and Wilheim beside those of Damon and Pythias, -Castor and Pollux, Orestes and Pylades, Dubreuil and Pmejah, Schmucke -and Pons, and all the names that we imagine for the two friends of -Monomotapa, for La Fontaine (man of genius though he was) has made of -them two disembodied spirits--they lack reality. The two new names may -join the illustrious company, and with so much the more reason, since -that Wilhelm who had helped to drink Fritz's inheritance now -proceeded, with Fritz's assistance, to devour his own substance; -smoking, needless to say, every known variety of tobacco. - -The pair, strange to relate, squandered the property in the dullest, -stupidest, most commonplace fashion, in Strasbourg /brasseries/, in -the company of ballet-girls of the Strasbourg theatres, and little -Alsaciennes who had not a rag of a tattered reputation left. - -Every morning they would say, "We really must stop this, and make up -our minds and do something or other with the money that is left." - -"Pooh!" Fritz would retort, "just one more day, and to-morrow" . . . -ah! to-morrow. - -In the lives of Prodigal Sons, /To-day/ is a prodigious coxcomb, but -/To-morrow/ is a very poltroon, taking fright at the big words of his -predecessor. /To-day/ is the truculent captain of old world comedy, -/To-morrow/ the clown of modern pantomime. - -When the two friends had reached their last thousand-franc note, they -took places in the mail-coach, styled Royal, and departed for Paris, -where they installed themselves in the attics of the Hotel du Rhin, in -the Rue du Mail, the property of one Graff, formerly Gideon Brunner's -head-waiter. Fritz found a situation as clerk in the Kellers' bank (on -Graff's recommendation), with a salary of six hundred francs. And a -place as book-keeper was likewise found for Wilhelm, in the business -of Graff the fashionable tailor, brother of Graff of the Hotel du -Rhin, who found the scantily-paid employment for the pair of -prodigals, for the sake of old times, and his apprenticeship at the -Hotel de Hollande. These two incidents--the recognition of a ruined -man by a well-to-do friend, and a German innkeeper interesting himself -in two penniless fellow-countrymen--give, no doubt, an air of -improbability to the story, but truth is so much the more like -fiction, since modern writers of fiction have been at such untold -pains to imitate truth. - -It was not long before Fritz, a clerk with six hundred francs, and -Wilhelm, a book-keeper with precisely the same salary, discovered the -difficulties of existence in a city so full of temptations. In 1837, -the second year of their abode, Wilhelm, who possessed a pretty talent -for the flute, entered Pons' orchestra, to earn a little occasional -butter to put on his dry bread. As to Fritz, his only way to an -increase of income lay through the display of the capacity for -business inherited by a descendant of the Virlaz family. Yet, in spite -of his assiduity, in spite of abilities which possibly may have stood -in his way, his salary only reached the sum of two thousand francs in -1843. Penury, that divine stepmother, did for the two men all that -their mothers had not been able to do for them; Poverty taught them -thrift and worldly wisdom; Poverty gave them her grand rough -education, the lessons which she drives with hard knocks into the -heads of great men, who seldom know a happy childhood. Fritz and -Wilhelm, being but ordinary men, learned as little as they possibly -could in her school; they dodged the blows, shrank from her hard -breast and bony arms, and never discovered the good fairy lurking -within, ready to yield to the caresses of genius. One thing, however, -they learned thoroughly--they discovered the value of money, and vowed -to clip the wings of riches if ever a second fortune should come to -their door. - -This was the history which Wilhelm Schwab related in German, at much -greater length, to his friend the pianist, ending with; - -"Well, Papa Schmucke, the rest is soon explained. Old Brunner is dead. -He left four millions! He made an immense amount of money out of Baden -railways, though neither his son nor M. Graff, with whom we lodge, had -any idea that the old man was one of the original shareholders. I am -playing the flute here for the last time this evening; I would have -left some days ago, but this was a first performance, and I did not -want to spoil my part." - -"Goot, mine friend," said Schmucke. "But who is die prite?" - -"She is Mlle. Graff, the daughter of our host, the landlord of the -Hotel du Rhin. I have loved Mlle. Emilie these seven years; she has -read so many immoral novels, that she refused all offers for me, -without knowing what might come of it. She will be a very wealthy -young lady; her uncles, the tailors in the Rue de Richelieu, will -leave her all their money. Fritz is giving me the money we squandered -at Strasbourg five times over! He is putting a million francs in a -banking house, M. Graff the tailor is adding another five hundred -thousand francs, and Mlle. Emilie's father not only allows me to -incorporate her portion--two hundred and fifty thousand francs--with -the capital, but he himself will be a shareholder with as much again. -So the firm of Brunner, Schwab and Company will start with two -millions five hundred thousand francs. Fritz has just bought fifteen -hundred thousand francs' worth of shares in the Bank of France to -guarantee our account with them. That is not all Fritz's fortune. He -has his father's house property, supposed to be worth another million, -and he has let the Grand Hotel de Hollande already to a cousin of the -Graffs." - -"You look sad ven you look at your friend," remarked Schmucke, who had -listened with great interest. "Kann you pe chealous of him?" - -"I am jealous for Fritz's happiness," said Wilhelm. "Does that face -look as if it belonged to a happy man? I am afraid of Paris; I should -like to see him do as I am doing. The old tempter may awake again. Of -our two heads, his carries the less ballast. His dress, and the opera- -glass and the rest of it make me anxious. He keeps looking at the -lorettes in the house. Oh! if you only knew how hard it is to marry -Fritz. He has a horror of 'going a-courting,' as you say; you would -have to give him a drop into a family, just as in England they give a -man a drop into the next world." - -During the uproar that usually marks the end of a first night, the -flute delivered his invitation to the conductor. Pons accepted -gleefully; and, for the first time in three months, Schmucke saw a -smile on his friend's face. They went back to the Rue de Normandie in -perfect silence; that sudden flash of joy had thrown a light on the -extent of the disease which was consuming Pons. Oh, that a man so -truly noble, so disinterested, so great in feeling, should have such a -weakness! . . . This was the thought that struck the stoic Schmucke -dumb with amazement. He grew woefully sad, for he began to see that -there was no help for it; he must even renounce the pleasure of seeing -"his goot Bons" opposite him at the dinner-table, for the sake of -Pons' welfare; and he did not know whether he could give him up; the -mere thought of it drove him distracted. - -Meantime, Pons' proud silence and withdrawal to the Mons Aventinus of -the Rue de Normandie had, as might be expected, impressed the -Presidente, not that she troubled herself much about her parasite, now -that she was freed from him. She thought, with her charming daughter, -that Cousin Pons had seen through her little "Lili's" joke. But it was -otherwise with her husband the President. - -Camusot de Marville, a short and stout man, grown solemn since his -promotion at the Court, admired Cicero, preferred the Opera-Comique to -the Italiens, compared the actors one with another, and followed the -multitude step by step. He used to recite all the articles in the -Ministerialist journals, as if he were saying something original, and -in giving his opinion at the Council Board he paraphrased the remarks -of the previous speaker. His leading characteristics were sufficiently -well known; his position compelled him to take everything seriously; -and he was particularly tenacious of family ties. - -Like most men who are ruled by their wives, the President asserted his -independence in trifles, in which his wife was very careful not to -thwart him. For a month he was satisfied with the Presidente's -commonplace explanations of Pons' disappearance; but at last it struck -him as singular that the old musician, a friend of forty years' -standing, should first make them so valuable a present as a fan that -belonged to Mme. de Pompadour, and then immediately discontinue his -visits. Count Popinot had pronounced the trinket a masterpiece; when -its owner went to Court, the fan had been passed from hand to hand, -and her vanity was not a little gratified by the compliments it -received; others had dwelt on the beauties of the ten ivory sticks, -each one covered with delicate carving, the like of which had never -been seen. A Russian lady (Russian ladies are apt to forget that they -are not in Russia) had offered her six thousand francs for the marvel -one day at Count Popinot's house, and smiled to see it in such hands. -Truth to tell, it was a fan for a Duchess. - -"It cannot be denied that poor Cousin Pons understands rubbish of that -sort--" said Cecile, the day after the bid. - -"Rubbish!" cried her parent. "Why, Government is just about to buy the -late M. le Conseiller Dusommerard's collection for three hundred -thousand francs; and the State and the Municipality of Paris between -them are spending nearly a million francs over the purchase and repair -of the Hotel de Cluny to house the 'rubbish,' as you call it.--Such -'rubbish,' dear child," he resumed, "is frequently all that remains of -vanished civilizations. An Etruscan jar, and a necklace, which -sometimes fetch forty and fifty thousand francs, is 'rubbish' which -reveals the perfection of art at the time of the siege of Troy, -proving that the Etruscans were Trojan refugees in Italy." - -This was the President's cumbrous way of joking; the short, fat man -was heavily ironical with his wife and daughter. - -"The combination of various kinds of knowledge required to understand -such 'rubbish,' Cecile," he resumed, "is a science in itself, called -archaeology. Archaeology comprehends architecture, sculpture, -painting, goldsmiths' work, ceramics, cabinetmaking (a purely modern -art), lace, tapestry--in short, human handiwork of every sort and -description." - -"Then Cousin Pons is learned?" said Cecile. - -"Ah! by the by, why is he never to be seen nowadays?" asked the -President. He spoke with the air of a man in whom thousands of -forgotten and dormant impressions have suddenly begun to stir, and -shaping themselves into one idea, reach consciousness with a ricochet, -as sportsmen say. - -"He must have taken offence at nothing at all," answered his wife. "I -dare say I was not as fully sensible as I might have been of the value -of the fan that he gave me. I am ignorant enough, as you know, of--" - -"/You!/ One of Servin's best pupils, and you don't know Watteau?" -cried the President. - -"I know Gerard and David and Gros and Griodet, and M. de Forbin and M. -Turpin de Crisse--" - -"You ought--" - -"Ought what, sir?" demanded the lady, gazing at her husband with the -air of a Queen of Sheba. - -"To know a Watteau when you see it, my dear. Watteau is very much in -fashion," answered the President with meekness, that told plainly how -much he owed to his wife. - -This conversation took place a few days before that night of first -performance of /The Devil's Betrothed/, when the whole orchestra -noticed how ill Pons was looking. But by that time all the circle of -dinner-givers who were used to seeing Pons' face at their tables, and -to send him on errands, had begun to ask each other for news of him, -and uneasiness increased when it was reported by some who had seen him -that he was always in his place at the theatre. Pons had been very -careful to avoid his old acquaintances whenever he met them in the -streets; but one day it so fell out that he met Count Popinot, the -ex-cabinet minister, face to face in the bric-a-brac dealer's shop in -the new Boulevard Beaumarchais. The dealer was none other than that -Monistrol of whom Pons had spoken to the Presidente, one of the famous -and audacious vendors whose cunning enthusiasm leads them to set more -and more value daily on their wares; for curiosities, they tell you, -are growing so scarce that they are hardly to be found at all -nowadays. - -"Ah, my dear Pons, how comes it that we never see you now? We miss you -very much, and Mme. Popinot does not know what to think of your -desertion." - -"M. le Comte," said the good man, "I was made to feel in the house of -a relative that at my age one is not wanted in the world. I have never -had much consideration shown me, but at any rate I had not been -insulted. I have never asked anything of any man," he broke out with -an artist's pride. "I have often made myself useful in return for -hospitality. But I have made a mistake, it seems; I am indefinitely -beholden to those who honor me by allowing me to sit at table with -them; my friends, and my relatives. . . . Well and good; I have sent -in my resignation as smellfeast. At home I find daily something which -no other house has offered me--a real friend." - -The old artist's power had not failed him; with tone and gesture he -put such bitterness into the words, that the peer of France was struck -by them. He drew Pons aside. - -"Come, now, my old friend, what is it? What has hurt you? Could you -not tell me in confidence? You will permit me to say that at my house -surely you have always met with consideration--" - -"You are the one exception," said the artist. "And besides, you are a -great lord and a statesman, you have so many things to think about. -That would excuse anything, if there were need for it." - -The diplomatic skill that Popinot had acquired in the management of -men and affairs was brought to bear upon Pons, till at length the -story of his misfortunes in the President's house was drawn from him. - -Popinot took up the victim's cause so warmly that he told the story to -Mme. Popinot as soon as he went home, and that excellent and noble- -natured woman spoke to the Presidente on the subject at the first -opportunity. As Popinot himself likewise said a word or two to the -President, there was a general explanation in the family of Camusot de -Marville. - -Camusot was not exactly master in his own house; but this time his -remonstrance was so well founded in law and in fact, that his wife and -daughter were forced to acknowledge the truth. They both humbled -themselves and threw the blame on the servants. The servants, first -bidden, and then chidden, only obtained pardon by a full confession, -which made it clear to the President's mind that Pons had done rightly -to stop away. The President displayed himself before the servants in -all his masculine and magisterial dignity, after the manner of men who -are ruled by their wives. He informed his household that they should -be dismissed forthwith, and forfeit any advantages which their long -term of service in his house might have brought them, unless from that -time forward his cousin and all those who did him the honor of coming -to his house were treated as he himself was. At which speech Madeleine -was moved to smile. - -"You have only one chance of salvation as it is," continued the -President. "Go to my cousin, make your excuses to him, and tell him -that you will lose your situations unless he forgives you, for I shall -turn you all away if he does not." - -Next morning the President went out fairly early to pay a call on his -cousin before going down to the court. The apparition of M. le -President de Marville, announced by Mme. Cibot, was an event in the -house. Pons, thus honored for the first time in his life saw -reparation ahead. - -"At last, my dear cousin," said the President after the ordinary -greetings; "at last I have discovered the cause of your retreat. Your -behavior increases, if that were possible, my esteem for you. I have -but one word to say in that connection. My servants have all been -dismissed. My wife and daughter are in despair; they want to see you -to have an explanation. In all this, my cousin, there is one innocent -person, and he is an old judge; you will not punish me, will you, for -the escapade of a thoughtless child who wished to dine with the -Popinots? especially when I come to beg for peace, admitting that all -the wrong has been on our side? . . . An old friendship of thirty-six -years, even suppose that there had been a misunderstanding, has still -some claims. Come, sign a treaty of peace by dining with us -to-night--" - -Pons involved himself in a diffuse reply, and ended by informing his -cousin that he was to sign a marriage contract that evening; how that -one of the orchestra was not only going to be married, but also about -to fling his flute to the winds to become a banker. - -"Very well. To-morrow." - -"Mme. la Comtesse Popinot has done me the honor of asking me, cousin. -She was so kind as to write--" - -"The day after to-morrow then." - -"M. Brunner, a German, my first flute's future partner, returns the -compliment paid him to-day by the young couple--" - -"You are such pleasant company that it is not surprising that people -dispute for the honor of seeing you. Very well, next Sunday? Within a -week, as we say at the courts?" - -"On Sunday we are to dine with M. Graff, the flute's father-in-law." - -"Very well, on Saturday. Between now and then you will have time to -reassure a little girl who has shed tears already over her fault. God -asks no more than repentance; you will not be more severe than the -Eternal father with poor little Cecile?--" - -Pons, thus reached on his weak side, again plunged into formulas more -than polite, and went as far as the stairhead with the President. - -An hour later the President's servants arrived in a troop on poor -Pons' second floor. They behaved after the manner of their kind; they -cringed and fawned; they wept. Madeleine took M. Pons aside and flung -herself resolutely at his feet. - -"It is all my fault; and monsieur knows quite well that I love him," -here she burst into tears. "It was vengeance boiling in my veins; -monsieur ought to throw all the blame of the unhappy affair on that. -We are all to lose our pensions. . . . Monsieur, I was mad, and I -would not have the rest suffer for my fault. . . . I can see now well -enough that fate did not make me for monsieur. I have come to my -senses, I aimed too high, but I love you still, monsieur. These ten -years I have thought of nothing but the happiness of making you happy -and looking after things here. What a lot! . . . Oh! if monsieur but -knew how much I love him! But monsieur must have seen it through all -my mischief-making. If I were to die to-morrow, what would they find? ---A will in your favor, monsieur. . . . Yes, monsieur, in my trunk -under my best things." - -Madeleine had set a responsive chord vibrating; the passion inspired -in another may be unwelcome, but it will always be gratifying to self- -love; this was the case with the old bachelor. After generously -pardoning Madeleine, he extended his forgiveness to the other -servants, promising to use his influence with his cousin the -Presidente on their behalf. - -It was unspeakably pleasant to Pons to find all his old enjoyments -restored to him without any loss of self-respect. The world had come -to Pons, he had risen in the esteem of his circle; but Schmucke looked -so downcast and dubious when he heard the story of the triumph, that -Pons felt hurt. When, however, the kind-hearted German saw the sudden -change wrought in Pons' face, he ended by rejoicing with his friend, -and made a sacrifice of the happiness that he had known during those -four months that he had had Pons all to himself. Mental suffering has -this immense advantage over physical ills--when the cause is removed -it ceases at once. Pons was not like the same man that morning. The -old man, depressed and visibly failing, had given place to the -serenely contented Pons, who entered the Presidente's house that -October afternoon with the Marquise de Pompadour's fan in his pocket. -Schmucke, on the other hand, pondered deeply over this phenomenon, and -could not understand it; your true stoic never can understand the -courtier that dwells in a Frenchman. Pons was a born Frenchman of the -Empire; a mixture of eighteenth century gallantry and that devotion to -womankind so often celebrated in songs of the type of /Partant pour la -Syrie/. - -So Schmucke was fain to bury his chagrin beneath the flowers of his -German philosophy; but a week later he grew so yellow that Mme. Cibot -exerted her ingenuity to call in the parish doctor. The leech had -fears of icterus, and left Mme. Cibot frightened half out of her wits -by the Latin word for an attack of the jaundice. - -Meantime the two friends went out to dinner together, perhaps for the -first time in their lives. For Schmucke it was a return to the -Fatherland; for Johann Graff of the Hotel du Rhin and his daughter -Emilie, Wolfgang Graff the tailor and his wife, Fritz Brunner and -Wilhelm Schwab, were Germans, and Pons and the notary were the only -Frenchmen present at the banquet. The Graffs of the tailor's business -owned a splendid house in the Rue de Richelieu, between the Rue Neuve- -des-Petits-Champs and the Rue Villedo; they had brought up their -niece, for Emilie's father, not without reason, had feared contact -with the very mixed society of an inn for his daughter. The good -tailor Graffs, who loved Emilie as if she had been their own daughter, -were giving up the ground floor of their great house to the young -couple, and here the bank of Brunner, Schwab and Company was to be -established. The arrangements for the marriage had been made about a -month ago; some time must elapse before Fritz Brunner, author of all -this felicity, could settle his deceased father's affairs, and the -famous firm of tailors had taken advantage of the delay to redecorate -the first floor and to furnish it very handsomely for the bride and -bridegroom. The offices of the bank had been fitted into the wing -which united a handsome business house with the hotel at the back, -between courtyard and garden. - -On the way from the Rue de Normandie to the Rue de Richelieu, Pons -drew from the abstracted Schmucke the details of the story of the -modern prodigal son, for whom Death had killed the fatted innkeeper. -Pons, but newly reconciled with his nearest relatives, was immediately -smitten with a desire to make a match between Fritz Brunner and Cecile -de Marville. Chance ordained that the notary was none other than -Berthier, old Cardot's son-in-law and successor, the sometime second -clerk with whom Pons had been wont to dine. - -"Ah! M. Berthier, you here!" he said, holding out a hand to his host -of former days. - -"We have not had the pleasure of seeing you at dinner lately; how is -it?" returned the notary. "My wife has been anxious about you. We saw -you at the first performance of /The Devil's Betrothed/, and our -anxiety became curiosity?" - -"Old folk are sensitive," replied the worthy musician; "they make the -mistake of being a century behind the times, but how can it be helped? -It is quite enough to represent one century--they cannot entirely -belong to the century which sees them die." - -"Ah!" said the notary, with a shrewd look, "one cannot run two -centuries at once." - -"By the by," continued Pons, drawing the young lawyer into a corner, -"why do you not find some one for my cousin Cecile de Marville--" - -"Ah! why--?" answered Berthier. "In this century, when luxury has -filtered down to our very porters' lodges, a young fellow hesitates -before uniting his lot with the daughter of a President of the Court -of Appeal in Paris if she brings him only a hundred thousand francs. -In the rank of life in which Mlle. de Marville's husband would take, -the wife was never yet known that did not cost her husband three -thousand francs a year; the interest on a hundred thousand francs -would scarcely find her in pin-money. A bachelor with an income of -fifteen or twenty thousand francs can live on an entre-sol; he is not -expected to cut any figure; he need not keep more than one servant, -and all his surplus income he can spend on his amusements; he puts -himself in the hands of a good tailor, and need not trouble any -further about keeping up appearances. Far-sighted mothers make much of -him; he is one of the kings of fashion in Paris. - -"But a wife changes everything. A wife means a properly furnished -house," continued the lawyer; "she wants the carriage for herself; if -she goes to the play, she wants a box, while the bachelor has only a -stall to pay for; in short, a wife represents the whole of the income -which the bachelor used to spend on himself. Suppose that husband and -wife have thirty thousand francs a year between them--practically, the -sometime bachelor is a poor devil who thinks twice before he drives -out to Chantilly. Bring children on the scene--he is pinched for money -at once. - -"Now, as M. and Mme. de Marville are scarcely turned fifty, Cecile's -expectations are bills that will not fall due for fifteen or twenty -years to come; and no young fellow cares to keep them so long in his -portfolio. The young featherheads who are dancing the polka with -lorettes at the Jardin Mabille, are so cankered with self-interest, -that they don't stand in need of us to explain both sides of the -problem to them. Between ourselves, I may say that Mlle. de Marville -scarcely sets hearts throbbing so fast but that their owners can -perfectly keep their heads, and they are full of these anti- -matrimonial reflections. If any eligible young man, in full possession -of his senses and an income of twenty thousand francs, happens to be -sketching out a programme of marriage that will satisfy his ambitions, -Mlle. de Marville does not altogether answer the description--" - -"And why not?" asked the bewildered musician. - -"Oh!--" said the notary, "well--a young man nowadays may be as ugly as -you and I, my dear Pons, but he is almost sure to have the -impertinence to want six hundred thousand francs, a girl of good -family, with wit and good looks and good breeding--flawless perfection -in short." - -"Then it will not be easy to marry her?" - -"She will not be married so long as M. and Mme. de Marville cannot -make up their minds to settle Marville on her when she marries; if -they had chosen, she might have been the Vicomtesse Popinot by now. -But here comes M. Brunner.--We are about to read the deed of -partnership and the marriage contract." - -Greetings and introductions over, the relations made Pons promise to -sign the contract. He listened to the reading of the documents, and -towards half-past five the party went into the dining-room. The dinner -was magnificent, as a city merchant's dinner can be, when he allows -himself a respite from money-making. Graff of the Hotel du Rhin was -acquainted with the first provision dealers in Paris; never had Pons -nor Schmucke fared so sumptuously. The dishes were a rapture to think -of! Italian paste, delicate of flavor, unknown to the public; smelts -fried as never smelts were fried before; fish from Lake Leman, with a -real Genevese sauce, and a cream for plum-pudding which would have -astonished the London doctor who is said to have invented it. It was -nearly ten o'clock before they rose from table. The amount of wine, -German and French, consumed at that dinner would amaze the -contemporary dandy; nobody knows the amount of liquor that a German -can imbibe and yet keep calm and quiet; to have even an idea of the -quantity, you must dine in Germany and watch bottle succeed to bottle, -like wave rippling after wave along the sunny shores of the -Mediterranean, and disappear as if the Teuton possessed the absorbing -power of sponges or sea sand. Perfect harmony prevails meanwhile; -there is none of the racket that there would be over the liquor in -France; the talk is as sober as a money-lender's extempore speech; -countenances flush, like the faces of the brides in frescoes by -Cornelius or Schnorr (imperceptibly, that is to say), and -reminiscences are poured out slowly while the smoke puffs from the -pipes. - -About half-past ten that evening Pons and Schmucke found themselves -sitting on a bench out in the garden, with the ex-flute between them; -they were explaining their characters, opinions, and misfortunes, with -no very clear idea as to why or how they had come to this point. In -the thick of a potpourri of confidences, Wilhelm spoke of his strong -desire to see Fritz married, expressing himself with vehement and -vinous eloquence. - -"What do you say to this programme for your friend Brunner?" cried -Pons in confidential tones. "A charming and sensible young lady of -twenty-four, belonging to a family of the highest distinction. The -father holds a very high position as a judge; there will be a hundred -thousand francs paid down and a million to come." - -"Wait!" answered Schwab; "I will speak to Fritz this instant." - -The pair watched Brunner and his friend as they walked round and round -the garden; again and again they passed the bench, sometimes one -spoke, sometimes the other. - -Pons was not exactly intoxicated; his head was a little heavy, but his -thoughts, on the contrary, seemed all the lighter; he watched Fritz -Brunner's face through the rainbow mist of fumes of wine, and tried to -read auguries favorable to his family. Before very long Schwab -introduced his friend and partner to M. Pons; Fritz Brunner expressed -his thanks for the trouble which Pons had been so good as to take. - -In the conversation which followed, the two old bachelors Schmucke and -Pons extolled the estate of matrimony, going so far as to say, without -any malicious intent, "that marriage was the end of man." Tea and -ices, punches and cakes, were served in the future home of the -betrothed couple. The wine had begun to tell upon the honest -merchants, and the general hilarity reached its height when it was -announced that Schwab's partner thought of following his example. - -At two o'clock that morning, Schmucke and Pons walked home along the -boulevards, philosophizing /a perte de raison/ as they went on the -harmony pervading the arrangements of this our world below. - -On the morrow of the banquet, Cousin Pons betook himself to his fair -cousin the Presidente, overjoyed--poor dear noble soul!--to return -good for evil. Surely he had attained to a sublime height, as every -one will allow, for we live in an age when the Montyon prize is given -to those who do their duty by carrying out the precepts of the Gospel. - -"Ah!" said Pons to himself, as he turned the corner of the Rue de -Choiseul, "they will lie under immense obligations to their parasite." - -Any man less absorbed in his contentment, any man of the world, any -distrustful nature would have watched the President's wife and -daughter very narrowly on this first return to the house. But the poor -musician was a child, he had all the simplicity of an artist, -believing in goodness as he believed in beauty; so he was delighted -when Cecile and her mother made much of him. After all the -vaudevilles, tragedies, and comedies which had been played under the -worthy man's eyes for twelve long years, he could not detect the -insincerity and grimaces of social comedy, no doubt because he had -seen too much of it. Any one who goes into society in Paris, and knows -the type of woman, dried up, body and soul, by a burning thirst for -social position, and a fierce desire to be thought virtuous, any one -familiar with the sham piety and the domineering character of a woman -whose word is law in her own house, may imagine the lurking hatred she -bore this husband's cousin whom she had wronged. - -All the demonstrative friendliness of mother and daughter was lined -with a formidable longing for revenge, evidently postponed. For the -first time in Amelie de Marville's life she had been put in the wrong, -and that in the sight of the husband over whom she tyrannized; and not -only so--she was obliged to be amiable to the author of her defeat! -You can scarcely find a match for this position save in the -hypocritical dramas which are sometimes kept up for years in the -sacred college of cardinals, or in chapters of certain religious -orders. - -At three o'clock, when the President came back from the law-courts, -Pons had scarcely made an end of the marvelous history of his -acquaintance, M. Frederic Brunner. Cecile had gone straight to the -point. She wanted to know how Frederic Brunner was dressed, how he -looked, his height and figure, the color of his hair and eyes; and -when she had conjectured a distinguished air for Frederic, she admired -his generosity of character. - -"Think of his giving five hundred thousand francs to his companion in -misfortune! Oh! mamma, I shall have a carriage and a box at the -Italiens----" Cecile grew almost pretty as she thought that all her -mother's ambitions for her were about to be realized, that the hopes -which had almost left her were to come to something after all. - -As for the Presidente, all that she said was, "My dear little girl, -you may perhaps be married within the fortnight." - -All mothers with daughters of three-and-twenty address them as "little -girl." - -"Still," added the President, "in any case, we must have time to make -inquiries; never will I give my daughter to just anybody--" - -"As to inquiries," said Pons, "Berthier is drawing up the deeds. As to -the young man himself, my dear cousin, you remember what you told me? -Well, he is quite forty years old; he is bald. He wishes to find in -family life a haven after a storm; I did not dissuade him; every man -has his tastes--" - -"One reason the more for a personal interview," returned the -President. "I am not going to give my daughter to a valetudinarian." - -"Very good, cousin, you shall see my suitor in five days if you like; -for, with your views, a single interview would be enough"--(Cecile and -her mother signified their rapture)--"Frederic is decidedly a -distinguished amateur; he begged me to allow him to see my little -collection at his leisure. You have never seen my pictures and -curiosities; come and see them," he continued, looking at his -relatives. "You can come simply as two ladies, brought by my friend -Schmucke, and make M. Brunner's acquaintance without betraying -yourselves. Frederic need not in the least know who you are." - -"Admirable!" cried the President. - -The attention they paid to the once scorned parasite may be left to -the imagination! Poor Pons that day became the Presidente's cousin. -The happy mother drowned her dislike in floods of joy; her looks, her -smiles, her words sent the old man into ecstasies over the good that -he had done, over the future that he saw by glimpses. Was he not sure -to find dinners such as yesterday's banquet over the signing of the -contract, multiplied indefinitely by three, in the houses of Brunner, -Schwab, and Graff? He saw before him a land of plenty--a /vie de -cocagne/, a miraculous succession of /plats couverts/, of delicate -surprise dishes, of exquisite wines. - -"If Cousin Pons brings this through," said the President, addressing -his wife after Pons had departed, "we ought to settle an income upon -him equal to his salary at the theatre." - -"Certainly," said the lady; and Cecile was informed that if the -proposed suitor found favor in her eyes, she must undertake to induce -the old musician to accept a munificence in such bad taste. - -Next day the President went to Berthier. He was anxious to make sure -of M. Frederic Brunner's financial position. Berthier, forewarned by -Mme. de Marville, had asked his new client Schwab to come. Schwab the -banker was dazzled by the prospect of such a match for his friend -(everybody knows how deeply a German venerates social distinctions, so -much so, that in Germany a wife takes her husband's (official) title, -and is the Frau General, the Frau Rath, and so forth)--Schwab -therefore was as accommodating as a collector who imagines that he is -cheating a dealer. - -"In the first place," said Cecile's father, "as I shall make over my -estate of Marville to my daughter, I should wish the contract to be -drawn up on the dotal system. In that case, M. Brunner would invest a -million francs in land to increase the estate, and by settling the -land on his wife he would secure her and his children from any share -in the liabilities of the bank." - -Berthier stroked his chin. "He is coming on well, is M. le President," -thought he. - -When the dotal system had been explained to Schwab, he seemed much -inclined that way for his friend. He had heard Fritz say that he -wished to find some way of insuring himself against another lapse into -poverty. - -"There is a farm and pasture land worth twelve hundred thousand francs -in the market at this moment," remarked the President. - -"If we take up shares in the Bank of France to the amount of a million -francs, that will be quite enough to guarantee our account," said -Schwab. "Fritz does not want to invest more than two million francs in -business; he will do as you wish, I am sure, M. le President." - -The President's wife and daughter were almost wild with joy when he -brought home this news. Never, surely, did so rich a capture swim so -complacently into the nets of matrimony. - -"You will be Mme. Brunner de Marville," said the parent, addressing -his child; "I will obtain permission for your husband to add the name -to his, and afterwards he can take out letters of naturalization. If I -should be a peer of France some day, he will succeed me!" - -The five days were spent by Mme. de Marville in preparations. On the -great day she dressed Cecile herself, taking as much pains as the -admiral of the British fleet takes over the dressing of the pleasure -yacht for Her Majesty of England when she takes a trip to Germany. - -Pons and Schmucke, on their side, cleaned, swept, and dusted Pons' -museum rooms and furniture with the agility of sailors cleaning down a -man-of-war. There was not a speck of dust on the carved wood; not an -inch of brass but it glistened. The glasses over the pastels obscured -nothing of the work of Latour, Greuze, and Liotard (illustrious -painter of /The Chocolate Girl/), miracles of an art, alas! so -fugitive. The inimitable lustre of Florentine bronze took all the -varying hues of the light; the painted glass glowed with color. Every -line shone out brilliantly, every object threw in its phrase in a -harmony of masterpieces arranged by two musicians--both of whom alike -had attained to be poets. - -With a tact which avoided the difficulties of a late appearance on the -scene of action, the women were the first to arrive; they wished to be -on their own ground. Pons introduced his friend Schmucke, who seemed -to his fair visitors to be an idiot; their heads were so full of the -eligible gentleman with the four millions of francs, that they paid -but little attention to the worthy Pons' dissertations upon matters of -which they were completely ignorant. - -They looked with indifferent eyes at Petitot's enamels, spaced over -crimson velvet, set in three frames of marvelous workmanship. Flowers -by Van Huysum, David, and Heim; butterflies painted by Abraham Mignon; -Van Eycks, undoubted Cranachs and Albrecht Durers; the Giorgione, the -Sebastian del Piombo; Backhuijzen, Hobbema, Gericault, the rarities of -painting--none of these things so much as aroused their curiosity; -they were waiting for the sun to arise and shine upon these treasures. -Still, they were surprised by the beauty of some of the Etruscan -trinkets and the solid value of the snuff-boxes, and out of politeness -they went into ecstasies over some Florentine bronzes which they held -in their hands when Mme. Cibot announced M. Brunner! They did not -turn; they took advantage of a superb Venetian mirror framed in huge -masses of carved ebony to scan this phoenix of eligible young men. - -Frederic, forewarned by Wilhelm, had made the most of the little hair -that remained to him. He wore a neat pair of trousers, a soft shade of -some dark color, a silk waistcoat of superlative elegance and the very -newest cut, a shirt with open-work, its linen hand-woven by a -Friesland woman, and a blue-and-white cravat. His watch chain, like -the head of his cane, came from Messrs. Florent and Chanor; and the -coat, cut by old Graff himself, was of the very finest cloth. The -Suede gloves proclaimed the man who had run through his mother's -fortune. You could have seen the banker's neat little brougham and -pair of horses mirrored in the surface of his speckless varnished -boots, even if two pairs of sharp ears had not already caught the -sound of wheels outside in the Rue de Normandie. - -When the prodigal of twenty years is a kind of chrysalis from which a -banker emerges at the age of forty, the said banker is usually an -observer of human nature; and so much the more shrewd if, as in -Brunner's case, he understands how to turn his German simplicity to -good account. He had assumed for the occasion the abstracted air of a -man who is hesitating between family life and the dissipations of -bachelorhood. This expression in a Frenchified German seemed to Cecile -to be in the highest degree romantic; the descendant of the Virlaz was -a second Werther in her eyes--where is the girl who will not allow -herself to weave a little novel about her marriage? Cecile thought -herself the happiest of women when Brunner, looking round at the -magnificent works of art so patiently collected during forty years, -waxed enthusiastic, and Pons, to his no small satisfaction, found an -appreciative admirer of his treasures for the first time in his life. - -"He is poetical," the young lady said to herself; "he sees millions in -the things. A poet is a man that cannot count and leaves his wife to -look after his money--an easy man to manage and amuse with trifles." - -Every pane in the two windows was a square of Swiss painted glass; the -least of them was worth a thousand francs; and Pons possessed sixteen -of these unrivaled works of art for which amateurs seek so eagerly -nowadays. In 1815 the panes could be bought for six or ten francs -apiece. The value of the glorious collection of pictures, flawless -great works, authentic, untouched since they left the master's hands, -could only be proved in the fiery furnace of a saleroom. Not a picture -but was set in a costly frame; there were frames of every kind-- -Venetians, carved with heavy ornaments, like English plate of the -present day; Romans, distinguishable among the others for a certain -dash that artists call /flafla/; Spanish wreaths in bold relief; -Flemings and Germans with quaint figures, tortoise-shell frames inlaid -with copper and brass and mother-of-pearl and ivory; frames of ebony -and boxwood in the styles of Louis Treize, Louis Quatorze, Louis -Quinze, and Louis Seize--in short, it was a unique collection of the -finest models. Pons, luckier than the art museums of Dresden and -Vienna, possessed a frame by the famous Brustoloni--the Michael Angelo -of wood-carvers. - -Mlle. de Marville naturally asked for explanations of each new -curiosity, and was initiated into the mysteries of art by Brunner. Her -exclamations were so childish, she seemed so pleased to have the value -and beauty of the paintings, carvings, or bronzes pointed out to her, -that the German gradually thawed and looked quite young again, and -both were led on further than they intended at this (purely -accidental) first meeting. - -The private view lasted for three hours. Brunner offered his arm when -Cecile went downstairs. As they descended slowly and discreetly, -Cecile, still talking fine art, wondered that M. Brunner should admire -her cousin's gimcracks so much. - -"Do you really think that these things that we have just seen are -worth a great deal of money?" - -"Mademoiselle, if your cousin would sell his collection, I would give -eight hundred thousand francs for it this evening, and I should not -make a bad bargain. The pictures alone would fetch more than that at a -public sale." - -"Since you say so, I believe it," returned she; "the things took up so -much of your attention that it must be so." - -"On! mademoiselle!" protested Brunner. "For all answer to your -reproach, I will ask your mother's permission to call, so that I may -have the pleasure of seeing you again." - -"How clever she is, that 'little girl' of mine!" thought the -Presidente, following closely upon her daughter's heels. Aloud she -said, "With the greatest pleasure, monsieur. I hope that you will come -at dinner-time with our Cousin Pons. The President will be delighted -to make your acquaintance.--Thank you, cousin." - -The lady squeezed Pons' arm with deep meaning; she could not have said -more if she had used the consecrated formula, "Let us swear an eternal -friendship." The glance which accompanied that "Thank you, cousin," -was a caress. - -When the young lady had been put into the carriage, and the jobbed -brougham had disappeared down the Rue Charlot, Brunner talked bric-a- -brac to Pons, and Pons talked marriage. - -"Then you see no obstacle?" said Pons. - -"Oh!" said Brunner, "she is an insignificant little thing, and the -mother is a trifle prim.--We shall see." - -"A handsome fortune one of these days. . . . More than a million--" - -"Good-bye till Monday!" interrupted the millionaire. "If you should -care to sell your collection of pictures, I would give you five or six -hundred thousand francs--" - -"Ah!" said Pons; he had no idea that he was so rich. "But they are my -great pleasure in life, and I could not bring myself to part with -them. I could only sell my collection to be delivered after my death." - -"Very well. We shall see." - -"Here we have two affairs afoot!" said Pons; he was thinking only of -the marriage. - -Brunner shook hands and drove away in his splendid carriage. Pons -watched it out of sight. He did not notice that Remonencq was smoking -his pipe in the doorway. - -That evening Mme. de Marville went to ask advice of her father-in-law, -and found the whole Popinot family at the Camusots' house. It was only -natural that a mother who had failed to capture an eldest son should -be tempted to take her little revenge; so Mme. de Marville threw out -hints of the splendid marriage that her Cecile was about to make.-- -"Whom can Cecile be going to marry?" was the question upon all lips. -And Cecile's mother, without suspecting that she was betraying her -secret, let fall words and whispered confidences, afterwards -supplemented by Mme. Berthier, till gossip circulating in the -bourgeois empyrean where Pons accomplished his gastronomical -evolutions took something like the following form: - -"Cecile de Marville is engaged to be married to a young German, a -banker from philanthropic motives, for he has four millions; he is -like a hero in a novel, a perfect Werther, charming and kind-hearted. -He has sown his wild oats, and he is distractedly in love with Cecile; -it is a case of love at first sight; and so much the more certain, -since Cecile had all Pons' paintings of Madonnas for rivals," and so -forth and so forth. - -Two or three of the set came to call on the Presidente, ostensibly to -congratulate, but really to find out whether or not the marvelous tale -were true. For their benefit Mme. de Marville executed the following -admirable variations on the theme of son-in-law which mothers may -consult, as people used to refer to the /Complete Letter Writer/. - -"A marriage is not an accomplished fact," she told Mme. Chiffreville, -"until you have been in the mayor's office and the church. We have -only come as far as a personal interview; so I count upon your -friendship to say nothing of our hopes." - -"You are very fortunate, madame; marriages are so difficult to arrange -in these days." - -"What can one do? It was chance; but marriages are often made in that -way." - -"Ah! well. So you are going to marry Cecile?" said Mme. Cardot. - -"Yes," said Cecile's mother, fully understanding the meaning of the -"so." "We were very particular, or Cecile would have been established -before this. But now we have found everything we wish: money, good -temper, good character, and good looks; and my sweet little girl -certainly deserves nothing less. M. Brunner is a charming young man, -most distinguished; he is fond of luxury, he knows life; he is wild -about Cecile, he loves her sincerely; and in spite of his three or -four millions, Cecile is going to accept him.--We had not looked so -high for her; still, store is no sore." - -"It was not so much the fortune as the affection inspired by my -daughter which decided us," the Presidente told Mme. Lebas. "M. -Brunner is in such a hurry that he wants the marriage to take place -with the least possible delay." - -"Is he a foreigner?" - -"Yes, madame; but I am very fortunate, I confess. No, I shall not have -a son-in-law, but a son. M. Brunner's delicacy has quite won our -hearts. No one would imagine how anxious he was to marry under the -dotal system. It is a great security for families. He is going to -invest twelve hundred thousand francs in grazing land, which will be -added to Marville some day." - -More variations followed on the morrow. For instance--M. Brunner was a -great lord, doing everything in lordly fashion; he did not haggle. If -M. de Marville could obtain letters of naturalization, qualifying M. -Brunner for an office under Government (and the Home Secretary surely -could strain a point for M. de Marville), his son-in-law would be a -peer of France. Nobody knew how much money M. Brunner possessed; "he -had the finest horses and the smartest carriages in Paris!" and so on -and so on. - -From the pleasure with which the Camusots published their hopes, it -was pretty clear that this triumph was unexpected. - -Immediately after the interview in Pons' museum, M. de Marville, at -his wife's instance, begged the Home Secretary, his chief, and the -attorney for the crown to dine with him on the occasion of the -introduction of this phoenix of a son-in-law. - -The three great personages accepted the invitation, albeit it was -given on short notice; they all saw the part that they were to play in -the family politics, and readily came to the father's support. In -France we are usually pretty ready to assist the mother of -marriageable daughters to hook an eligible son-in-law. The Count and -Countess Popinot likewise lent their presence to complete the splendor -of the occasion, although they thought the invitation in questionable -taste. - -There were eleven in all. Cecile's grandfather, old Camusot, came, of -course, with his wife to a family reunion purposely arranged to elicit -a proposal from M. Brunner. - -The Camusot de Marvilles had given out that the guest of the evening -was one of the richest capitalists in Germany, a man of taste (he was -in love with "the little girl"), a future rival of the Nucingens, -Kellers, du Tillets, and their like. - -"It is our day," said the Presidente with elaborate simplicity, when -she had named her guests one by one for the German whom she already -regarded as her son-in-law. "We have only a few intimate friends-- -first, my husband's father, who, as you know, is sure to be raised to -the peerage; M. le Comte and Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, whose son was -not thought rich enough for Cecile; the Home Secretary; our First -President; our attorney for the crown; our personal friends, in short. ---We shall be obliged to dine rather late to-night, because the -Chamber is sitting, and people cannot get away before six." - -Brunner looked significantly at Pons, and Pons rubbed his hands as if -to say, "Our friends, you see! /My/ friends!" - -Mme. de Marville, as a clever tactician, had something very particular -to say to her cousin, that Cecile and her Werther might be left -together for a moment. Cecile chattered away volubly, and contrived -that Frederic should catch sight of a German dictionary, a German -grammar, and a volume of Goethe hidden away in a place where he was -likely to find them. - -"Ah! are you learning German?" asked Brunner, flushing red. - -(For laying traps of this kind the Frenchwoman has not her match!) - -"Oh! how naughty you are!" she cried; "it is too bad of you, monsieur, -to explore my hiding-places like this. I want to read Goethe in the -original," she added; "I have been learning German for two years." - -"Then the grammar must be very difficult to learn, for scarcely ten -pages have been cut--" Brunner remarked with much candor. - -Cecile, abashed, turned away to hide her blushes. A German cannot -resist a display of this kind; Brunner caught Cecile's hand, made her -turn, and watched her confusion under his gaze, after the manner of -the heroes of the novels of Auguste Lafontaine of chaste memory. - -"You are adorable," said he. - -Cecile's petulant gesture replied, "So are you--who could help liking -you?" - -"It is all right, mamma," she whispered to her parent, who came up at -that moment with Pons. - -The sight of a family party on these occasions is not to be described. -Everybody was well satisfied to see a mother put her hand on an -eligible son-in-law. Compliments, double-barreled and double-charged, -were paid to Brunner (who pretended to understand nothing); to Cecile, -on whom nothing was lost; and to the Presidente, who fished for them. -Pons heard the blood singing in his ears, the light of all the blazing -gas-jets of the theatre footlights seemed to be dazzling his eyes, -when Cecile, in a low voice and with the most ingenious -circumspection, spoke of her father's plan of the annuity of twelve -hundred francs. The old artist positively declined the offer, bringing -forward the value of his fortune in furniture, only now made known to -him by Brunner. - -The Home Secretary, the First President, the attorney for the crown, -the Popinots, and those who had other engagements, all went; and -before long no one was left except M. Camusot senior, and Cardot the -old notary, and his assistant and son-in-law Berthier. Pons, worthy -soul, looking round and seeing no one but the family, blundered out a -speech of thanks to the President and his wife for the proposal which -Cecile had just made to him. So it is with those who are guided by -their feelings; they act upon impulse. Brunner, hearing of an annuity -offered in this way, thought that it had very much the look of a -commission paid to Pons; he made an Israelite's return upon himself, -his attitude told of more than cool calculation. - -Meanwhile Pons was saying to his astonished relations, "My collection -or its value will, in any case, go to your family, whether I come to -terms with our friend Brunner or keep it." The Camusots were amazed to -hear that Pons was so rich. - -Brunner, watching, saw how all these ignorant people looked favorably -upon a man once believed to be poor so soon as they knew that he had -great possessions. He had seen, too, already that Cecile was spoiled -by her father and mother; he amused himself, therefore, by astonishing -the good bourgeois. - -"I was telling mademoiselle," said he, "that M. Pons' pictures were -worth that sum to /me/; but the prices of works of art have risen so -much of late, that no one can tell how much the collection might sell -for at public auction. The sixty pictures might fetch a million -francs; several that I saw the other day were worth fifty thousand -apiece." - -"It is a fine thing to be your heir!" remarked old Cardot, looking at -Pons. - -"My heir is my Cousin Cecile here," answered Pons, insisting on the -relationship. There was a flutter of admiration at this. - -"She will be a very rich heiress," laughed old Cardot, as he took his -departure. - -Camusot senior, the President and his wife, Cecile, Brunner, Berthier, -and Pons were now left together; for it was assumed that the formal -demand for Cecile's hand was about to be made. No sooner was Cardot -gone, indeed, than Brunner began with an inquiry which augured well. - -"I think I understood," he said, turning to Mme. de Marville, "that -mademoiselle is your only daughter." - -"Certainly," the lady said proudly. - -"Nobody will make any difficulties," Pons, good soul, put in by way of -encouraging Brunner to bring out his proposal. - -But Brunner grew thoughtful, and an ominous silence brought on a -coolness of the strangest kind. The Presidente might have admitted -that her "little girl" was subject to epileptic fits. The President, -thinking that Cecile ought not to be present, signed to her to go. She -went. Still Brunner said nothing. They all began to look at one -another. The situation was growing awkward. - -Camusot senior, a man of experience, took the German to Mme. de -Marville's room, ostensibly to show him Pons' fan. He saw that some -difficulty had arisen, and signed to the rest to leave him alone with -Cecile's suitor-designate. - -"Here is the masterpiece," said Camusot, opening out the fan. - -Brunner took it in his hand and looked at it. "It is worth five -thousand francs," he said after a moment. - -"Did you not come here, sir, to ask for my granddaughter?" inquired -the future peer of France. - -"Yes, sir," said Brunner; "and I beg you to believe that no possible -marriage could be more flattering to my vanity. I shall never find any -one more charming nor more amiable, nor a young lady who answers to my -ideas like Mlle. Cecile; but--" - -"Oh, no /buts/!" old Camusot broke in; "or let us have the translation -of your 'buts' at once, my dear sir." - -"I am very glad, sir, that the matter has gone no further on either -side," Brunner answered gravely. "I had no idea that Mlle. Cecile was -an only daughter. Anybody else would consider this an advantage; but -to me, believe me, it is an insurmountable obstacle to--" - -"What, sir!" cried Camusot, amazed beyond measure. "Do you find a -positive drawback in an immense advantage? Your conduct is really -extraordinary; I should very much like to hear the explanation of it." - -"I came here this evening, sir," returned the German phlegmatically, -"intending to ask M. le President for his daughter's hand. It was my -desire to give Mlle. Cecile a brilliant future by offering her so much -of my fortune as she would consent to accept. But an only daughter is -a child whose will is law to indulgent parents, who has never been -contradicted. I have had the opportunity of observing this in many -families, where parents worship divinities of this kind. And your -granddaughter is not only the idol of the house, but Mme. la -Presidente . . . you know what I mean. I have seen my father's house -turned into a hell, sir, from this very cause. My stepmother, the -source of all my misfortunes, an only daughter, idolized by her -parents, the most charming betrothed imaginable, after marriage became -a fiend incarnate. I do not doubt that Mlle. Cecile is an exception to -the rule; but I am not a young man, I am forty years old, and the -difference between our ages entails difficulties which would put it -out of my power to make the young lady happy, when Mme. la Presidente -always carried out her daughter's every wish and listened to her as if -Mademoiselle was an oracle. What right have I to expect Mlle. Cecile -to change her habits and ideas? Instead of a father and mother who -indulge her every whim, she would find an egotistic man of forty; if -she should resist, the man of forty would have the worst of it. So, as -an honest man--I withdraw. If there should be any need to explain my -visit here, I desire to be entirely sacrificed--" - -"If these are your motives, sir," said the future peer of France, -"however singular they may be, they are plausible--" - -"Do not call my sincerity in question, sir," Brunner interrupted -quickly. "If you know of a penniless girl, one of a large family, well -brought up but without fortune, as happens very often in France; and -if her character offers me security, I will marry her." - -A pause followed; Frederic Brunner left Cecile's grandfather and -politely took leave of his host and hostess. When he was gone, Cecile -appeared, a living commentary upon her Werther's leave-taking; she was -ghastly pale. She had hidden in her mother's wardrobe and overheard -the whole conversation. - -"Refused! . . ." she said in a low voice for her mother's ear. - -"And why?" asked the Presidente, fixing her eyes upon her embarrassed -father-in-law. - -"Upon the fine pretext that an only daughter is a spoilt child," -replied that gentleman. "And he is not altogether wrong there," he -added, seizing an opportunity of putting the blame on the daughter-in- -law, who had worried him not a little for twenty years. - -"It will kill my child!" cried the Presidente, "and it is your doing!" -she exclaimed, addressing Pons, as she supported her fainting -daughter, for Cecile thought well to make good her mother's words by -sinking into her arms. The President and his wife carried Cecile to an -easy-chair, where she swooned outright. The grandfather rang for the -servants. - -"It is a plot of his weaving; I see it all now," said the infuriated -mother. - -Pons sprang up as if the trump of doom were sounding in his ears. - -"Yes!" said the lady, her eyes like two springs of green bile, "this -gentleman wished to repay a harmless joke by an insult. Who will -believe that that German was right in his mind? He is either an -accomplice in a wicked scheme of revenge, or he is crazy. I hope, M. -Pons, that in future you will spare us the annoyance of seeing you in -the house where you have tried to bring shame and dishonor." - -Pons stood like a statue, with his eyes fixed on the pattern of the -carpet. - -"Well! Are you still here, monster of ingratitude?" cried she, turning -round on Pons, who was twirling his thumbs.--"Your master and I are -never at home, remember, if this gentleman calls," she continued, -turning to the servants.--"Jean, go for the doctor; and bring -hartshorn, Madeleine." - -In the Presidente's eyes, the reason given by Brunner was simply an -excuse, there was something else behind; but, at the same time, the -fact that the marriage was broken off was only the more certain. A -woman's mind works swiftly in great crises, and Mme. de Marville had -hit at once upon the one method of repairing the check. She chose to -look upon it as a scheme of revenge. This notion of ascribing a -fiendish scheme to Pons satisfied family honor. Faithful to her -dislike of the cousin, she treated a feminine suspicion as a fact. -Women, generally speaking, hold a creed peculiar to themselves, a code -of their own; to them anything which serves their interests or their -passions is true. The Presidente went a good deal further. In the -course of the evening she talked the President into her belief, and -next morning found the magistrate convinced of his cousin's -culpability. - -Every one, no doubt, will condemn the lady's horrible conduct; but -what mother in Mme. Camusot's position will not do the same? Put the -choice between her own daughter and an alien, she will prefer to -sacrifice the honor of the latter. There are many ways of doing this, -but the end in view is the same. - -The old musician fled down the staircase in haste; but he went slowly -along the boulevards to his theatre, he turned in mechanically at the -door, and mechanically he took his place and conducted the orchestra. -In the interval he gave such random answers to Schmucke's questions, -that his old friend dissembled his fear that Pons' mind had given way. -To so childlike a nature, the recent scene took the proportions of a -catastrophe. He had meant to make every one happy, and he had aroused -a terrible slumbering feeling of hate; everything had been turned -topsy-turvy. He had at last seen mortal hate in the Presidente's eyes, -tones, and gesture. - -On the morrow, Mme. Camusot de Marville made a great resolution; the -President likewise sanctioned the step now forced upon them by -circumstances. It was determined that the estate of Marville should be -settled upon Cecile at the time of her marriage, as well as the house -in the Rue de Hanovre and a hundred thousand francs. In the course of -the morning, the Presidente went to call upon the Comtesse Popinot; -for she saw plainly that nothing but a settled marriage could enable -them to recover after such a check. To the Comtesse Popinot she told -the shocking story of Pons' revenge, Pons' hideous hoax. It all seemed -probable enough when it came out that the marriage had been broken off -simply on the pretext that Cecile was an only daughter. The Presidente -next dwelt artfully upon the advantage of adding "de Marville" to the -name of Popinot; and the immense dowry. At the present price fetched -by land in Normandy, at two per cent, the property represented nine -hundred thousand francs, and the house in the Rue de Hanovre about two -hundred and fifty thousand. No reasonable family could refuse such an -alliance. The Comte and Comtesse Popinot accepted; and as they were -now touched by the honor of the family which they were about to enter, -they promised to help explain away yesterday evening's mishap. - -And now in the house of the elder Camusot, before the very persons who -had heard Mme. de Marville singing Frederic Brunner's praises but a -few days ago, that lady, to whom nobody ventured to speak on the -topic, plunged courageously into explanations. - -"Really, nowadays" (she said), "one could not be too careful if a -marriage was in question, especially if one had to do with -foreigners." - -"And why, madame?" - -"What has happened to you?" asked Mme. Chiffreville. - -"Do you not know about our adventure with that Brunner, who had the -audacity to aspire to marry Cecile? His father was a German that kept -a wine-shop, and his uncle is a dealer in rabbit-skins!" - -"Is it possible? So clear-sighted as you are! . . ." murmured a lady. - -"These adventurers are so cunning. But we found out everything through -Berthier. His friend is a beggar that plays the flute. He is friendly -with a person who lets furnished lodgings in the Rue du Mail and some -tailor or other. . . . We found out that he had led a most -disreputable life, and no amount of fortune would be enough for a -scamp that has run through his mother's property." - -"Why, Mlle. de Marville would have been wretched!" said Mme. Berthier. - -"How did he come to your house?" asked old Mme. Lebas. - -"It was M. Pons. Out of revenge, he introduced this fine gentleman to -us, to make us ridiculous. . . . This Brunner (it is the same name as -Fontaine in French)--this Brunner, that was made out to be such a -grandee, has poor enough health, he is bald, and his teeth are bad. -The first sight of him was enough for me; I distrusted him from the -first." - -"But how about the great fortune that you spoke of?" a young married -woman asked shyly. - -"The fortune was not nearly so large as they said. These tailors and -the landlord and he all scraped the money together among them, and put -all their savings into this bank that they are starting. What is a -bank for those that begin in these days? Simply a license to ruin -themselves. A banker's wife may lie down at night a millionaire and -wake up in the morning with nothing but her settlement. At first word, -at the very first sight of him, we made up our minds about this -gentleman--he is not one of us. You can tell by his gloves, by his -waistcoat, that he is a working man, the son of a man that kept a pot- -house somewhere in Germany; he has not the instincts of a gentleman; -he drinks beer, and he smokes--smokes? ah! madame, /twenty-five pipes -a day!/ . . . What would have become of poor Lili? . . . It makes me -shudder even now to think of it. God has indeed preserved us! And -besides, Cecile never liked him. . . . Who would have expected such a -trick from a relative, an old friend of the house that had dined with -us twice a week for twenty years? We have loaded him with benefits, -and he played his game so well, that he said Cecile was his heir -before the Keeper of the Seals and the Attorney General and the Home -Secretary! . . . That Brunner and M. Pons had their story ready, and -each of them said that the other was worth millions! . . . No, I do -assure you, all of you would have been taken in by an artist's hoax -like that." - -In a few weeks' time, the united forces of the Camusot and Popinot -families gained an easy victory in the world, for nobody undertook to -defend the unfortunate Pons, that parasite, that curmudgeon, that -skinflint, that smooth-faced humbug, on whom everybody heaped scorn; -he was a viper cherished in the bosom of the family, he had not his -match for spite, he was a dangerous mountebank whom nobody ought to -mention. - - - -About a month after the perfidious Werther's withdrawal, poor Pons -left his bed for the first time after an attack of nervous fever, and -walked along the sunny side of the street leaning on Schmucke's arm. -Nobody in the Boulevard du Temple laughed at the "pair of -nutcrackers," for one of the old men looked so shattered, and the -other so touchingly careful of his invalid friend. By the time that -they reached the Boulevard Poissonniere, a little color came back to -Pons' face; he was breathing the air of the boulevards, he felt the -vitalizing power of the atmosphere of the crowded street, the life- -giving property of the air that is noticeable in quarters where human -life abounds; in the filthy Roman Ghetto, for instance, with its -swarming Jewish population, where malaria is unknown. Perhaps, too, -the sight of the streets, the great spectacle of Paris, the daily -pleasure of his life, did the invalid good. They walked on side by -side, though Pons now and again left his friend to look at the shop -windows. Opposite the Theatre des Varietes he saw Count Popinot, and -went up to him very respectfully, for of all men Pons esteemed and -venerated the ex-Minister. - -The peer of France answered him severely: - -"I am at a loss to understand, sir, how you can have no more tact than -to speak to a near connection of a family whom you tried to brand with -shame and ridicule by a trick which no one but an artist could devise. -Understand this, sir, that from to-day we must be complete strangers -to each other. Mme. la Comtesse Popinot, like every one else, feels -indignant at your behavior to the Marvilles." - -And Count Popinot passed on, leaving Pons thunderstruck. Passion, -justice, policy, and great social forces never take into account the -condition of the human creature whom they strike down. The statesman, -driven by family considerations to crush Pons, did not so much as see -the physical weakness of his redoubtable enemy. - -"Vat is it, mine boor friend?" exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how white -Pons had grown. - -"It is a fresh stab in the heart," Pons replied, leaning heavily on -Schmucke's arm. "I think that no one, save God in heaven, can have any -right to do good, and that is why all those who meddle in His work are -so cruelly punished." - -The old artist's sarcasm was uttered with a supreme effort; he was -trying, excellent creature, to quiet the dismay visible in Schmucke's -face. - -"So I dink," Schmucke replied simply. - -Pons could not understand it. Neither the Camusots nor the Popinots -had sent him notice of Cecile's wedding. - -On the Boulevard des Italiens Pons saw M. Cardot coming towards them. -Warned by Count Popinot's allocution, Pons was very careful not to -accost the old acquaintance with whom he had dined once a fortnight -for the last year; he lifted his hat, but the other, mayor and deputy -of Paris, threw him an indignant glance and went by. Pons turned to -Schmucke. - -"Do go and ask him what it is that they all have against me," he said -to the friend who knew all the details of the catastrophe that Pons -could tell him. - -"Mennseir," Schmucke began diplomatically, "mine friend Bons is chust -recofering from an illness; you haf no doubt fail to rekognize him?" - -"Not in the least." - -"But mit vat kann you rebroach him?" - -"You have a monster of ingratitude for a friend, sir; if he is still -alive, it is because nothing kills ill weeds. People do well to -mistrust artists; they are as mischievous and spiteful as monkeys. -This friend of yours tried to dishonor his own family, and to blight a -young girl's character, in revenge for a harmless joke. I wish to have -nothing to do with him; I shall do my best to forget that I have known -him, or that such a man exists. All the members of his family and my -own share the wish, sir, so do all the persons who once did the said -Pons the honor of receiving him." - -"Boot, mennseir, you are a reasonaple mann; gif you vill bermit me, I -shall exblain die affair--" - -"You are quite at liberty to remain his friend, sir, if you are minded -that way," returned Cardot, "but you need go no further; for I must -give you warning that in my opinion those who try to excuse or defend -his conduct are just as much to blame." - -"To chustify it?" - -"Yes, for his conduct can neither be justified nor qualified." And -with that word, the deputy for the Seine went his way; he would not -hear another syllable. - -"I have two powers in the State against me," smiled poor Pons, when -Schmucke had repeated these savage speeches. - -"Eferpody is against us," Schmucke answered dolorously. "Let us go -avay pefore we shall meed oder fools." - -Never before in the course of a truly ovine life had Schmucke uttered -such words as these. Never before had his almost divine meekness been -ruffled. He had smiled childlike on all the mischances that befell -him, but he could not look and see his sublime Pons maltreated; his -Pons, his unknown Aristides, the genius resigned to his lot, the -nature that knew no bitterness, the treasury of kindness, the heart of -gold! . . . Alceste's indignation filled Schmucke's soul--he was moved -to call Pons' amphitryons "fools." For his pacific nature that impulse -equaled the wrath of Roland. - -With wise foresight, Schmucke turned to go home by the way of the -Boulevard du Temple, Pons passively submitting like a fallen fighter, -heedless of blows; but chance ordered that he should know that all his -world was against him. The House of Peers, the Chamber of Deputies, -strangers and the family, the strong, the weak, and the innocent, all -combined to send down the avalanche. - -In the Boulevard Poissonniere, Pons caught sight of that very M. -Cardot's daughter, who, young as she was, had learned to be charitable -to others through trouble of her own. Her husband knew a secret by -which he kept her in bondage. She was the only one among Pons' -hostesses whom he called by her Christian name; he addressed Mme. -Berthier as "Felicie," and he thought that she understood him. The -gentle creature seemed to be distressed by the sight of Cousin Pons, -as he was called (though he was in no way related to the family of the -second wife of a cousin by marriage). There was no help for it, -however; Felicie Berthier stopped to speak to the invalid. - -"I did not think you were cruel, cousin," she said; "but if even a -quarter of all that I hear of you is true, you are very false. . . . -Oh! do not justify yourself," she added quickly, seeing Pons' -significant gesture, "it is useless, for two reasons. In the first -place, I have no right to accuse or judge or condemn anybody, for I -myself know so well how much may be said for those who seem to be most -guilty; secondly, your explanation would do no good. M. Berthier drew -up the marriage contract for Mlle. de Marville and the Vicomte -Popinot; he is so exasperated, that if he knew that I had so much as -spoken one word to you, one word for the last time, he would scold me. -Everybody is against you." - -"So it seems indeed, madame," Pons said, his voice shaking as he -lifted his hat respectfully. - -Painfully he made his way back to the Rue de Normandie. The old German -knew from the heavy weight on his arm that his friend was struggling -bravely against failing physical strength. That third encounter was -like the verdict of the Lamb at the foot of the throne of God; and the -anger of the Angel of the Poor, the symbol of the Peoples, is the last -word of Heaven. They reached home without another word. - -There are moments in our lives when the sense that our friend is near -is all that we can bear. Our wounds smart under the consoling words -that only reveal the depths of pain. The old pianist, you see, -possessed a genius for friendship, the tact of those who, having -suffered much, knew the customs of suffering. - -Pons was never to take a walk again. From one illness he fell into -another. He was of a sanguine-bilious temperament, the bile passed -into his blood, and a violent liver attack was the result. He had -never known a day's illness in his life till a month ago; he had never -consulted a doctor; so La Cibot, with almost motherly care and -intentions at first of the very best, called in "the doctor of the -quarter." - -In every quarter of Paris there is a doctor whose name and address are -only known to the working classes, to the little tradespeople and the -porters, and in consequence he is called "the doctor of the quarter." -He undertakes confinement cases, he lets blood, he is in the medical -profession pretty much what the "general servant" of the advertising -column is in the scale of domestic service. He must perforce be kind -to the poor, and tolerably expert by reason of much practice, and he -is generally popular. Dr. Poulain, called in by Mme. Cibot, gave an -inattentive ear to the old musician's complainings. Pons groaned out -that his skin itched; he had scratched himself all night long, till he -could scarcely feel. The look of his eyes, with the yellow circles -about them, corroborated the symptoms. - -"Had you some violent shock a couple of days ago?" the doctor asked -the patient. - -"Yes, alas!" - -"You have the same complaint that this gentleman was threatened with," -said Dr. Poulain, looking at Schmucke as he spoke; "it is an attack of -jaundice, but you will soon get over it," he added, as he wrote a -prescription. - -But in spite of that comfortable phrase, the doctor's eyes had told -another tale as he looked professionally at the patient; and the -death-sentence, though hidden under stereotyped compassion, can always -be read by those who wish to know the truth. Mme. Cibot gave a spy's -glance at the doctor, and read his thought; his bedside manner did not -deceive her; she followed him out of the room. - -"Do you think he will get over it?" asked Mme. Cibot, at the -stairhead. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, your lodger is a dead man; not because of the -bile in the system, but because his vitality is low. Still, with great -care, your patient may pull through. Somebody ought to take him away -for a change--" - -"How is he to go?" asked Mme. Cibot. "He has nothing to live upon but -his salary; his friend has just a little money from some great ladies, -very charitable ladies, in return for his services, it seems. They are -two children. I have looked after them for nine years." - -"I spend my life watching people die, not of their disease, but of -another bad and incurable complaint--the want of money," said the -doctor. "How often it happens that so far from taking a fee, I am -obliged to leave a five-franc piece on the mantel-shelf when I go--" - -"Poor, dear M. Poulain!" cried Mme. Cibot. "Ah, if you hadn't only the -hundred thousand livres a year, what some stingy folks has in the -quarter (regular devils from hell they are), you would be like -Providence on earth." - -Dr. Poulain had made the little practice, by which he made a bare -subsistence, chiefly by winning the esteem of the porters' lodges in -his district. So he raised his eyes to heaven and thanked Mme. Cibot -with a solemn face worthy of Tartuffe. - -"Then you think that with careful nursing our dear patient will get -better, my dear M. Poulain?" - -"Yes, if this shock has not been too much for him." - -"Poor man! who can have vexed him? There isn't nobody like him on -earth except his friend M. Schmucke. I will find out what is the -matter, and I will undertake to give them that upset my gentleman a -hauling over the coals--" - -"Look here, my dear Mme. Cibot," said the doctor as they stood in the -gateway, "one of the principal symptoms of his complaint is great -irritability; and as it is hardly to be supposed that he can afford a -nurse, the task of nursing him will fall to you. So--" - -"Are you talking of Mouchieu Ponsh?" asked the marine store-dealer. He -was sitting smoking on the curb-post in the gateway, and now he rose -to join in the conversation. - -"Yes, Daddy Remonencq." - -"All right," said Remonencq, "ash to moneysh, he ish better off than -Mouchieu Monishtrol and the big men in the curioshity line. I know -enough in the art line to tell you thish--the dear man has treasursh!" -he spoke with a broad Auvergne dialect. - -"Look here, I thought you were laughing at me the other day when my -gentlemen were out and I showed you the old rubbish upstairs," said -Mme. Cibot. - -In Paris, where walls have ears, where doors have tongues, and window -bars have eyes, there are few things more dangerous than the practice -of standing to chat in a gateway. Partings are like postscripts to a -letter--indiscreet utterances that do as much mischief to the speaker -as to those who overhear them. A single instance will be sufficient as -a parallel to an event in this history. - -In the time of the Empire, when men paid considerable attention to -their hair, one of the first coiffeurs of the day came out of a house -where he had just been dressing a pretty woman's head. This artist in -question enjoyed the custom of all the lower floor inmates of the -house; and among these, there flourished an elderly bachelor guarded -by a housekeeper who detested her master's next-of-kin. The /ci- -devant/ young man, falling seriously ill, the most famous of doctors -of the day (they were not as yet styled the "princes of science") had -been called in to consult upon his case; and it so chanced that the -learned gentlemen were taking leave of one another in the gateway just -as the hairdresser came out. They were talking as doctors usually talk -among themselves when the farce of a consultation is over. "He is a -dead man," quoth Dr. Haudry.--"He had not a month to live," added -Desplein, "unless a miracle takes place."--These were the words -overheard by the hairdresser. - -Like all hairdressers, he kept up a good understanding with his -customers' servants. Prodigious greed sent the man upstairs again; he -mounted to the /ci-devant/ young man's apartment, and promised the -servant-mistress a tolerably handsome commission to persuade her -master to sink a large portion of his money in an annuity. The dying -bachelor, fifty-six by count of years, and twice as old as his age by -reason of amorous campaigns, owned, among other property, a splendid -house in the Rue de Richelieu, worth at that time about two hundred -and fifty thousand francs. It was this house that the hairdresser -coveted; and on agreement to pay an annuity of thirty thousand francs -so long as the bachelor lived, it passed into his hands. This happened -in 1806. And in this year 1846 the hairdresser is still paying that -annuity. He has retired from business, he is seventy years old; the -/ci-devant/ young man is in his dotage; and as he has married his Mme. -Evrard, he may last for a long while yet. As the hairdresser gave the -woman thirty thousand francs, his bit of real estate has cost him, -first and last, more than a million, and the house at this day is -worth eight or nine hundred thousand francs. - -Like the hairdresser, Remonencq the Auvergnat had overheard Brunner's -parting remark in the gateway on the day of Cecile's first interview -with that phoenix of eligible men. Remonencq at once longed to gain a -sight of Pons' museum; and as he lived on good terms with his -neighbors the Cibots, it was not very long before the opportunity came -one day when the friends were out. The sight of such treasures dazzled -him; he saw a "good haul," in dealers' phrase, which being interpreted -means a chance to steal a fortune. He had been meditating this for -five or six days. - -"I am sho far from joking," he said, in reply to Mme. Cibot's remark, -"that we will talk the thing over; and if the good shentleman will -take an annuity, of fifty thousand francsh, I will shtand a hamper of -wine, if--" - -"Fifty thousand francs!" interrupted the doctor; "what are you -thinking about? Why, if the good man is so well off as that, with me -in attendance, and Mme. Cibot to nurse him, he may get better--for -liver complaint is a disease that attacks strong constitutions." - -"Fifty, did I shay? Why, a shentleman here, on your very doorshtep, -offered him sheven hundred thoushand francsh, shimply for the -pictursh, /fouchtra/!" - -While Remonencq made this announcement, Mme. Cibot was looking at Dr. -Poulain. There was a strange expression in her eyes; the devil might -have kindled that sinister glitter in their tawny depths. - -"Oh, come! we must not pay any attention to such idle tales," said the -doctor, well pleased, however, to find that his patient could afford -to pay for his visits. - -"If my dear Mme. Cibot, here, would let me come and bring an ekshpert -(shinsh the shentleman upshtairs ish in bed), I will shertainly find -the money in a couple of hoursh, even if sheven hundred thousand -francsh ish in queshtion--" - -"All right, my friend," said the doctor. "Now, Mme. Cibot, be careful -never to contradict the invalid. You must be prepared to be very -patient with him, for he will find everything irritating and -wearisome, even your services; nothing will please him; you must -expect grumbling--" - -"He will be uncommonly hard to please," said La Cibot. - -"Look here, mind what I tell you," the doctor said in a tone of -authority, "M. Pons' life is in the hands of those that nurse him; I -shall come perhaps twice a day. I shall take him first on my round." - -The doctor's profound indifference to the fate of a poor patient had -suddenly given place to a most tender solicitude when he saw that the -speculator was serious, and that there was a possible fortune in -question. - -"He will be nursed like a king," said Madame Cibot, forcing up -enthusiasm. She waited till the doctor turned the corner into the Rue -Charlot; then she fell to talking again with the dealer in old iron. -Remonencq had finished smoking his pipe, and stood in the doorway of -his shop, leaning against the frame; he had purposely taken this -position; he meant the portress to come to him. - -The shop had once been a cafe. Nothing had been changed there since -the Auvergnat discovered it and took over the lease; you could still -read "Cafe de Normandie" on the strip left above the windows in all -modern shops. Remonencq had found somebody, probably a housepainter's -apprentice, who did the work for nothing, to paint another inscription -in the remaining space below--"REMONENCQ," it ran, "DEALER IN MARINE -STORES, FURNITURE BOUGHT"--painted in small black letters. All the -mirrors, tables, seats, shelves, and fittings of the Cafe de Normandie -had been sold, as might have been expected, before Remonencq took -possession of the shop as it stood, paying a yearly rent of six -hundred francs for the place, with a back shop, a kitchen, and a -single room above, where the head-waiter used to sleep, for the house -belonging to the Cafe de Normandie was let separately. Of the former -splendor of the cafe, nothing now remained save the plain light green -paper on the walls, and the strong iron bolts and bars of the shop- -front. - -When Remonencq came hither in 1831, after the Revolution of July, he -began by displaying a selection of broken doorbells, cracked plates, -old iron, and the obsolete scales and weights abolished by a -Government which alone fails to carry out its own regulations, for -pence and half pence of the time of Louis XVI. are still in -circulation. After a time this Auvergnat, a match for five ordinary -Auvergnats, bought up old saucepans and kettles, old picture-frames, -old copper, and chipped china. Gradually, as the shop was emptied and -filled, the quality of the stock-in-trade improved, like Nicolet's -farces. Remonencq persisted in an unfailing and prodigiously -profitable martingale, a "system" which any philosophical idler may -study as he watches the increasing value of the stock kept by this -intelligent class of trader. Picture-frames and copper succeed to -tin-ware, argand lamps, and damaged crockery; china marks the next -transition; and after no long tarriance in the "omnium gatherum" -stage, the shop becomes a museum. Some day or other the dusty windows -are cleaned, the interior is restored, the Auvergnat relinquishes -velveteen and jackets for a great-coat, and there he sits like a -dragon guarding his treasure, surrounded by masterpieces! He is a -cunning connoisseur by this time; he has increased his capital -tenfold; he is not to be cheated; he knows the tricks of the trade. -The monster among his treasures looks like some old hag among a score -of young girls that she offers to the public. Beauty and miracles of -art are alike indifferent to him; subtle and dense as he is, he has a -keen eye to profits, he talks roughly to those who know less than he -does; he has learned to act a part, he pretends to love his pictures, -or again he lets you know the price he himself gave for the things, he -offers to let you see the memoranda of the sale. He is a Proteus; in -one hour he can be Jocrisse, Janot, /Queue-rouge/, Mondor, Hapagon, or -Nicodeme. - -The third year found armor, and old pictures, and some tolerably fine -clocks in Remonencq's shop. He sent for his sister, and La Remonencq -came on foot all the way from Auvergne to take charge of the shop -while her brother was away. A big and very ugly woman, dressed like a -Japanese idol, a half-idiotic creature with a vague, staring gaze she -would not bate a centime of the prices fixed by her brother. In the -intervals of business she did the work of the house, and solved the -apparently insoluble problem--how to live on "the mists of the Seine." -The Remonencqs' diet consisted of bread and herrings, with the outside -leaves of lettuce or vegetable refuse selected from the heaps -deposited in the kennel before the doors of eating-houses. The two -between them did not spend more than fivepence a day on food (bread -included), and La Remonencq earned the money by sewing or spinning. - -Remonencq came to Paris in the first instance to work as an errand- -boy. Between the years 1825 and 1831 he ran errands for dealers in -curiosities in the Boulevard Beaumarchais or coppersmiths in the Rue -de Lappe. It is the usual start in life in his line of business. Jews, -Normans, Auvergnats, and Savoyards, those four different races of men -all have the same instincts, and make their fortunes in the same way; -they spend nothing, make small profits, and let them accumulate at -compound interest. Such is their trading charter, and /that/ charter -is no delusion. - -Remonencq at this moment had made it up with his old master Monistrol; -he did business with wholesale dealers, he was a /chineur/ (the -technical word), plying his trade in the /banlieue/, which, as -everybody knows, extends for some forty leagues round Paris. - -After fourteen years of business, he had sixty thousand francs in hand -and a well-stocked shop. He lived in the Rue de Normandie because the -rent was low, but casual customers were scarce, most of his goods were -sold to other dealers, and he was content with moderate gains. All his -business transactions were carried on in the Auvergue dialect or -/charabia/, as people call it. - -Remonencq cherished a dream! He wished to establish himself on a -boulevard, to be a rich dealer in curiosities, and do a direct trade -with amateurs some day. And, indeed, within him there was a formidable -man of business. His countenance was the more inscrutable because it -was glazed over by a deposit of dust and particles of metal glued -together by the sweat of his brow; for he did everything himself, and -the use and wont of bodily labor had given him something of the -stoical impassibility of the old soldiers of 1799. - -In personal appearance Remonencq was short and thin; his little eyes -were set in his head in porcine fashion; a Jew's slyness and -concentrated greed looked out of those dull blue circles, though in -his case the false humility that masks the Hebrew's unfathomed -contempt for the Gentile was lacking. - -The relations between the Cibots and the Remonencqs were those of -benefactors and recipients. Mme. Cibot, convinced that the Auvergnats -were wretchedly poor, used to let them have the remainder of "her -gentlemen's" dinners at ridiculous prices. The Remonencqs would buy a -pound of broken bread, crusts and crumbs, for a farthing, a porringer- -full of cold potatoes for something less, and other scraps in -proportion. Remonencq shrewdly allowed them to believe that he was not -in business on his own account, he worked for Monistrol, the rich -shopkeepers preyed upon him, he said, and the Cibots felt sincerely -sorry for Remonencq. The velveteen jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, -particularly affected by Auvergnats, were covered with patches of -Cibot's making, and not a penny had the little tailor charged for -repairs which kept the three garments together after eleven years of -wear. - -Thus we see that all Jews are not in Israel. - -"You are not laughing at me, Remonencq, are you?" asked the portress. -"Is it possible that M. Pons has such a fortune, living as he does? -There is not a hundred francs in the place--" - -"Amateursh are all like that," Remonencq remarked sententiously. - -"Then do you think that my gentleman has worth of seven hundred -thousand francs, eh?--" - -"In pictures alone," continued Remonencq (it is needless, for the sake -of clearness in the story, to give any further specimens of his -frightful dialect). "If he would take fifty thousand francs for one up -there that I know of, I would find the money if I had to hang myself. -Do you remember those little frames full of enameled copper on crimson -velvet, hanging among the portraits? . . . Well, those are Petitot's -enamels; and there is a cabinet minister as used to be a druggist that -will give three thousand francs apiece for them." - -La Cibot's eyes opened wide. "There are thirty of them in the pair of -frames!" she said. - -"Very well, you can judge for yourself how much he is worth." - -Mme. Cibot's head was swimming; she wheeled round. In a moment came -the thought that she would have a legacy, /she/ would sleep sound on -old Pons' will, like the other servant-mistresses whose annuities had -aroused such envy in the Marais. Her thoughts flew to some commune in -the neighborhood of Paris; she saw herself strutting proudly about her -house in the country, looking after her garden and poultry yard, -ending her days, served like a queen, along with her poor dear Cibot, -who deserved such good fortune, like all angelic creatures whom nobody -knows nor appreciates. - -Her abrupt, unthinking movement told Remonencq that success was sure. -In the /chineur's/ way of business--the /chineur/, be it explained, -goes about the country picking up bargains at the expense of the -ignorant--in the /chineur's/ way of business, the one real difficulty -is the problem of gaining an entrance to a house. No one can imagine -the Scapin's roguery, the tricks of a Sganarelle, the wiles of a -Dorine by which the /chineur/ contrives to make a footing for himself. -These comedies are as good as a play, and founded indeed on the old -stock theme of the dishonesty of servants. For thirty francs in money -or goods, servants, and especially country servants, will sometimes -conclude a bargain on which the /chineur/ makes a profit of a thousand -or two thousand francs. If we could but know the history of such and -such a service of Sevres porcelain, /pate tendre/, we should find that -all the intellect, all the diplomatic subtlety displayed at Munster, -Nimeguen, Utrecht, Ryswick, and Vienna was surpassed by the /chineur/. -His is the more frank comedy; his methods of action fathom depths of -personal interest quite as profound as any that plenipotentiaries can -explore in their difficult search for any means of breaking up the -best cemented alliances. - -"I have set La Cibot nicely on fire," Remonencq told his sister, when -she came to take up her position again on the ramshackle chair. "And -now," he continued, "I shall go to consult the only man that knows, -our Jew, a good sort of Jew that did not ask more than fifteen per -cent of us for his money." - -Remonencq had read La Cibot's heart. To will is to act with women of -her stamp. Let them see the end in view; they will stick at nothing to -gain it, and pass from scrupulous honesty to the last degree of -scoundrelism in the twinkling of an eye. Honesty, like most -dispositions of mind, is divided into two classes--negative and -positive. La Cibot's honesty was of the negative order; she and her -like are honest until they see their way clear to gain money belonging -to somebody else. Positive honesty, the honesty of the bank collector, -can wade knee-deep through temptations. - -A torrent of evil thoughts invaded La Cibot's heart and brain so soon -as Remonencq's diabolical suggestion opened the flood-gates of self- -interest. La Cibot climbed, or, to be more accurate, fled up the -stairs, opened the door on the landing, and showed a face disguised in -false solicitude in the doorway of the room where Pons and Schmucke -were bemoaning themselves. As soon as she came in, Schmucke made her a -warning sign; for, true friend and sublime German that he was, he too -had read the doctor's eyes, and he was afraid that Mme. Cibot might -repeat the verdict. Mme. Cibot answered by a shake of the head -indicative of deep woe. - -"Well, my dear monsieur," asked she, "how are you feeling?" She sat -down on the foot of the bed, hands on hips, and fixed her eyes -lovingly upon the patient; but what a glitter of metal there was in -them, a terrible, tiger-like gleam if any one had watched her. - -"I feel very ill," answered poor Pons. "I have not the slightest -appetite left.--Oh! the world, the world!" he groaned, squeezing -Schmucke's hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside, and doubtless -the sick man was talking of the causes of his illness.--"I should have -done far better to follow your advice, my good Schmucke, and dined -here every day, and given up going into this society, that has fallen -on me with all its weight, like a tumbril cart crushing an egg! And -why?" - -"Come, come, don't complain, M. Pons," said La Cibot; "the doctor told -me just how it is--" - -Schmucke tugged at her gown.--"And you will pull through," she -continued, "only we must take great care of you. Be easy, you have a -good friend beside you, and without boasting, a woman as will nurse -you like a mother nurses her first child. I nursed Cibot round once -when Dr. Poulain had given him over; he had the shroud up to his eyes, -as the saying is, and they gave him up for dead. Well, well, you have -not come to that yet, God be thanked, ill though you may be. Count on -me; I would pull you through all by myself, I would! Keep still, don't -you fidget like that." - -She pulled the coverlet over the patient's hands as she spoke. - -"There, sonny! M. Schmucke and I will sit up with you of nights. A -prince won't be no better nursed . . . and besides, you needn't refuse -yourself nothing that's necessary, you can afford it.--I have just -been talking things over with Cibot, for what would he do without me, -poor dear?--Well, and I talked him round; we are both so fond of you, -that he will let me stop up with you of a night. And that is a good -deal to ask of a man like him, for he is as fond of me as ever he was -the day we were married. I don't know how it is. It is the lodge, you -see; we are always there together! Don't you throw off the things like -that!" she cried, making a dash for the bedhead to draw the coverlet -over Pons' chest. "If you are not good, and don't do just as Dr. -Poulain says--and Dr. Poulain is the image of Providence on earth--I -will have no more to do with you. You must do as I tell you--" - -"Yes, Montame Zipod, he vill do vat you dell him," put in Schmucke; -"he vants to lif for his boor friend Schmucke's sake, I'll pe pound." - -"And of all things, don't fidget yourself," continued La Cibot, "for -your illness makes you quite bad enough without your making it worse -for want of patience. God sends us our troubles, my dear good -gentlemen; He punishes us for our sins. Haven't you nothing to -reproach yourself with? some poor little bit of a fault or other?" - -The invalid shook his head. - -"Oh! go on! You were young once, you had your fling, there is some -love-child of yours somewhere--cold, and starving, and homeless. . . . -What monsters men are! Their love doesn't last only for a day, and -then in a jiffy they forget, they don't so much as think of the child -at the breast for months. . . . Poor women!" - -"But no one has ever loved me except Schmucke and my mother," poor -Pons broke in sadly. - -"Oh! come, you aren't no saint! You were young in your time, and a -fine-looking young fellow you must have been at twenty. I should have -fallen in love with you myself, so nice as you are--" - -"I always was as ugly as a toad," Pons put in desperately. - -"You say that because you are modest; nobody can't say that you aren't -modest." - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, /no/, I tell you. I always was ugly, and I never -was loved in my life." - -"You, indeed!" cried the portress. "You want to make me believe at -this time of day that you are as innocent as a young maid at your time -of life. Tell that to your granny! A musician at a theatre too! Why, -if a woman told me that, I wouldn't believe her." - -"Montame Zipod, you irritate him!" cried Schmucke, seeing that Pons -was writhing under the bedclothes. - -"You hold your tongue too! You are a pair of old libertines. If you -were ugly, it don't make no difference; there was never so ugly a -saucepan-lid but it found a pot to match, as the saying is. There is -Cibot, he got one of the handsomest oyster-women in Paris to fall in -love with him, and you are infinitely better looking than him! You are -a nice pair, you are! Come, now, you have sown your wild oats, and God -will punish you for deserting your children, like Abraham--" - -Exhausted though he was, the invalid gathered up all his strength to -make a vehement gesture of denial. - -"Do lie quiet; if you have, it won't prevent you from living as long -as Methuselah." - -"Then, pray let me be quiet!" groaned Pons. "I have never known what -it is to be loved. I have had no child; I am alone in the world." - -"Really, eh?" returned the portress. "You are so kind, and that is -what women like, you see--it draws them--and it looked to me -impossible that when you were in your prime--" - -"Take her away," Pons whispered to Schmucke; "she sets my nerves on -edge." - -"Then there's M. Schmucke, he has children. You old bachelors are not -all like that--" - -"/I!/" cried Schmucke, springing to his feet, "vy!--" - -"Come, then, you have none to come after you either, eh? You both -sprung up out of the earth like mushrooms--" - -"Look here, komm mit me," said Schmucke. The good German manfully took -Mme. Cibot by the waist and carried her off into the next room, in -spite of her exclamations. - -"At your age, you would not take advantage of a defenceless woman!" -cried La Cibot, struggling in his arms. - -"Don't make a noise!" - -"You too, the better one of the two!" returned La Cibot. "Ah! it is my -fault for talking about love to two old men who have never had nothing -to do with women. I have roused your passions," cried she, as -Schmucke's eyes glittered with wrath. "Help! help! police!" - -"You are a stoopid!" said the German. "Look here, vat tid de toctor -say?" - -"You are a ruffian to treat me so," wept La Cibot, now released,--"me -that would go through fire and water for you both! Ah! well, well, -they say that that is the way with men--and true it is! There is my -poor Cibot, /he/ would not be rough with me like this. . . . And I -treated you like my children, for I have none of my own; and -yesterday, yes, only yesterday I said to Cibot, 'God knew well what He -was doing, dear,' I said, 'when He refused us children, for I have two -children there upstairs.' By the holy crucifix and the soul of my -mother, that was what I said to him--" - -"Eh! but vat did der doctor say?" Schmucke demanded furiously, -stamping on the floor for the first time in his life. - -"Well," said Mme. Cibot, drawing Schmucke into the dining-room, "he -just said this--that our dear, darling love lying ill there would die -if he wasn't carefully nursed; but I am here, in spite of all your -brutality, for brutal you were, you that I thought so gentle. And you -are one of that sort! Ah! now, you would not abuse a woman at your -age, great blackguard--" - -"Placard? I? Vill you not oonderstand that I lof nopody but Bons?" - -"Well and good, you will let me alone, won't you?" said she, smiling -at Schmucke. "You had better; for if Cibot knew that anybody had -attempted his honor, he would break every bone in his skin." - -"Take crate care of him, dear Montame Zipod," answered Schmucke, and -he tried to take the portress' hand. - -"Oh! look here now, /again/." - -"Chust listen to me. You shall haf all dot I haf, gif ve safe him." - -"Very well; I will go round to the chemist's to get the things that -are wanted; this illness is going to cost a lot, you see, sir, and -what will you do?" - -"I shall vork; Bons shall be nursed like ein brince." - -"So he shall, M. Schmucke; and look here, don't you trouble about -nothing. Cibot and I, between us, have saved a couple of thousand -francs; they are yours; I have been spending money on you this long -time, I have." - -"Goot voman!" cried Schmucke, brushing the tears from his eyes. "Vat -ein heart!" - -"Wipe your tears; they do me honor; this is my reward," said La Cibot, -melodramatically. "There isn't no more disinterested creature on earth -than me; but don't you go into the room with tears in your eyes, or M. -Pons will be thinking himself worse than he is." - -Schmucke was touched by this delicate feeling. He took La Cibot's hand -and gave it a final squeeze. - -"Spare me!" cried the ex-oysterseller, leering at Schmucke. - -"Bons," the good German said when he returned "Montame Zipod is an -anchel; 'tis an anchel dat brattles, but an anchel all der same." - -"Do you think so? I have grown suspicious in the past month," said the -invalid, shaking his head. "After all I have been through, one comes -to believe in nothing but God and my friend--" - -"Get bedder, and ve vill lif like kings, all tree of us," exclaimed -Schmucke. - - - -"Cibot!" panted the portress as she entered the lodge. "Oh, my dear, -our fortune is made. My two gentlemen haven't nobody to come after -them, no natural children, no nothing, in short! Oh, I shall go round -to Ma'am Fontaine's and get her to tell my fortune on the cards, then -we shall know how much we are going to have--" - -"Wife," said the little tailor, "it's ill counting on dead men's -shoes." - -"Oh, I say, are /you/ going to worry me?" asked she, giving her spouse -a playful tap. "I know what I know! Dr. Poulain has given up M. Pons. -And we are going to be rich! My name will be down in the will. . . . -I'll see to that. Draw your needle in and out, and look after the -lodge; you will not do it for long now. We will retire, and go into -the country, out at Batignolles. A nice house and a fine garden; you -will amuse yourself with gardening, and I shall keep a servant!" - -"Well, neighbor, and how are things going on upstairs?" The words were -spoken with the thick Auvergnat accent, and Remonencq put his head in -at the door. "Do you know what the collection is worth?" - -"No, no, not yet. One can't go at that rate, my good man. I have -begun, myself, by finding out more important things--" - -"More important!" exclaimed Remonencq; "why, what things can be more -important?" - -"Come, let me do the steering, ragamuffin," said La Cibot -authoritatively. - -"But thirty per cent on seven hundred thousand francs," persisted the -dealer in old iron; "you could be your own mistress for the rest of -your days on that." - -"Be easy, Daddy Remonencq; when we want to know the value of the -things that the old man has got together, then we will see." - -La Cibot went for the medicine ordered by Dr. Poulain, and put off her -consultation with Mme. Fontaine until the morrow; the oracle's -faculties would be fresher and clearer in the morning, she thought; -and she would go early, before everybody else came, for there was -often a crowd at Mme. Fontaine's. - -Mme. Fontaine was at this time the oracle of the Marais; she had -survived the rival of forty years, the celebrated Mlle. Lenormand. No -one imagines the part that fortune-tellers play among Parisians of the -lower classes, nor the immense influence which they exert over the -uneducated; general servants, portresses, kept women, workmen, all the -many in Paris who live on hope, consult the privileged beings who -possess the mysterious power of reading the future. - -The belief of the occult science is far more widely spread than -scholars, lawyers, doctors, magistrates, and philosophers imagine. The -instincts of the people are ineradicable. One among those instincts, -so foolishly styled "superstition," runs in the blood of the populace, -and tinges no less the intellects of better educated folk. More than -one French statesman has been known to consult the fortune-teller's -cards. For sceptical minds, astrology, in French, so oddly termed -/astrologie judiciare/, is nothing more than a cunning device for -making a profit out of one of the strongest of all the instincts of -human nature--to wit, curiosity. The sceptical mind consequently -denies that there is any connection between human destiny and the -prognostications obtained by the seven or eight principal methods -known to astrology; and the occult sciences, like many natural -phenomena, are passed over by the freethinker or the materialist -philosopher, /id est/, by those who believe in nothing but visible and -tangible facts, in the results given by the chemist's retort and the -scales of modern physical science. The occult sciences still exist; -they are at work, but they make no progress, for the greatest -intellects of two centuries have abandoned the field. - -If you only look at the practical side of divination, it seems absurd -to imagine that events in a man's past life and secrets known only to -himself can be represented on the spur of the moment by a pack of -cards which he shuffles and cuts for the fortune-teller to lay out in -piles according to certain mysterious rules; but then the steam-engine -was condemned as absurd, aerial navigation is still said to be absurd, -so in their time were the inventions of gunpowder, printing, -spectacles, engraving, and that latest discovery of all--the -daguerreotype. If any man had come to Napoleon to tell him that a -building or a figure is at all times and in all places represented by -an image in the atmosphere, that every existing object has a spectral -intangible double which may become visible, the Emperor would have -sent his informant to Charenton for a lunatic, just as Richelieu -before his day sent that Norman martyr, Salomon de Caux, to the -Bicetre for announcing his immense triumph, the idea of navigation by -steam. Yet Daguerre's discovery amounts to nothing more nor less than -this. - -And if for some clairvoyant eyes God has written each man's destiny -over his whole outward and visible form, if a man's body is the record -of his fate, why should not the hand in a manner epitomize the body?-- -since the hand represents the deed of man, and by his deeds he is -known. - -Herein lies the theory of palmistry. Does not Society imitate God? At -the sight of a soldier we can predict that he will fight; of a lawyer, -that he will talk; of a shoemaker, that he shall make shoes or boots; -of a worker of the soil, that he shall dig the ground and dung it; and -is it a more wonderful thing that such an one with the "seer's" gift -should foretell the events of a man's life from his hand? - -To take a striking example. Genius is so visible in a man that a great -artist cannot walk about the streets of Paris but the most ignorant -people are conscious of his passing. He is a sun, as it were, in the -mental world, shedding light that colors everything in its path. And -who does not know an idiot at once by an impression the exact opposite -of the sensation of the presence of genius? Most observers of human -nature in general, and Parisian nature in particular, can guess the -profession or calling of the man in the street. - -The mysteries of the witches' Sabbath, so wonderfully painted in the -sixteenth century, are no mysteries for us. The Egyptian ancestors of -that mysterious people of Indian origin, the gypsies of the present -day, simply used to drug their clients with hashish, a practice that -fully accounts for broomstick rides and flights up the chimney, the -real-seeming visions, so to speak, of old crones transformed into -young damsels, the frantic dances, the exquisite music, and all the -fantastic tales of devil-worship. - -So many proven facts have been first discovered by occult science, -that some day we shall have professors of occult science, as we -already have professors of chemistry and astronomy. It is even -singular that here in Paris, where we are founding chairs of Mantchu -and Slave and literatures so little professable (to coin a word) as -the literatures of the North (which, so far from providing lessons, -stand very badly in need of them); when the curriculum is full of the -everlasting lectures on Shakespeare and the sixteenth century,--it is -strange that some one has not restored the teaching of the occult -philosophies, once the glory of the University of Paris, under the -title of anthropology. Germany, so childlike and so great, has -outstripped France in this particular; in Germany they have professors -of a science of far more use than a knowledge of the heterogeneous -philosophies, which all come to the same thing at bottom. - -Once admit that certain beings have the power of discerning the future -in its germ-form of the Cause, as the great inventor sees a glimpse of -the industry latent in his invention, or a science in something that -happens every day unnoticed by ordinary eyes--once allow this, and -there is nothing to cause an outcry in such phenomena, no violent -exception to nature's laws, but the operation of a recognized faculty; -possibly a kind of mental somnambulism, as it were. If, therefore, the -hypothesis upon which the various ways of divining the future are -based seem absurd, the facts remain. Remark that it is not really more -wonderful that the seer should foretell the chief events of the future -than that he should read the past. Past and future, on the sceptic's -system, equally lie beyond the limits of knowledge. If the past has -left traces behind it, it is not improbable that future events have, -as it were, their roots in the present. - -If a fortune-teller gives you minute details of past facts known only -to yourself, why should he not foresee the events to be produced by -existing causes? The world of ideas is cut out, so to speak, on the -pattern of the physical world; the same phenomena should be -discernible in both, allowing for the difference of the medium. As, -for instance, a corporeal body actually projects an image upon the -atmosphere--a spectral double detected and recorded by the -daguerreotype; so also ideas, having a real and effective existence, -leave an impression, as it were, upon the atmosphere of the spiritual -world; they likewise produce effects, and exist spectrally (to coin a -word to express phenomena for which no words exist), and certain human -beings are endowed with the faculty of discerning these "forms" or -traces of ideas. - -As for the material means employed to assist the seer--the objects -arranged by the hands of the consultant that the accidents of his life -may be revealed to him,--this is the least inexplicable part of the -process. Everything in the material world is part of a series of -causes and effects. Nothing happens without a cause, every cause is a -part of a whole, and consequently the whole leaves its impression on -the slightest accident. Rabelais, the greatest mind among moderns, -resuming Pythagoras, Hippocrates, Aristophanes, and Dante, pronounced -three centuries ago that "man is a microcosm"--a little world. Three -hundred years later, the great seer Swedenborg declared that "the -world was a man." The prophet and the precursor of incredulity meet -thus in the greatest of all formulas. - -Everything in human life is predestined, so it is also with the -existence of the planet. The least event, the most futile phenomena, -are all subordinate parts of a scheme. Great things, therefore, great -designs, and great thoughts are of necessity reflected in the smallest -actions, and that so faithfully, that should a conspirator shuffle and -cut a pack of playing-cards, he will write the history of his plot for -the eyes of the seer styled gypsy, fortune-teller, charlatan, or what -not. If you once admit fate, which is to say, the chain of links of -cause and effect, astrology has a /locus standi/, and becomes what it -was of yore, a boundless science, requiring the same faculty of -deduction by which Cuvier became so great, a faculty to be exercised -spontaneously, however, and not merely in nights of study in the -closet. - -For seven centuries astrology and divination have exercised an -influence not only (as at present) over the uneducated, but over the -greatest minds, over kings and queens and wealthy people. Animal -magnetism, one of the great sciences of antiquity, had its origin in -occult philosophy; chemistry is the outcome of alchemy; phrenology and -neurology are no less the fruit of similar studies. The first -illustrious workers in these, to all appearance, untouched fields, -made one mistake, the mistake of all inventors; that is to say, they -erected an absolute system on a basis of isolated facts for which -modern analysis as yet cannot account. The Catholic Church, the law of -the land, and modern philosophy, in agreement for once, combined to -prescribe, persecute, and ridicule the mysteries of the Cabala as well -as the adepts; the result is a lamentable interregnum of a century in -occult philosophy. But the uneducated classes, and not a few -cultivated people (women especially), continue to pay a tribute to the -mysterious power of those who can raise the veil of the future; they -go to buy hope, strength, and courage of the fortune-teller; in other -words, to ask of him all that religion alone can give. So the art is -still practised in spite of a certain amount of risk. The eighteenth -century encyclopaedists procured tolerance for the sorcerer; he is no -longer amenable to a court of law, unless, indeed, he lends himself to -fraudulent practices, and frightens his "clients" to extort money from -them, in which case he may be prosecuted on a charge of obtaining -money under false pretences. Unluckily, the exercise of the sublime -art is only too often used as a method of obtaining money under false -pretences, and for the following reasons. - -The seer's wonderful gifts are usually bestowed upon those who are -described by the epithets rough and uneducated. The rough and -uneducated are the chosen vessels into which God pours the elixirs at -which we marvel. From among the rough and uneducated, prophets arise-- -an Apostle Peter, or St. Peter the Hermit. Wherever mental power is -imprisoned, and remains intact and entire for want of an outlet in -conversation, in politics, in literature, in the imaginings of the -scholar, in the efforts of the statesman, in the conceptions of the -inventor, or the soldier's toils of war; the fire within is apt to -flash out in gleams of marvelously vivid light, like the sparks hidden -in an unpolished diamond. Let the occasion come, and the spirit within -kindles and glows, finds wings to traverse space, and the god-like -power of beholding all things. The coal of yesterday under the play of -some mysterious influence becomes a radiant diamond. Better educated -people, many-sided and highly polished, continually giving out all -that is in them, can never exhibit this supreme power, save by one of -the miracles which God sometimes vouchsafes to work. For this reason -the soothsayer is almost always a beggar, whose mind is virgin soil, a -creature coarse to all appearance, a pebble borne along the torrent of -misery and left in the ruts of life, where it spends nothing of itself -save in mere physical suffering. - -The prophet, the seer, in short, is some /Martin le Laboureur/ making -a Louis XVIII. tremble by telling him a secret known only to the king -himself; or it is a Mlle. Lenormand, or a domestic servant like Mme. -Fontaine, or again, perhaps it is some half-idiotic negress, some -herdsman living among his cattle, who receives the gift of vision; -some Hindoo fakir, seated by a pagoda, mortifying the flesh till the -spirit gains the mysterious power of the somnambulist. - -Asia, indeed, through all time, has been the home of the heroes of -occult science. Persons of this kind, recovering their normal state, -are usually just as they were before. They fulfil, in some sort, the -chemical and physical functions of bodies which conduct electricity; -at times inert metal, at other times a channel filled with a -mysterious current. In their normal condition they are given to -practices which bring them before the magistrate, yea, verily, like -the notorious Balthazar, even unto the criminal court, and so to the -hulks. You could hardly find a better proof of the immense influence -of fortune-telling upon the working classes than the fact that poor -Pons' life and death hung upon the prediction that Mme. Fontaine was -to make from the cards. - -Although a certain amount of repetition is inevitable in a canvas so -considerable and so full of detail as a complete picture of French -society in the nineteenth century, it is needless to repeat the -description of Mme. Fontaine's den, already given in /Les Comediens -sans le savoir/; suffice it to say that Mme. Cibot used to go to Mme. -Fontaine's house in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple as regularly as -frequenters of the Cafe Anglais drop in at that restaurant for lunch. -Mme. Cibot, being a very old customer, often introduced young persons -and old gossips consumed with curiosity to the wise woman. - -The old servant who acted as provost marshal flung open the door of -the sanctuary with no further ceremony than the remark, "It's Mme. -Cibot.--Come in, there's nobody here." - -"Well, child, what can bring you here so early of a morning?" asked -the sorceress, as Mme. Fontaine might well be called, for she was -seventy-eight years old, and looked like one of the Parcae. - -"Something has given me a turn," said La Cibot; "I want the /grand -jeu/; it is a question of my fortune." Therewith she explained her -position, and wished to know if her sordid hopes were likely to be -realized. - -"Do you know what the /grand jeu/ means?" asked Mme. Fontaine, with -much solemnity. - -"No, I haven't never seen the trick, I am not rich enough.--A hundred -francs! It's not as if it cost so much! Where was the money to come -from? But now I can't help myself, I must have it." - -"I don't do it often, child," returned Mme. Fontaine; "I only do it -for rich people on great occasions, and they pay me twenty-five louis -for doing it; it tires me, you see, it wears me out. The 'Spirit' -rives my inside, here. It is like going to the 'Sabbath,' as they used -to say." - -"But when I tell you that it means my whole future, my dear good Ma'am -Fontaine--" - -"Well, as it is you that have come to consult me so often, I will -submit myself to the Spirit!" replied Mme. Fontaine, with a look of -genuine terror on her face. - -She rose from her filthy old chair by the fireside, and went to a -table covered with a green cloth so worn that you could count the -threads. A huge toad sat dozing there beside a cage inhabited by a -black disheveled-looking fowl. - -"Astaroth! here, my son!" she said, and the creature looked up -intelligently at her as she rapped him on the back with a long -knitting-needle.--"And you, Mademoiselle Cleopatre!--attention!" she -continued, tapping the ancient fowl on the beak. - -Then Mme. Fontaine began to think; for several seconds she did not -move; she looked like a corpse, her eyes rolled in their sockets and -grew white; then she rose stiff and erect, and a cavernous voice -cried: - -"Here I am!" - -Automatically she scattered millet for Cleopatre, took up the pack of -cards, shuffled them convulsively, and held them out to Mme. Cibot to -cut, sighing heavily all the time. At the sight of that image of Death -in the filthy turban and uncanny-looking bed-jacket, watching the -black fowl as it pecked at the millet-grains, calling to the toad -Astaroth to walk over the cards that lay out on the table, a cold -thrill ran through Mme. Cibot; she shuddered. Nothing but strong -belief can give strong emotions. An assured income, to be or not to -be, that was the question. - -The sorceress opened a magical work and muttered some unintelligible -words in a sepulchral voice, looked at the remaining millet-seeds, and -watched the way in which the toad retired. Then after seven or eight -minutes, she turned her white eyes on the cards and expounded them. - -"You will succeed, although nothing in the affair will fall out as you -expect. You will have many steps to take, but you will reap the fruits -of your labors. You will behave very badly; it will be with you as it -is with all those who sit by a sick-bed and covet part of the -inheritance. Great people will help you in this work of wrongdoing. -Afterwards in the death agony you will repent. Two escaped convicts, a -short man with red hair and an old man with a bald head, will murder -you for the sake of the money you will be supposed to have in the -village whither you will retire with your second husband. Now, my -daughter, it is still open to you to choose your course." - -The excitement which seemed to glow within, lighting up the bony -hollows about the eyes, was suddenly extinguished. As soon as the -horoscope was pronounced, Mme. Fontaine's face wore a dazed -expression; she looked exactly like a sleep-walker aroused from sleep, -gazed about her with an astonished air, recognized Mme. Cibot, and -seemed surprised by her terrified face. - -"Well, child," she said, in a totally different voice, "are you -satisfied?" - -Mme. Cibot stared stupidly at the sorceress, and could not answer. - -"Ah! you would have the /grand jeu/; I have treated you as an old -acquaintance. I only want a hundred francs--" - -"Cibot,--going to die?" gasped the portress. - -"So I have been telling you very dreadful things, have I?" asked Mme. -Fontaine, with an extremely ingenuous air. - -"Why, yes!" said La Cibot, taking a hundred francs from her pocket and -laying them down on the edge of the table. "Going to be murdered, -think of it--" - -"Ah! there it is! You would have the /grand jeu/; but don't take on -so, all the folk that are murdered on the cards don't die." - -"But is it possible, Ma'am Fontaine?" - -"Oh, /I/ know nothing about it, my pretty dear! You would rap at the -door of the future; I pull the cord, and it came." - -"/It/, what?" asked Mme. Cibot. - -"Well, then, the Spirit!" cried the sorceress impatiently. - -"Good-bye, Ma'am Fontaine," exclaimed the portress. "I did not know -what the /grand jeu/ was like. You have given me a good fright, that -you have." - -"The mistress will not put herself in that state twice in a month," -said the servant, as she went with La Cibot to the landing. "She would -do herself to death if she did, it tires her so. She will eat cutlets -now and sleep for three hours afterwards." - -Out in the street La Cibot took counsel of herself as she went along, -and, after the manner of all who ask for advice of any sort or -description, she took the favorable part of the prediction and -rejected the rest. The next day found her confirmed in her resolutions ---she would set all in train to become rich by securing a part of -Pons' collection. Nor for some time had she any other thought than the -combination of various plans to this end. The faculty of self- -concentration seen in rough, uneducated persons, explained on a -previous page, the reserve power accumulated in those whose mental -energies are unworn by the daily wear and tear of social life, and -brought into action so soon as that terrible weapon the "fixed idea" -is brought into play,--all this was pre-eminently manifested in La -Cibot. Even as the "fixed idea" works miracles of evasion, and brings -forth prodigies of sentiment, so greed transformed the portress till -she became as formidable as a Nucingen at bay, as subtle beneath her -seeming stupidity as the irresistible La Palferine. - -About seven o'clock one morning, a few days afterwards, she saw -Remonencq taking down his shutters. She went across to him. - -"How could one find out how much the things yonder in my gentlemen's -rooms are worth?" she asked in a wheedling tone. - -"Oh! that is quite easy," replied the owner of the old curiosity shop. -"If you will play fair and above board with me, I will tell you of -somebody, a very honest man, who will know the value of the pictures -to a farthing--" - -"Who?" - -"M. Magus, a Jew. He only does business to amuse himself now." - -Elie Magus has appeared so often in the /Comedie Humaine/, that it is -needless to say more of him here. Suffice it to add that he had -retired from business, and as a dealer was following the example set -by Pons the amateur. Well-known valuers like Henry, Messrs. Pigeot and -Moret, Theret, Georges, and Roehn, the experts of the Musee, in fact, -were but children compared with Elie Magus. He could see a masterpiece -beneath the accumulated grime of a century; he knew all schools, and -the handwriting of all painters. - -He had come to Paris from Bordeaux, and so long ago as 1835 he had -retired from business without making any change for the better in his -dress, so faithful is the race to old tradition. The persecutions of -the Middle Ages compelled them to wear rags, to snuffle and whine and -groan over their poverty in self-defence, till the habits induced by -the necessities of other times have come to be, as usual, instinctive, -a racial defect. - -Elie Magus had amassed a vast fortune by buying and selling diamonds, -pictures, lace, enamels, delicate carvings, old jewelry, and rarities -of all kinds, a kind of commerce which has developed enormously of -late, so much so indeed that the number of dealers has increased -tenfold during the last twenty years in this city of Paris, whither -all the curiosities in the world come to rub against one another. And -for pictures there are but three marts in the world--Rome, London, and -Paris. - -Elie Magus lived in the Chausee des Minimes, a short, broad street -leading to the Place Royale. He had bought the house, an old-fashioned -mansion, for a song, as the saying is, in 1831. Yet there were -sumptuous apartments within it, decorated in the time of Louis XV.; -for it had once been the Hotel Maulaincourt, built by the great -President of the Cour des Aides, and its remote position had saved it -at the time of the Revolution. - -You may be quite sure that the old Jew had sound reasons for buying -house property, contrary to the Hebrew law and custom. He had ended, -as most of us end, with a hobby that bordered on a craze. He was as -miserly as his friend, the late lamented Gobseck; but he had been -caught by the snare of the eyes, by the beauty of the pictures in -which he dealt. As his taste grew more and more fastidious, it became -one of the passions which princes alone can indulge when they are -wealthy and art-lovers. As the second King of Prussia found nothing -that so kindled enthusiasm as the spectacle of a grenadier over six -feet high, and gave extravagant sums for a new specimen to add to his -living museum of a regiment, so the retired picture-dealer was roused -to passion-pitch only by some canvas in perfect preservation, -untouched since the master laid down the brush; and what was more, it -must be a picture of the painter's best time. No great sales, -therefore, took place but Elie Magus was there; every mart knew him; -he traveled all over Europe. The ice-cold, money-worshiping soul in -him kindled at the sight of a perfect work of art, precisely as a -libertine, weary of fair women, is roused from apathy by the sight of -a beautiful girl, and sets out afresh upon the quest of flawless -loveliness. A Don Juan among fair works of art, a worshiper of the -Ideal, Elie Magus had discovered joys that transcend the pleasure of a -miser gloating over his gold--he lived in a seraglio of great -paintings. - -His masterpieces were housed as became the children of princes; the -whole first floor of the great old mansion was given up to them. The -rooms had been restored under Elie Magus' orders, and with what -magnificence! - -The windows were hung with the richest Venetian brocade; the most -splendid carpets from the Savonnerie covered the parquetry flooring. -The frames of the pictures, nearly a hundred in number, were -magnificent specimens, regilded cunningly by Servais, the one gilder -in Paris whom Elie Magus thought sufficiently painstaking; the old Jew -himself had taught him to use the English leaf, which is infinitely -superior to that produced by French gold-beaters. Servais is among -gilders as Thouvenin among bookbinders--an artist among craftsmen, -making his work a labor of love. Every window in that gallery was -protected by iron-barred shutters. Elie Magus himself lived in a -couple of attics on the floor above; the furniture was wretched, the -rooms were full of rags, and the whole place smacked of the Ghetto; -Elie Magus was finishing his days without any change in his life. - -The whole of the ground floor was given up to the picture trade (for -the Jew still dealt in works of art). Here he stored his canvases, -here also packing-cases were stowed on their arrival from other -countries; and still there was room for a vast studio, where Moret, -most skilful of restorers of pictures, a craftsman whom the Musee -ought to employ, was almost always at work for Magus. The rest of the -rooms on the ground floor were given up to Magus' daughter, the child -of his old age, a Jewess as beautiful as a Jewess can be when the -Semitic type reappears in its purity and nobility in a daughter of -Israel. Noemi was guarded by two servants, fanatical Jewesses, to say -nothing of an advanced-guard, a Polish Jew, Abramko by name, once -involved in a fabulous manner in political troubles, from which Elie -Magus saved him as a business speculation. Abramko, porter of the -silent, grim, deserted mansion, divided his office and his lodge with -three remarkably ferocious animals--an English bull-dog, a -Newfoundland dog, and another of the Pyrenean breed. - -Behold the profound observations of human nature upon which Elie Magus -based his feeling of security, for secure he felt; he left home -without misgivings, slept with both ears shut, and feared no attempt -upon his daughter (his chief treasure), his pictures, or his money. In -the first place, Abramko's salary was increased every year by two -hundred francs so long as his master should live; and Magus, moreover, -was training Abramko as a money-lender in a small way. Abramko never -admitted anybody until he had surveyed them through a formidable -grated opening. He was a Hercules for strength, he worshiped Elie -Magus, as Sancho Panza worshiped Don Quixote. All day long the dogs -were shut up without food; at nightfall Abramko let them loose; and by -a cunning device the old Jew kept each animal at his post in the -courtyard or the garden by hanging a piece of meat just out of reach -on the top of a pole. The animals guarded the house, and sheer hunger -guarded the dogs. No odor that reached their nostrils could tempt them -from the neighborhood of that piece of meat; they would not have left -their places at the foot of the poles for the most engaging female of -the canine species. If a stranger by any chance intruded, the dogs -suspected him of ulterior designs upon their rations, which were only -taken down in the morning by Abramko himself when he awoke. The -advantages of this fiendish scheme are patent. The animals never -barked, Magus' ingenuity had made savages of them; they were -treacherous as Mohicans. And now for the result. - -One night burglars, emboldened by the silence, decided too hastily -that it would be easy enough to "clean out" the old Jew's strong box. -One of their number told off to advance to the assault scrambled up -the garden wall and prepared to descend. This the bull-dog allowed him -to do. The animal, knowing perfectly well what was coming, waited for -the burglar to reach the ground; but when that gentleman directed a -kick at him, the bull-dog flew at the visitor's shins, and, making but -one bite of it, snapped the ankle-bone clean in two. The thief had the -courage to tear him away, and returned, walking upon the bare bone of -the mutilated stump till he reached the rest of the gang, when he fell -fainting, and they carried him off. The /Police News/, of course, did -not fail to report this delightful night incident, but no one believed -in it. - -Magus at this time was seventy-five years old, and there was no reason -why he should not live to a hundred. Rich man though he was, he lived -like the Remonencqs. His necessary expenses, including the money he -lavished on his daughter, did not exceed three thousand francs. No -life could be more regular; the old man rose as soon as it was light, -breakfasted on bread rubbed with a clove of garlic, and ate no more -food until dinner-time. Dinner, a meal frugal enough for a convent, he -took at home. All the forenoons he spent among his treasures, walking -up and down the gallery where they hung in their glory. He would dust -everything himself, furniture and pictures; he never wearied of -admiring. Then he would go downstairs to his daughter, drink deep of a -father's happiness, and start out upon his walks through Paris, to -attend sales or visit exhibitions and the like. - -If Elie Magus found a great work of art under the right conditions, -the discovery put new life into the man; here was a bit of sharp -practice, a bargain to make, a battle of Marengo to win. He would pile -ruse on ruse to buy the new sultana as cheaply as possible. Magus had -a map of Europe on which all great pictures were marked; his -co-religionists in every city spied out business for him, and received -a commission on the purchase. And then, what rewards for all his -pains! The two lost Raphaels so earnestly sought after by Raphael -lovers are both in his collection. Elie Magus owns the original -portrait of /Giorgione's Mistress/, the woman for whom the painter -died; the so-called originals are merely copies of the famous picture, -which is worth five hundred thousand francs, according to its owner's -estimation. This Jew possesses Titian's masterpiece, an /Entombment/ -painted for Charles V., sent by the great man to the great Emperor -with a holograph letter, now fastened down upon the lower part of the -canvas. And Magus has yet another Titian, the original sketch from -which all the portraits of Philip II. were painted. His remaining -ninety-seven pictures are all of the same rank and distinction. -Wherefore Magus laughs at our national collection, raked by the -sunlight which destroys the fairest paintings, pouring in through -panes of glass that act as lenses. Picture galleries can only be -lighted from above; Magus opens and closes his shutters himself; he is -as careful of his pictures as of his daughter, his second idol. And -well the old picture-fancier knows the laws of the lives of pictures. -To hear him talk, a great picture has a life of its own; it is -changeable, it takes its beauty from the color of the light. Magus -talks of his paintings as Dutch fanciers used to talk of their tulips; -he will come home on purpose to see some one picture in the hour of -its glory, when the light is bright and clean. - -And Magus himself was a living picture among the motionless figures on -the wall--a little old man, dressed in a shabby overcoat, a silk -waistcoat, renewed twice in a score of years, and a very dirty pair of -trousers, with a bald head, a face full of deep hollows, a wrinkled, -callous skin, a beard that had a trick of twitching its long white -bristles, a menacing pointed chin, a toothless mouth, eyes bright as -the eyes of his dogs in the yard, and a nose like an obelisk--there he -stood in his gallery smiling at the beauty called into being by -genius. A Jew surrounded by his millions will always be one of the -finest spectacles which humanity can give. Robert Medal, our great -actor, cannot rise to this height of poetry, sublime though he is. - -Paris of all the cities of the world holds most of such men as Magus, -strange beings with a strange religion in their heart of hearts. The -London "eccentric" always finds that worship, like life, brings -weariness and satiety in the end; the Parisian monomaniac lives -cheerfully in concubinage with his crotchet to the last. - -Often shall you meet in Paris some Pons, some Elie Magus, dressed -badly enough, with his face turned from the rising sun (like the -countenance of the perpetual secretary of the Academie), apparently -heeding nothing, conscious of nothing, paying no attention to shop- -windows nor to fair passers-by, walking at random, so to speak, with -nothing in his pockets, and to all appearance an equally empty head. -Do you ask to what Parisian tribe this manner of man belongs? He is a -collector, a millionaire, one of the most impassioned souls upon -earth; he and his like are capable of treading the miry ways that lead -to the police-court if so they may gain possession of a cup, a -picture, or some such rare unpublished piece as Elie Magus once picked -up one memorable day in Germany. - -This was the expert to whom Remonencq with much mystery conducted La -Cibot. Remonencq always asked advice of Elie Magus when he met him in -the streets; and more than once Magus had lent him money through -Abramko, knowing Remonencq's honesty. The Chaussee des Minimes is -close to the Rue de Normandie, and the two fellow-conspirators reached -the house in ten minutes. - -"You will see the richest dealer in curiosities, the greatest -connoisseur in Paris," Remonencq had said. And Mme. Cibot, therefore, -was struck dumb with amazement to be confronted with a little old man -in a great-coat too shabby for Cibot to mend, standing watching a -painter at work upon an old picture in the chilly room on the vast -ground floor. The old man's eyes, full of cold feline malignance, were -turned upon her, and La Cibot shivered. - -"What do you want, Remonencq?" asked this person. - -"It is a question of valuing some pictures; there is nobody but you in -Paris who can tell a poor tinker-fellow like me how much he may give -when he has not thousands to spend, like you." - -"Where is it?" - -"Here is the portress of the house where the gentleman lives; she does -for him, and I have arranged with her--" - -"Who is the owner?" - -"M. Pons!" put in La Cibot. - -"Don't know the name," said Magus, with an innocent air, bringing down -his foot very gently upon his artist's toes. - -Moret the painter, knowing the value of Pons' collection, had looked -up suddenly at the name. It was a move too hazardous to try with any -one but Remonencq and La Cibot, but the Jew had taken the woman's -measure at sight, and his eye was as accurate as a jeweler's scales. -It was impossible that either of the couple should know how often -Magus and old Pons had matched their claws. And, in truth, both rabid -amateurs were jealous of each other. The old Jew had never hoped for a -sight of a seraglio so carefully guarded; it seemed to him that his -head was swimming. Pons' collection was the one private collection in -Paris which could vie with his own. Pons' idea had occurred to Magus -twenty years later; but as a dealer-amateur the door of Pons' museum -had been closed to him, as for Dusommerard. Pons and Magus had at -heart the same jealousy. Neither of them cared about the kind of -celebrity dear to the ordinary collector. And now for Elie Magus came -his chance to see the poor musician's treasures! An amateur of beauty -hiding in a boudoir or a stolen glance at a mistress concealed from -him by his friend might feel as Elie Magus felt at that moment. - -La Cibot was impressed by Remonencq's respect for this singular -person; real power, moreover, even when it cannot be explained, is -always felt; the portress was supple and obedient, she dropped the -autocratic tone which she was wont to use in her lodge and with the -tenants, accepted Magus' conditions, and agreed to admit him into -Pons' museum that very day. - -So the enemy was to be brought into the citadel, and a stab dealt to -Pons' very heart. For ten years Pons had carried his keys about with -him; he had forbidden La Cibot to allow any one, no matter whom, to -cross his threshold; and La Cibot had so far shared Schmucke's -opinions of /bric-a-brac/, that she had obeyed him. The good Schmucke, -by speaking of the splendors as "chimcracks," and deploring his -friend's mania, had taught La Cibot to despise the old rubbish, and so -secured Pons' museum from invasion for many a long year. - -When Pons took to his bed, Schmucke filled his place at the theatre -and gave lessons for him at his boarding-schools. He did his utmost to -do the work of two; but Pons' sorrows weighing heavily upon his mind, -the task took all his strength. He only saw his friend in the morning, -and again at dinnertime. His pupils and the people at the theatre, -seeing the poor German look so unhappy, used to ask for news of Pons; -and so great was his grief, that the indifferent would make the -grimaces of sensibility which Parisians are wont to reserve for the -greatest calamities. The very springs of life had been attacked, the -good German was suffering from Pons' pain as well as from his own. -When he gave a music lesson, he spent half the time in talking of -Pons, interrupting himself to wonder whether his friend felt better -to-day, and the little school-girls listening heard lengthy -explanations of Pons' symptoms. He would rush over to the Rue de -Normandie in the interval between two lessons for the sake of a -quarter of an hour with Pons. - -When at last he saw that their common stock was almost exhausted, when -Mme. Cibot (who had done her best to swell the expenses of the -illness) came to him and frightened him; then the old music-master -felt that he had courage of which he never thought himself capable-- -courage that rose above his anguish. For the first time in his life he -set himself to earn money; money was needed at home. One of the -school-girl pupils, really touched by their troubles, asked Schmucke -how he could leave his friend alone. "Montemoiselle," he answered, -with the sublime smile of those who think no evil, "ve haf Montame -Zipod, ein dreasure, montemoiselle, ein bearl! Bons is nursed like ein -brince." - -So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was mistress of -the house and ruled the invalid. How should Pons superintend his self- -appointed guardian angel, when he had taken no solid food for a -fortnight, and lay there so weak and helpless that La Cibot was -obliged to lift him up and carry him to the sofa while she made the -bed? - -La Cibot's visit to Elie Magus was paid (as might be expected) while -Schmucke breakfasted. She came in again just as the German was bidding -his friend good-bye; for since she learned that Pons possessed a -fortune, she never left the old bachelor; she brooded over him and his -treasures like a hen. From the depths of a comfortable easy-chair at -the foot of the bed she poured forth for Pons' delectation the gossip -in which women of her class excel. With Machiavelian skill, she had -contrived to make Pons think that she was indispensable to him; she -coaxed and she wheedled, always uneasy, always on the alert. Mme. -Fontaine's prophecy had frightened La Cibot; she vowed to herself that -she would gain her ends by kindness. She would sleep secure on M. -Pons' legacy, but her rascality should keep within the limits of the -law. For ten years she had not suspected the value of Pons' -collection; she had a clear record behind her of ten years of -devotion, honesty, and disinterestedness; it was a magnificent -investment, and now she proposed to realize. In one day, Remonencq's -hint of money had hatched the serpent's egg, the craving for riches -that had lain dormant within her for twenty years. Since she had -cherished that craving, it had grown in force with the ferment of all -the evil that lurks in the corners of the heart. How she acted upon -the counsels whispered by the serpent will presently be seen. - -"Well?" she asked of Schmucke, "has this cherub of ours had plenty to -drink? Is he better?" - -"He is not doing fery vell, tear Montame Zipod, not fery vell," said -poor Schmucke, brushing away the tears from his eyes. - -"Pooh! you make too much of it, my dear M. Schmucke; we must take -things as we find them; Cibot might be at death's door, and I should -not take it to heart as you do. Come! the cherub has a good -constitution. And he has been steady, it seems, you see; you have no -idea what an age sober people live. He is very ill, it is true, but -with all the care I take of him, I shall bring him round. Be easy, -look after your affairs, I will keep him company and see that he -drinks his pints of barley water." - -"Gif you vere not here, I should die of anxiety--" said Schmucke, -squeezing his kind housekeeper's hand in both his own to express his -confidence in her. - -La Cibot wiped her eyes as she went back to the invalid's room. - -"What is the matter, Mme. Cibot?" asked Pons. - -"It is M. Schmucke that has upset me; he is crying as if you were -dead," said she. "If you are not well, you are not so bad yet that -nobody need cry over you; but it has given me such a turn! Oh dear! oh -dear! how silly it is of me to get so fond of people, and to think -more of you than of Cibot! For, after all, you aren't nothing to me, -you are only my brother by Adam's side; and yet, whenever you are in -the question, it puts me in such a taking, upon my word it does! I -would cut off my hand--my left hand, of course--to see you coming and -going, eating your meals, and screwing bargains out of dealers as -usual. If I had had a child of my own, I think I should have loved it -as I love you, eh! There, take a drink, dearie; come now, empty the -glass. Drink it off, monsieur, I tell you! The first thing Dr. Poulain -said was, 'If M. Pons has no mind to go to Pere Lachaise, he ought to -drink as many buckets full of water in a day as an Auvergnat will -sell.' So, come now, drink--" - -"But I do drink, Cibot, my good woman; I drink and drink till I am -deluged--" - -"That is right," said the portress, as she took away the empty glass. -"That is the way to get better. Dr. Poulain had another patient ill of -your complaint; but he had nobody to look after him, his children left -him to himself, and he died because he didn't drink enough--so you -must drink, honey, you see--he died and they buried him two months -ago. And if you were to die, you know, you would drag down old M. -Schmucke with you, sir. He is like a child. Ah! he loves you, he does, -the dear lamb of a man; no woman never loved a man like that! He -doesn't care for meat nor drink; he has grown as thin as you are in -the last fortnight, and you are nothing but skin and bones.--It makes -me jealous to see it, for I am very fond of you; but not to that -degree; I haven't lost my appetite, quite the other way; always going -up and down stairs, till my legs are so tired that I drop down of an -evening like a lump of lead. Here am I neglecting my poor Cibot for -you; Mlle. Remonencq cooks his victuals for him, and he goes on about -it and says that nothing is right! At that I tell him that one ought -to put up with something for the sake of other people, and that you -are so ill that I cannot leave you. In the first place, you can't -afford a nurse. And before I would have a nurse here!--I have done for -you these ten years; they want wine and sugar, and foot-warmers, and -all sorts of comforts. And they rob their patients unless the patients -leave them something in their wills. Have a nurse in here to-day, and -to-morrow we should find a picture or something or other gone--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cibot!" cried Pons, quite beside himself, "do not leave me! -No one must touch anything--" - -"I am here," said La Cibot; "so long as I have the strength I shall be -here.--Be easy. There was Dr. Poulain wanting to get a nurse for you; -perhaps he has his eye on your treasures. I just snubbed him, I did. -'The gentleman won't have any one but me,' I told him. 'He is used to -me, and I am used to him.' So he said no more. A nurse, indeed! They -are all thieves; I hate that sort of woman, I do. Here is a tale that -will show you how sly they are. There was once an old gentleman--it -was Dr. Poulain himself, mind you, who told me this--well, a Mme. -Sabatier, a woman of thirty-six that used to sell slippers at the -Palais Royal--you remember the Galerie at the Palais that they pulled -down?" - -Pons nodded. - -"Well, at that time she had not done very well; her husband used to -drink, and died of spontaneous imbustion; but she had been a fine -woman in her time, truth to tell, not that it did her any good, though -she had friends among the lawyers. So, being hard up, she became a -monthly nurse, and lived in the Rue Barre-du-Bec. Well, she went out -to nurse an old gentleman that had a disease of the lurinary guts -(saving your presence); they used to tap him like an artesian well, -and he needed such care that she used to sleep on a truckle-bed in the -same room with him. You would hardly believe such a thing!--'Men -respect nothing,' you'll tell me, 'so selfish as they are.' Well, she -used to talk with him, you understand; she never left him, she amused -him, she told him stories, she drew him on to talk (just as we are -chatting away together now, you and I, eh?), and she found out that -his nephews--the old gentleman had nephews--that his nephews were -wretches; they had worried him, and final end of it, they had brought -on this illness. Well, my dear sir, she saved his life, he married -her, and they have a fine child; Ma'am Bordevin, the butcher's wife in -the Rue Charlot, a relative of hers, stood godmother. There is luck -for you! - -"As for me, I am married; and if I have no children, I don't mind -saying that it is Cibot's fault; he is too fond of me, but if I cared ---never mind. What would have become of me and my Cibot if we had had -a family, when we have not a penny to bless ourselves with after -thirty years' of faithful service? I have not a farthing belonging to -nobody else, that is what comforts me. I have never wronged nobody.-- -Look here, suppose now (there is no harm in supposing when you will be -out and about again in six weeks' time, and sauntering along the -boulevard); well, suppose that you had put me down in your will; very -good, I shouldn't never rest till I had found your heirs and given the -money back. Such is my horror of anything that is not earned by the -sweat of my brow. - -"You will say to me, 'Why, Mme. Cibot, why should you worry yourself -like that? You have fairly earned the money; you looked after your two -gentlemen as if they had been your children; you saved them a thousand -francs a year--' (for there are plenty, sir, you know, that would have -had their ten thousand francs put out to interest by now if they had -been in my place)--'so if the worthy gentleman leaves you a trifle of -an annuity, it is only right.'--Suppose they told me that. Well, now; -I am not thinking of myself.--I cannot think how some women can do a -kindness thinking of themselves all the time. It is not doing good, -sir, is it? I do not go to church myself, I haven't the time; but my -conscience tells me what is right. . . . Don't you fidget like that, -my lamb!--Don't scratch yourself! . . . Dear me, how yellow you grow! -So yellow you are--quite brown. How funny it is that one can come to -look like a lemon in three weeks! . . . Honesty is all that poor folk -have, and one must surely have something! Suppose that you were just -at death's door, I should be the first to tell you that you ought to -leave all that you have to M. Schmucke. It is your duty, for he is all -the family you have. He loves you, he does, as a dog loves his -master." - -"Ah! yes," said Pons; "nobody else has ever loved me all my life -long--" - -"Ah! that is not kind of you, sir," said Mme. Cibot; "then I do not -love you, I suppose?" - -"I do not say so, my dear Mme. Cibot." - -"Good. You take me for a servant, do you, a common servant, as if I -hadn't no heart! Goodness me! for eleven years you do for two old -bachelors, you think of nothing but their comfort. I have turned half -a score of greengrocers' shops upside down for you, I have talked -people round to get you good Brie cheese; I have gone down as far as -the market for fresh butter for you; I have taken such care of things -that nothing of yours hasn't been chipped nor broken in all these ten -years; I have just treated you like my own children; and then to hear -a 'My dear Mme. Cibot,' that shows that there is not a bit of feeling -for you in the heart of an old gentleman that you have cared for like -a king's son! for the little King of Rome was not so well looked -after. He died in his prime; there is proof for you. . . . Come, sir, -you are unjust! You are ungrateful! It is because I am only a poor -portress. Goodness me! are /you/ one of those that think we are -dogs?--" - -"But, my dear Mme. Cibot--" - -"Indeed, you that know so much, tell me why we porters are treated -like this, and are supposed to have no feelings; people look down on -us in these days when they talk of Equality!--As for me, am I not as -good as another woman, I that was one of the finest women in Paris, -and was called /La belle Ecaillere/, and received declarations seven -or eight times a day? And even now if I liked--Look here, sir, you -know that little scrubby marine store-dealer downstairs? Very well, he -would marry me any day, if I were a widow that is, with his eyes shut; -he has had them looking wide open in my direction so often; he is -always saying, 'Oh! what fine arms you have, Ma'am Cibot!--I dreamed -last night that it was bread and I was butter, and I was spread on the -top.' Look, sir, there is an arm!" - -She rolled up her sleeve and displayed the shapeliest arm imaginable, -as white and fresh as her hand was red and rough; a plump, round, -dimpled arm, drawn from its merino sheath like a blade from the -scabbard to dazzle Pons, who looked away. - -"For every oyster the knife opened, the arm has opened a heart! Well, -it belongs to Cibot, and I did wrong when I neglected him, poor dear, -HE would throw himself over a precipice at a word from me; while you, -sir, that call me 'My dear Mme. Cibot' when I do impossible things for -you--" - -"Do just listen to me," broke in the patient; "I cannot call you my -mother, nor my wife--" - -"No, never in all my born days will I take again to anybody--" - -"Do let me speak!" continued Pons. "Let me see; I put M. Schmucke -first--" - -"M. Schmucke! there is a heart for you," cried La Cibot. "Ah! he loves -me, but then he is poor. It is money that deadens the heart; and you -are rich! Oh, well, take a nurse, you will see what a life she will -lead you; she will torment you, you will be like a cockchafer on a -string. The doctor will say that you must have plenty to drink, and -she will do nothing but feed you. She will bring you to your grave and -rob you. You do not deserve to have a Mme. Cibot!--there! When Dr. -Poulain comes, ask him for a nurse." - -"Oh fiddlestickend!" the patient cried angrily. "/Will/ you listen to -me? When I spoke of my friend Schmucke, I was not thinking of women. I -know quite well that no one cares for me so sincerely as you do, you -and Schmucke--" - -"Have the goodness not to irritate yourself in this way!" exclaimed La -Cibot, plunging down upon Pons and covering him by force with the -bedclothes. - -"How should I not love you?" said poor Pons. - -"You love me, really? . . . There, there, forgive me, sir!" she said, -crying and wiping her eyes. "Ah, yes, of course, you love me, as you -love a servant, that is the way!--a servant to whom you throw an -annuity of six hundred francs like a crust you fling into a dog's -kennel--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cibot," cried Pons, "for what do you take me? You do not -know me." - -"Ah! you will care even more than that for me," she said, meeting -Pons' eyes. "You will love your kind old Cibot like a mother, will you -not? A mother, that is it! I am your mother; you are both of you my -children. . . . Ah, if I only knew them that caused you this sorrow, I -would do that which would bring me into the police-courts, and even to -prison; I would tear their eyes out! Such people deserve to die at the -Barriere Saint-Jacques, and that is too good for such scoundrels. -. . . So kind, so good as you are (for you have a heart of -gold), you were sent into the world to make some woman happy! . . . -Yes, you would have her happy, as anybody can see; you were cut out -for that. In the very beginning, when I saw how you were with M. -Schmucke, I said to myself, 'M. Pons has missed the life he was meant -for; he was made to be a good husband.' Come, now, you like women." - -"Ah, yes," said Pons, "and no woman has been mine." - -"Really?" exclaimed La Cibot, with a provocative air as she came -nearer and took Pons' hand in hers. "Do you not know what it is to -love a woman that will do anything for her lover? Is it possible? If I -were in your place, I should not wish to leave this world for another -until I had known the greatest happiness on earth! . . . Poor dear! If -I was now what I was once, I would leave Cibot for you! upon my word, -I would! Why, with a nose shaped like that--for you have a fine nose-- -how did you manage it, poor cherub? . . . You will tell me that 'not -every woman knows a man when she sees him'; and a pity it is that they -marry so at random as they do, it makes you sorry to see it.--Now, for -my own part, I should have thought that you had had mistresses by the -dozen--dancers, actresses, and duchesses, for you went out so much. -. . . When you went out, I used to say to Cibot, 'Look! there is M. -Pons going a-gallivanting,' on my word, I did, I was so sure that -women ran after you. Heaven made you for love. . . . Why, my dear sir, -I found that out the first day that you dined at home, and you were so -touched with M. Schmucke's pleasure. And next day M. Schmucke kept -saying to me, 'Montame Zipod, he haf tined hier,' with the tears in -his eyes, till I cried along with him like a fool, as I am. And how -sad he looked when you took to gadding abroad again and dining out! -Poor man, you never saw any one so disconsolate! Ah! you are quite -right to leave everything to him. Dear worthy man, why he is as good -as a family to you, he is! Do not forget him; for if you do, God will -not receive you into his Paradise, for those that have been ungrateful -to their friends and left them no /rentes/ will not go to heaven." - -In vain Pons tried to put in a word; La Cibot talked as the wind -blows. Means of arresting steam-engines have been invented, but it -would tax a mechanician's genius to discover any plan for stopping a -portress' tongue. - -"I know what you mean," continued she. "But it does not kill you, my -dear gentleman, to make a will when you are out of health; and in your -place I might not leave that poor dear alone, for fear that something -might happen; he is like God Almighty's lamb, he knows nothing about -nothing, and I should not like him to be at the mercy of those sharks -of lawyers and a wretched pack of relations. Let us see now, has one -of them come here to see you in twenty years? And would you leave your -property to /them/? Do you know, they say that all these things here -are worth something." - -"Why, yes," said Pons. - -"Remonencq, who deals in pictures, and knows that you are an amateur, -says that he would be quite ready to pay you an annuity of thirty -thousand francs so long as you live, to have the pictures afterwards. -. . . There is a change! If I were you, I should take it. Why, I -thought he said it for a joke when he told me that. You ought to let -M. Schmucke know the value of all those things, for he is a man that -could be cheated like a child. He has not the slightest idea of the -value of these fine things that you have! He so little suspects it, -that he would give them away for a morsel of bread if he did not keep -them all his life for love of you, always supposing that he lives -after you, for he will die of your death. But /I/ am here; I will take -his part against anybody and everybody! . . . I and Cibot will defend -him." - -"Dear Mme. Cibot!" said Pons, "what would have become of me if it had -not been for you and Schmucke?" He felt touched by this horrible -prattle; the feeling in it seemed to be ingenuous, as it usually is in -the speech of the people. - -"Ah! we really are your only friends on earth, that is very true, that -is. But two good hearts are worth all the families in the world.-- -Don't talk of families to me! A family, as the old actor said of the -tongue, is the best and the worst of all things. . . . Where are those -relations of yours now? Have you any? I have never seen them--" - -"They have brought me to lie here," said Pons, with intense -bitterness. - -"So you have relations! . . . " cried La Cibot, springing up as if her -easy-chair had been heated red-hot. "Oh, well, they are a nice lot, -are your relations! What! these three weeks--for this is the twentieth -day, to-day, that you have been ill and like to die--in these three -weeks they have not come once to ask for news of you? That's a trifle -too strong, that is! . . . Why, in your place, I would leave all I had -to the Foundling Hospital sooner than give them one farthing!" - -"Well, my dear Mme. Cibot, I meant to leave all that I had to a cousin -once removed, the daughter of my first cousin, President Camusot, you -know, who came here one morning nearly two months ago." - -"Oh! a little stout man who sent his servants to beg your pardon--for -his wife's blunder?--The housemaid came asking me questions about you, -an affected old creature she is, my fingers itched to give her velvet -tippet a dusting with my broom handle! A servant wearing a velvet -tippet! did anybody ever see the like? No, upon my word, the world is -turned upside down; what is the use of making a Revolution? Dine twice -a day if you can afford it, you scamps of rich folk! But laws are no -good, I tell you, and nothing will be safe if Louis-Philippe does not -keep people in their places; for, after all, if we are all equal, eh, -sir? a housemaid didn't ought to have a velvet tippet, while I, Mme. -Cibot, haven't one, after thirty years of honest work.--There is a -pretty thing for you! People ought to be able to tell who you are. A -housemaid is a housemaid, just as I myself am a portress. Why do they -have silk epaulettes in the army? Let everybody keep their place. Look -here, do you want me to tell you what all this comes to? Very well, -France is going to the dogs. . . . If the Emperor had been here, -things would have been very different, wouldn't they, sir? . . . So I -said to Cibot, I said, 'See here, Cibot, a house where the servants -wear velvet tippets belongs to people that have no heart in them--' " - -"No heart in them, that is just it," repeated Pons. And with that he -began to tell Mme. Cibot about his troubles and mortifications, she -pouring out abuse of the relations the while and showing exceeding -tenderness on every fresh sentence in the sad history. She fairly wept -at last. - -To understand the sudden intimacy between the old musician and Mme. -Cibot, you have only to imagine the position of an old bachelor lying -on his bed of pain, seriously ill for the first time in his life. Pons -felt that he was alone in the world; the days that he spent by himself -were all the longer because he was struggling with the indefinable -nausea of a liver complaint which blackens the brightest life. Cut off -from all his many interests, the sufferer falls a victim to a kind of -nostalgia; he regrets the many sights to be seen for nothing in Paris. -The isolation, the darkened days, the suffering that affects the mind -and spirits even more than the body, the emptiness of the life,--all -these things tend to induce him to cling to the human being who waits -on him as a drowned man clings to a plank; and this especially if the -bachelor patient's character is as weak as his nature is sensitive and -incredulous. - -Pons was charmed to hear La Cibot's tittle-tattle. Schmucke, Mme. -Cibot, and Dr. Poulain meant all humanity to him now, when his -sickroom became the universe. If invalid's thoughts, as a rule, never -travel beyond in the little space over which his eyes can wander; if -their selfishness, in its narrow sphere, subordinates all creatures -and all things to itself, you can imagine the lengths to which an old -bachelor may go. Before three weeks were out he had even gone so far -as to regret, once and again, that he had not married Madeleine Vivet! -Mme. Cibot, too, had made immense progress in his esteem in those -three weeks; without her he felt that he should have been utterly -lost; for as for Schmucke, the poor invalid looked upon him as a -second Pons. La Cibot's prodigious art consisted in expressing Pons' -own ideas, and this she did quite unconsciously. - -"Ah! here comes the doctor!" she exclaimed, as the bell rang, and away -she went, knowing very well that Remonencq had come with the Jew. - -"Make no noise, gentlemen," said she, "he must not know anything. He -is all on the fidget when his precious treasures are concerned." - -"A walk round will be enough," said the Hebrew, armed with a -magnifying-glass and a lorgnette. - -The greater part of Pons' collection was installed in a great old- -fashioned salon such as French architects used to build for the old -/noblesse/; a room twenty-five feet broad, some thirty feet in length, -and thirteen in height. Pons' pictures to the number of sixty-seven -hung upon the white-and-gold paneled walls; time, however, had -reddened the gold and softened the white to an ivory tint, so that the -whole was toned down, and the general effect subordinated to the -effect of the pictures. Fourteen statues stood on pedestals set in the -corners of the room, or among the pictures, or on brackets inlaid by -Boule; sideboards of carved ebony, royally rich, surrounded the walls -to elbow height, all the shelves filled with curiosities; in the -middle of the room stood a row of carved credence-tables, covered with -rare miracles of handicraft--with ivories and bronzes, wood-carvings -and enamels, jewelry and porcelain. - -As soon as Elie Magus entered the sanctuary, he went straight to the -four masterpieces; he saw at a glance that these were the gems of -Pons' collection, and masters lacking in his own. For Elie Magus these -were the naturalist's /desiderata/ for which men undertake long -voyages from east to west, through deserts and tropical countries, -across southern savannahs, through virgin forests. - -The first was a painting by Sebastian del Piombo, the second a Fra -Bartolommeo della Porta, the third a Hobbema landscape, and the fourth -and last a Durer--a portrait of a woman. Four diamonds indeed! In the -history of art, Sebastian del Piombo is like a shining point in which -three schools meet, each bringing its pre-eminent qualities. A -Venetian painter, he came to Rome to learn the manner of Raphael under -the direction of Michael Angelo, who would fain oppose Raphael on his -own ground by pitting one of his own lieutenants against the reigning -king of art. And so it came to pass that in Del Piombo's indolent -genius Venetian color was blended with Florentine composition and a -something of Raphael's manner in the few pictures which he deigned to -paint, and the sketches were made for him, it is said, by Michael -Angelo himself. - -If you would see the perfection to which the painter attained (armed -as he was with triple power), go to the Louvre and look at the Baccio -Bandinelli portrait; you might place it beside Titian's /Man with a -Glove/, or by that other /Portrait of an Old Man/ in which Raphael's -consummate skill blends with Correggio's art; or, again, compare it -with Leonardo da Vinci's /Charles VIII./, and the picture would -scarcely lose. The four pearls are equal; there is the same lustre and -sheen, the same rounded completeness, the same brilliancy. Art can go -no further than this. Art has risen above Nature, since Nature only -gives her creatures a few brief years of life. - -Pons possessed one example of this immortal great genius and incurably -indolent painter; it was a /Knight of Malta/, a Templar kneeling in -prayer. The picture was painted on slate, and in its unfaded color and -its finish was immeasurably finer than the /Baccio Bandinelli/. - -Fra Bartolommeo was represented by a /Holy Family/, which many -connoisseurs might have taken for a Raphael. The Hobbema would have -fetched sixty thousand francs at a public sale; and as for the Durer, -it was equal to the famous /Holzschuer/ portrait at Nuremberg for -which the kings of Bavaria, Holland, and Prussia have vainly offered -two hundred thousand francs again and again. Was it the portrait of -the wife or the daughter of Holzschuer, Albrecht Durer's personal -friend?--The hypothesis seems to be a certainty, for the attitude of -the figure in Pons' picture suggests that it is meant for a pendant, -the position of the coat-of-arms is the same as in the Nuremberg -portrait; and, finally, the /oetatis suoe XLI./ accords perfectly with -the age inscribed on the picture religiously kept by the Holzschuers -of Nuremberg, and but recently engraved. - -The tears stood in Elie Magus' eyes as he looked from one masterpiece -to another. He turned round to La Cibot, "I will give you a commission -of two thousand francs on each of the pictures if you can arrange that -I shall have them for forty thousand francs," he said. La Cibot was -amazed at this good fortune dropped from the sky. Admiration, or, to -be more accurate, delirious joy, had wrought such havoc in the Jew's -brain, that it had actually unsettled his habitual greed, and he fell -headlong into enthusiasm, as you see. - -"And I?----" put in Remonencq, who knew nothing about pictures. - -"Everything here is equally good," the Jew said cunningly, lowering -his voice for Remonencq's ears; "take ten pictures just as they come -and on the same conditions. Your fortune will be made." - -Again the three thieves looked each other in the face, each one of -them overcome with the keenest of all joys--sated greed. All of a -sudden the sick man's voice rang through the room; the tones vibrated -like the strokes of a bell: - -"Who is there?" called Pons. - -"Monsieur! just go back to bed!" exclaimed La Cibot, springing upon -Pons and dragging him by main force. "What next! Have you a mind to -kill yourself?--Very well, then, it is not Dr. Poulain, it is -Remonencq, good soul, so anxious that he has come to ask after you!-- -Everybody is so fond of you that the whole house is in a flutter. So -what is there to fear?" - -"It seems to me that there are several of you," said Pons. - -"Several? that is good! What next! Are you dreaming!--You will go off -your head before you have done, upon my word!--Here, look!"--and La -Cibot flung open the door, signed to Magus to go, and beckoned to -Remonencq. - -"Well, my dear sir," said the Auvergnat, now supplied with something -to say, "I just came to ask after you, for the whole house is alarmed -about you.--Nobody likes Death to set foot in a house!--And lastly, -Daddy Monistrol, whom you know very well, told me to tell you that if -you wanted money he was at your service----" - -"He sent you here to take a look round at my knick-knacks!" returned -the old collector from his bed; and the sour tones of his voice were -full of suspicion. - -A sufferer from liver complaint nearly always takes momentary and -special dislikes to some person or thing, and concentrates all his -ill-humor upon the object. Pons imagined that some one had designs -upon his precious collection; the thought of guarding it became a -fixed idea with him; Schmucke was continually sent to see if any one -had stolen into the sanctuary. - -"Your collection is fine enough to attract the attention of -/chineurs/," Remonencq answered astutely. "I am not much in the art -line myself; but you are supposed to be such a great connoisseur, sir, -that with my eyes shut--supposing, for instance, that you should need -money some time or other, for nothing costs so much as these -confounded illnesses; there was my sister now, when she would have got -better again just as well without. Doctors are rascals that take -advantage of your condition to--" - -"Thank you, good-day, good-day," broke in Pons, eying the marine -store-dealer uneasily. - -"I will go to the door with him, for fear he should touch something," -La Cibot whispered to her patient. - -"Yes, yes," answered the invalid, thanking her by a glance. - -La Cibot shut the bedroom door behind her, and Pons' suspicions awoke -again at once. - -She found Magus standing motionless before the four pictures. His -immobility, his admiration, can only be understood by other souls open -to ideal beauty, to the ineffable joy of beholding art made perfect; -such as these can stand for whole hours before the /Antiope/-- -Correggio's masterpiece--before Leonardo's /Gioconda/, Titian's -/Mistress/, Andrea del Sarto's /Holy Family/, Domenichino's /Children -Among the Flowers/, Raphael's little cameo, or his /Portrait of an Old -Man/--Art's greatest masterpieces. - -"Be quick and go, and make no noise," said La Cibot. - -The Jew walked slowly backwards, giving the pictures such a farewell -gaze as a lover gives his love. Outside on the landing, La Cibot -tapped his bony arm. His rapt contemplations had put an idea into her -head. - -"Make it /four/ thousand francs for each picture," said she, "or I do -nothing." - -"I am so poor! . . ." began Magus. "I want the pictures simply for -their own sake, simply and solely for the love of art, my dear lady." - -"I can understand that love, sonny, you are so dried up. But if you do -not promise me sixteen thousand francs now, before Remonencq here, I -shall want twenty to-morrow." - -"Sixteen; I promise," returned the Jew, frightened by the woman's -rapacity. - -La Cibot turned to Remonencq. - -"What oath can a Jew swear?" she inquired. - -"You may trust him," replied the marine store-dealer. "He is as honest -as I am." - -"Very well; and you?" asked she, "if I get him to sell them to you, -what will you give me?" - -"Half-share of profits," Remonencq answered briskly. - -"I would rather have a lump sum," returned La Cibot; "I am not in -business myself." - -"You understand business uncommonly well!" put in Elie Magus, smiling; -"a famous saleswoman you would make!" - -"I want her to take me into partnership, me and my goods," said the -Auvergnat, as he took La Cibot's plump arm and gave it playful taps -like hammer-strokes. "I don't ask her to bring anything into the firm -but her good looks! You are making a mistake when your stick to your -Turk of a Cibot and his needle. Is a little bit of a porter the man to -make a woman rich--a fine woman like you? Ah, what a figure you would -make in a shop on the boulevard, all among the curiosities, gossiping -with amateurs and twisting them round your fingers! Just you leave -your lodge as soon as you have lined your purse here, and you shall -see what will become of us both." - -"Lined my purse!" cried Cibot. "I am incapable of taking the worth of -a single pin; you mind that, Remonencq! I am known in the neighborhood -for an honest woman, I am." - -La Cibot's eyes flashed fire. - -"There, never mind," said Elie Magus; "this Auvergnat seems to be too -fond of you to mean to insult you." - -"How she would draw on the customers!" cried the Auvergnat. - -Mme. Cibot softened at this. - -"Be fair, sonnies," quoth she, "and judge for yourselves how I am -placed. These ten years past I have been wearing my life out for these -two old bachelors yonder, and neither or them has given me anything -but words. Remonencq will tell you that I feed them by contract, and -lose twenty or thirty sous a day; all my savings have gone that way, -by the soul of my mother (the only author of my days that I ever -knew), this is as true as that I live, and that this is the light of -day, and may my coffee poison me if I lie about a farthing. Well, -there is one up there that will die soon, eh? and he the richer of the -two that I have treated like my own children. Would you believe it, my -dear sir, I have told him over and over again for days past that he is -at death's door (for Dr. Poulain has given him up), he could not say -less about putting my name down in his will. We shall only get our due -by taking it, upon my word, as an honest woman, for as for trusting to -the next-of-kin!--No fear! There! look you here, words don't stink; it -is a bad world!" - -"That is true," Elie Magus answered cunningly, "that is true; and it -is just the like of us that are among the best," he added, looking at -Remonencq. - -"Just let me be," returned La Cibot; "I am not speaking of you. -'Pressing company is always accepted,' as the old actor said. I swear -to you that the two gentlemen already owe me nearly three thousand -francs; the little I have is gone by now in medicine and things on -their account; and now suppose they refuse to recognize my advances? I -am so stupidly honest that I did not dare to say nothing to them about -it. Now, you that are in business, my dear sir, do you advise me to -got to a lawyer?" - -"A lawyer?" cried Remonencq; "you know more about it than all the -lawyers put together--" - -Just at that moment a sound echoed in the great staircase, a sound as -if some heavy body had fallen in the dining-room. - -"Oh, goodness me!" exclaimed La Cibot; "it seems to me that monsieur -has just taken a ticket for the ground floor." - -She pushed her fellow-conspirators out at the door, and while the pair -descended the stairs with remarkable agility, she ran to the dining- -room, and there beheld Pons, in his shirt, stretched out upon the -tiles. He had fainted. She lifted him as if he had been a feather, -carried him back to his room, laid him in bed, burned feathers under -his nose, bathed his temples with eau-de-cologne, and at last brought -him to consciousness. When she saw his eyes unclose and life return, -she stood over him, hands on hips. - -"No slippers! In your shirt! That is the way to kill yourself! Why do -you suspect me?--If this is to be the way of it, I wish you good-day, -sir. Here have I served you these ten years, I have spent money on you -till my savings are all gone, to spare trouble to that poor M. -Schmucke, crying like a child on the stairs--and /this/ is my reward! -You have been spying on me. God has punished you! It serves you right! -Here I am straining myself to carry you, running the risk of doing -myself a mischief that I shall feel all my days. Oh dear, oh dear! and -the door left open too--" - -"You were talking with some one. Who was it?" - -"Here are notions!" cried La Cibot. "What next! Am I your bond-slave? -Am I to give account of myself to you? Do you know that if you bother -me like this, I shall clear out! You shall take a nurse." - -Frightened by this threat, Pons unwittingly allowed La Cibot to see -the extent of the power of her sword of Damocles. - -"It is my illness!" he pleaded piteously. - -"It is as you please," La Cibot answered roughly. - -She went. Pons, confused, remorseful, admiring his nurse's scalding -devotion, reproached himself for his behavior. The fall on the paved -floor of the dining-room had shaken and bruised him, and aggravated -his illness, but Pons was scarcely conscious of his physical -sufferings. - -La Cibot met Schmucke on the staircase. - -"Come here, sir," she said. "There is bad news, that there is! M. Pons -is going off his head! Just think of it! he got up with nothing on, he -came after me--and down he came full-length. Ask him why--he knows -nothing about it. He is in a bad way. I did nothing to provoke such -violence, unless, perhaps, I waked up ideas by talking to him of his -early amours. Who knows men? Old libertines that they are. I ought not -to have shown him my arms when his eyes were glittering like -/carbuckles/." - -Schmucke listened. Mme. Cibot might have been talking Hebrew for -anything that he understood. - -"I have given myself a wrench that I shall feel all my days," added -she, making as though she were in great pain. (Her arms did, as a -matter of fact, ache a little, and the muscular fatigue suggested an -idea, which she proceeded to turn to profit.) "So stupid I am. When I -saw him lying there on the floor, I just took him up in my arms as if -he had been a child, and carried him back to bed, I did. And I -strained myself, I can feel it now. Ah! how it hurts!--I am going -downstairs. Look after our patient. I will send Cibot for Dr. Poulain. -I had rather die outright than be crippled." - -La Cibot crawled downstairs, clinging to the banisters, and writhing -and groaning so piteously that the tenants, in alarm, came out upon -their landings. Schmucke supported the suffering creature, and told -the story of La Cibot's devotion, the tears running down his cheeks as -he spoke. Before very long the whole house, the whole neighborhood -indeed, had heard of Mme. Cibot's heroism; she had given herself a -dangerous strain, it was said, with lifting one of the "nutcrackers." - -Schmucke meanwhile went to Pons' bedside with the tale. Their factotum -was in a frightful state. "What shall we do without her?" they said, -as they looked at each other; but Pons was so plainly the worse for -his escapade, that Schmucke did not dare to scold him. - -"Gonfounded pric-a-prac! I would sooner purn dem dan loose mein -friend!" he cried, when Pons told him of the cause of the accident. -"To suspect Montame Zipod, dot lend us her safings! It is not goot; -but it is der illness--" - -"Ah! what an illness! I am not the same man, I can feel it," said -Pons. "My dear Schmucke, if only you did not suffer through me!" - -"Scold me," Schmucke answered, "und leaf Montame Zipod in beace." - -As for Mme. Cibot, she soon recovered in Dr. Poulain's hands; and her -restoration, bordering on the miraculous, shed additional lustre on -her name and fame in the Marais. Pons attributed the success to the -excellent constitution of the patient, who resumed her ministrations -seven days later to the great satisfaction of her two gentlemen. Her -influence in their household and her tyranny was increased a hundred- -fold by the accident. In the course of a week, the two nutcrackers ran -into debt; Mme. Cibot paid the outstanding amounts, and took the -opportunity to obtain from Schmucke (how easily!) a receipt for two -thousand francs, which she had lent, she said, to the friends. - -"Oh, what a doctor M. Poulain is!" cried La Cibot, for Pons' benefit. -"He will bring you through, my dear sir, for he pulled me out of my -coffin! Cibot, poor man, thought I was dead. . . . Well, Dr. Poulain -will have told you that while I was in bed I thought of nothing but -you. 'God above,' said I, 'take me, and let my dear Mr. Pons live--' " - -"Poor dear Mme. Cibot, you all but crippled yourself for me." - -"Ah! but for Dr. Poulain I should have been put to bed with a shovel -by now, as we shall all be one day. Well, what must be, must, as the -old actor said. One must take things philosophically. How did you get -on without me?" - -"Schmucke nursed me," said the invalid; "but our poor money-box and -our lessons have suffered. I do not know how he managed." - -"Calm yourself, Bons," exclaimed Schmucke; "ve haf in Zipod ein -panker--" - -"Do not speak of it, my lamb. You are our children, both of you," -cried La Cibot. "Our savings will be well invested; you are safer than -the Bank. So long as we have a morsel of bread, half of it is yours. -It is not worth mentioning--" - -"Boor Montame Zipod!" said Schmucke, and he went. - -Pons said nothing. - -"Would you believe it, my cherub?" said La Cibot, as the sick man -tossed uneasily, "in my agony--for it was a near squeak for me--the -thing that worried me most was the thought that I must leave you -alone, with no one to look after you, and my poor Cibot without a -farthing. . . . My savings are such a trifle, that I only mention them -in connection with my death and Cibot, an angel that he is! No. He -nursed me as if I had been a queen, he did, and cried like a calf over -me! . . . But I counted on you, upon my word. I said to him, 'There, -Cibot! my gentlemen will not let you starve--' " - -Pons made no reply to this thrust /ad testamentum/; but as the -portress waited for him to say something--"I shall recommend you to M. -Schmucke," he said at last. - -"Ah!" cried La Cibot, "whatever you do will be right; I trust in you -and your heart. Let us never talk of this again; you make me feel -ashamed, my cherub. Think of getting better, you will outlive us all -yet." - -Profound uneasiness filled Mme. Cibot's mind. She cast about for some -way of making the sick man understand that she expected a legacy. That -evening, when Schmucke was eating his dinner as usual by Pons' -bedside, she went out, hoping to find Dr. Poulain at home. - -Dr. Poulain lived in the Rue d'Orleans in a small ground floor -establishment, consisting of a lobby, a sitting-room, and two -bedrooms. A closet, opening into the lobby and the bedroom, had been -turned into a study for the doctor. The kitchen, the servant's -bedroom, and a small cellar were situated in a wing of the house, a -huge pile built in the time of the Empire, on the site of an old -mansion of which the garden still remained, though it had been divided -among the three ground floor tenants. - -Nothing had been changed in the doctor's house since it was built. -Paint and paper and ceilings were all redolent of the Empire. The -grimy deposits of forty years lay thick on walls and ceilings, on -paper and paint and mirrors and gilding. And yet, this little -establishment, in the depths of the Marais, paid a rent of a thousand -francs. - -Mme. Poulain, the doctor's mother, aged sixty-seven, was ending her -days in the second bedroom. She worked for a breeches-maker, stitching -men's leggings, breeches, belts, and braces, anything, in fact, that -is made in a way of business which has somewhat fallen off of late -years. Her whole time was spent in keeping her son's house and -superintending the one servant; she never went abroad, and took the -air in the little garden entered through the glass door of the -sitting-room. Twenty years previously, when her husband died, she sold -his business to his best workman, who gave his master's widow work -enough to earn a daily wage of thirty sous. She had made every -sacrifice to educate her son. At all costs, he should occupy a higher -station than his father before him; and now she was proud of her -Aesculapius, she believed in him, and sacrificed everything to him as -before. She was happy to take care of him, to work and put by a little -money, and dream of nothing but his welfare, and love him with an -intelligent love of which every mother is not capable. For instance, -Mme. Poulain remembered that she had been a working girl. She would -not injure her son's prospects; he should not be ashamed by his mother -(for the good woman's grammar was something of the same kind as Mme. -Cibot's); and for this reason she kept in the background, and went to -her room of her own accord if any distinguished patient came to -consult the doctor, or if some old schoolfellow or fellow-student -chanced to call. Dr. Poulain had never had occasion to blush for the -mother whom he revered; and this sublime love of hers more than atoned -for a defective education. - -The breeches-maker's business sold for about twenty thousand francs, -and the widow invested the money in the Funds in 1820. The income of -eleven hundred francs per annum derived from this source was, at one -time, her whole fortune. For many a year the neighbors used to see the -doctor's linen hanging out to dry upon a clothes-line in the garden, -and the servant and Mme. Poulain thriftily washed everything at home; -a piece of domestic economy which did not a little to injure the -doctor's practice, for it was thought that if he was so poor, it must -be through his own fault. Her eleven hundred francs scarcely did more -than pay the rent. During those early days, Mme. Poulain, good, stout, -little old woman, was the breadwinner, and the poor household lived -upon her earnings. After twelve years of perseverance upon a rough and -stony road, Dr. Poulain at last was making an income of three thousand -francs, and Mme. Poulain had an income of about five thousand francs -at her disposal. Five thousand francs for those who know Paris means a -bare subsistence. - -The sitting-room, where patients waited for an interview, was shabbily -furnished. There was the inevitable mahogany sofa covered with yellow- -flowered Utrecht velvet, four easy-chairs, a tea-table, a console, and -half-a-dozen chairs, all the property of the deceased breeches-maker, -and chosen by him. A lyre-shaped clock between two Egyptian -candlesticks still preserved its glass shade intact. You asked -yourself how the yellow chintz window-curtains, covered with red -flowers, had contrived to hang together for so long; for evidently -they had come from the Jouy factory, and Oberkampf received the -Emperor's congratulations upon similar hideous productions of the -cotton industry in 1809. - -The doctor's consulting-room was fitted up in the same style, with -household stuff from the paternal chamber. It looked stiff, poverty- -stricken, and bare. What patient could put faith in the skill of any -unknown doctor who could not even furnish his house? And this in a -time when advertising is all-powerful; when we gild the gas-lamps in -the Place de la Concorde to console the poor man for his poverty by -reminding him that he is rich as a citizen. - -The ante-chamber did duty as a dining-room. The servant sat at her -sewing there whenever she was not busy in the kitchen or keeping the -doctor's mother company. From the dingy short curtains in the windows -you would have guessed at the shabby thrift behind them without -setting foot in the dreary place. What could those wall-cupboards -contain but stale scraps of food, chipped earthenware, corks used over -and over again indefinitely, soiled table-linen, odds and ends that -could descend but one step lower into the dust-heap, and all the -squalid necessities of a pinched household in Paris? - -In these days, when the five-franc piece is always lurking in our -thoughts and intruding itself into our speech, Dr. Poulain, aged -thirty-three, was still a bachelor. Heaven had bestowed on him a -mother with no connections. In ten years he had not met with the -faintest pretext for a romance in his professional career; his -practice lay among clerks and small manufacturers, people in his own -sphere of life, with homes very much like his own. His richer patients -were butchers, bakers, and the more substantial tradespeople of the -neighborhood. These, for the most part, attributed their recovery to -Nature, as an excuse for paying for the services of a medical man, who -came on foot, at the rate of two francs per visit. In his profession, -a carriage is more necessary than medical skill. - -A humdrum monotonous life tells in the end upon the most adventurous -spirit. A man fashions himself to his lot, he accepts a commonplace -existence; and Dr. Poulain, after ten years of his practice, continued -his labors of Sisyphus without the despair that made early days so -bitter. And yet--like every soul in Paris--he cherished a dream. -Remonencq was happy in his dream; La Cibot had a dream of her own; and -Dr. Poulain, too, dreamed. Some day he would be called in to attend a -rich and influential patient, would effect a positive cure, and the -patient would procure a post for him; he would be head surgeon to a -hospital, medical officer of a prison or police-court, or doctor to -the boulevard theatres. He had come by his present appointment as -doctor to the Mairie in this very way. La Cibot had called him in when -the landlord of the house in the Rue de Normandie fell ill; he had -treated the case with complete success; M. Pillerault, the patient, -took an interest in the young doctor, called to thank him, and saw his -carefully-hidden poverty. Count Popinot, the cabinet minister, had -married M. Pillerault's grand-niece, and greatly respected her uncle; -of him, therefore, M. Pillerault had asked for the post, which Poulain -had now held for two years. That appointment and its meagre salary -came just in time to prevent a desperate step; Poulain was thinking of -emigration; and for a Frenchman, it is a kind of death to leave -France. - -Dr. Poulain went, you may be sure, to thank Count Popinot; but as -Count Popinot's family physician was the celebrated Horace Bianchon, -it was pretty clear that his chances of gaining a footing in that -house were something of the slenderest. The poor doctor had fondly -hoped for the patronage of a powerful cabinet minister, one of the -twelve or fifteen cards which a cunning hand has been shuffling for -sixteen years on the green baize of the council table, and now he -dropped back again into his Marais, his old groping life among the -poor and the small tradespeople, with the privilege of issuing -certificates of death for a yearly stipend of twelve hundred francs. - -Dr. Poulain had distinguished himself to some extent as a house- -student; he was a prudent practitioner, and not without experience. -His deaths caused no scandal; he had plenty of opportunities of -studying all kinds of complaints /in anima vili/. Judge, therefore, of -the spleen that he nourished! The expression of his countenance, -lengthy and not too cheerful to begin with, at times was positively -appalling. Set a Tartuffe's all-devouring eyes, and the sour humor of -an Alceste in a sallow-parchment visage, and try to imagine for -yourself the gait, bearing, and expression of a man who thought -himself as good a doctor as the illustrious Bianchon, and felt that he -was held down in his narrow lot by an iron hand. He could not help -comparing his receipts (ten francs a day if he was fortunate) with -Bianchon's five or six hundred. - -Are the hatreds and jealousies of democracy incomprehensible after -this? Ambitious and continually thwarted, he could not reproach -himself. He had once already tried his fortune by inventing a -purgative pill, something like Morrison's, and intrusted the business -operations to an old hospital chum, a house-student who afterwards -took a retail drug business; but, unluckily, the druggist, smitten -with the charms of a ballet-dancer of the Ambigu-Comique, found -himself at length in the bankruptcy court; and as the patent had been -taken out in his name, his partner was literally without a remedy, and -the important discovery enriched the purchaser of the business. The -sometime house-student set sail for Mexico, that land of gold, taking -poor Poulain's little savings with him; and, to add insult to injury, -the opera-dancer treated him as an extortioner when he applied to her -for his money. - -Not a single rich patient had come to him since he had the luck to -cure old M. Pillerault. Poulain made his rounds on foot, scouring the -Marais like a lean cat, and obtained from two to forty sous out of a -score of visits. The paying patient was a phenomenon about as rare as -that anomalous fowl known as a "white blackbird" in all sublunary -regions. - -The briefless barrister, the doctor without a patient, are pre- -eminently the two types of a decorous despair peculiar to this city of -Paris; it is mute, dull despair in human form, dressed in a black coat -and trousers with shining seams that recall the zinc on an attic roof, -a glistening satin waistcoat, a hat preserved like a relic, a pair of -old gloves, and a cotton shirt. The man is the incarnation of a -melancholy poem, sombre as the secrets of the Conciergerie. Other -kinds of poverty, the poverty of the artist--actor, painter, musician, -or poet--are relieved and lightened by the artist's joviality, the -reckless gaiety of the Bohemian border country--the first stage of the -journey to the Thebaid of genius. But these two black-coated -professions that go afoot through the street are brought continually -in contact with disease and dishonor; they see nothing of human nature -but its sores; in the forlorn first stages and beginnings of their -career they eye competitors suspiciously and defiantly; concentrated -dislike and ambition flashes out in glances like the breaking forth of -hidden flames. Let two schoolfellows meet after twenty years, the rich -man will avoid the poor; he does not recognize him, he is afraid even -to glance into the gulf which Fate has set between him and the friend -of other years. The one has been borne through life on the mettlesome -steed called Fortune, or wafted on the golden clouds of success; the -other has been making his way in underground Paris through the sewers, -and bears the marks of his career upon him. How many a chum of old -days turned aside at the sight of the doctor's greatcoat and -waistcoat! - -With this explanation, it should be easy to understand how Dr. Poulain -came to lend himself so readily to the farce of La Cibot's illness and -recovery. Greed of every kind, ambition of every nature, is not easy -to hide. The doctor examined his patient, found that every organ was -sound and healthy, admired the regularity of her pulse and the perfect -ease of her movements; and as she continued to moan aloud, he saw that -for some reason she found it convenient to lie at Death's door. The -speedy cure of a serious imaginary disease was sure to cause a -sensation in the neighborhood; the doctor would be talked about. He -made up his mind at once. He talked of rupture, and of taking it in -time, and thought even worse of the case than La Cibot herself. The -portress was plied with various remedies, and finally underwent a sham -operation, crowned with complete success. Poulain repaired to the -Arsenal Library, looked out a grotesque case in some of Desplein's -records of extraordinary cures, and fitted the details to Mme. Cibot, -modestly attributing the success of the treatment to the great -surgeon, in whose steps (he said) he walked. Such is the impudence of -beginners in Paris. Everything is made to serve as a ladder by which -to climb upon the scene; and as everything, even the rungs of a -ladder, will wear out in time, the new members of every profession are -at a loss to find the right sort of wood of which to make steps for -themselves. - -There are moments when the Parisian is not propitious. He grows tired -of raising pedestals, pouts like a spoiled child, and will have no -more idols; or, to state it more accurately, Paris cannot always find -a proper object for infatuation. Now and then the vein of genius gives -out, and at such times the Parisian may turn supercilious; he is not -always willing to bow down and gild mediocrity. - - - -Mme. Cibot, entering in her usual unceremonious fashion, found the -doctor and his mother at table, before a bowl of lamb's lettuce, the -cheapest of all salad-stuffs. The dessert consisted of a thin wedge of -Brie cheese flanked by a plate of specked foreign apples and a dish of -mixed dry fruits, known as /quatre-mendiants/, in which the raisin -stalks were abundantly conspicuous. - -"You can stay, mother," said the doctor, laying a hand on Mme. -Poulain's arm; "this is Mme. Cibot, of whom I have told you." - -"My respects to you, madame, and my duty to you, sir," said La Cibot, -taking the chair which the doctor offered. "Ah! is this your mother, -sir? She is very happy to have a son who has such talent; he saved my -life, madame, brought me back from the depths." - -The widow, hearing Mme. Cibot praise her son in this way, thought her -a delightful woman. - -"I have just come to tell you, that, between ourselves, poor M. Pons -is doing very badly, sir, and I have something to say to you about -him--" - -"Let us go into the sitting-room," interrupted the doctor, and with a -significant gesture he indicated the servant. - -In the sitting-room La Cibot explained her position with regard to the -pair of nutcrackers at very considerable length. She repeated the -history of her loan with added embellishments, and gave a full account -of the immense services rendered during the past ten years to MM. Pons -and Schmucke. The two old men, to all appearance, could not exist -without her motherly care. She posed as an angel; she told so many -lies, one after another, watering them with her tears, that old Mme. -Poulain was quite touched. - -"You understand, my dear sir," she concluded, "that I really ought to -know how far I can depend on M. Pons' intentions, supposing that he -should not die; not that I want him to die, for looking after those -two innocents is my life, madame, you see; still, when one of them is -gone I shall look after the other. For my own part, I was built by -Nature to rival mothers. Without nobody to care for, nobody to take -for a child, I don't know what I should do. . . . So if M. Poulain -only would, he might do me a service for which I should be very -grateful; and that is, to say a word to M. Pons for me. Goodness me! -an annuity of a thousand francs, is that too much, I ask you? . . . -To. M. Schmucke it would be so much gained.--Our dear patient said -that he should recommend me to the German, poor man; it is his idea, -no doubt, that M. Schmucke should be his heir. But what is a man that -cannot put two ideas together in French? And besides, he would be -quite capable of going back to Germany, he will be in such despair -over his friend's death--" - -The doctor grew grave. "My dear Mme. Cibot," he said, "this sort of -thing does not in the least concern a doctor. I should not be allowed -to exercise my profession if it was known that I interfered in the -matter of my patients' testamentary dispositions. The law forbids a -doctor to receive a legacy from a patient--" - -"A stupid law! What is to hinder me from dividing my legacy with you?" -La Cibot said immediately. - -"I will go further," said the doctor; "my professional conscience will -not permit me to speak to M. Pons of his death. In the first place, he -is not so dangerously ill that there is any need to speak of it, and -in the second, such talk coming from me might give a shock to the -system that would do him real harm, and then his illness might -terminate fatally--" - -"/I/ don't put on gloves to tell him to get his affairs in order," -cried Mme. Cibot, "and he is none the worse for that. He is used to -it. There is nothing to fear." - -"Not a word more about it, my dear Mme. Cibot! These things are not -within a doctor's province; it is a notary's business--" - -"But, my dear M. Poulain, suppose that M. Pons of his own accord -should ask you how he is, and whether he had better make his -arrangements; then, would you refuse to tell him that if you want to -get better it is an excellent plan to set everything in order? Then -you might just slip in a little word for me--" - -"Oh, if /he/ talks of making his will, I certainly shall not dissuade -him," said the doctor. - -"Very well, that is settled. I came to thank you for your care of me," -she added, as she slipped a folded paper containing three gold coins -into the doctor's hands. "It is all I can do at the moment. Ah! my -dear M. Poulain, if I were rich, you should be rich, you that are the -image of Providence on earth.--Madame, you have an angel for a son." - -La Cibot rose to her feet, Mme. Poulain bowed amiably, and the doctor -went to the door with the visitor. Just then a sudden, lurid gleam of -light flashed across the mind of this Lady Macbeth of the streets. She -saw clearly that the doctor was her accomplice--he had taken the fee -for the sham illness. - -"M. Poulain," she began, "how can you refuse to say a word or two to -save me from want, when you helped me in the affair of my accident?" - -The doctor felt that the devil had him by the hair, as the saying is; -he felt, too, that the hair was being twisted round the pitiless red -claw. Startled and afraid lest he should sell his honesty for such a -trifle, he answered the diabolical suggestion by another no less -diabolical. - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot," he said, as he drew her into his -consulting-room. "I will now pay a debt of gratitude that I owe you -for my appointment to the mairie--" - -"We go shares?" she asked briskly. - -"In what?" - -"In the legacy." - -"You do not know me," said Dr. Poulain, drawing himself up like -Valerius Publicola. "Let us have no more of that. I have a friend, an -old schoolfellow of mine, a very intelligent young fellow; and we are -so much the more intimate, because, our lives have fallen out very -much in the same way. He was studying law while I was a house-student, -he was engrossing deeds in Maitre Couture's office. His father was a -shoemaker, and mine was a breeches-maker; he has not found anyone to -take much interest in his career, nor has he any capital; for, after -all, capital is only to be had from sympathizers. He could only afford -to buy a provincial connection--at Mantes--and so little do -provincials understand the Parisian intellect, that they set all sorts -of intrigues on foot against him." - -"The wretches!" cried La Cibot. - -"Yes, said the doctor. "They combined against him to such purpose, -that they forced him to sell his connection by misrepresenting -something that he had done; the attorney for the crown interfered, he -belonged to the place, and sided with his fellow-townsmen. My friend's -name is Fraisier. He is lodged as I am, and he is even leaner and more -threadbare. He took refuge in our arrondissement, and is reduced to -appear for clients in the police-court or before the magistrate. He -lives in the Rue de la Perle close by. Go to No. 9, third floor, and -you will see his name on the door on the landing, painted in gilt -letters on a small square of red leather. Fraisier makes a special -point of disputes among the porters, workmen, and poor folk in the -arrondissement, and his charges are low. He is an honest man; for I -need not tell you that if he had been a scamp, he would be keeping his -carriage by now. I will call and see my friend Fraisier this evening. -Go to him early to-morrow; he knows M. Louchard, the bailiff; M. -Tabareau, the clerk of the court; and the justice of the peace, M. -Vitel; and M. Trognon, the notary. He is even now looked upon as one -of the best men of business in the Quarter. If he takes charge of your -interests, if you can secure him as M. Pons' adviser, you will have a -second self in him, you see. But do not make dishonorable proposals to -him, as you did just now to me; he has a head on his shoulders, you -will understand each other. And as for acknowledging his services, I -will be your intermediary--" - -Mme. Cibot looked askance at the doctor. - -"Is that the lawyer who helped Mme. Florimond the haberdasher in the -Rue Vieille-du-Temple out of a fix in that matter of her friend's -legacy?" - -"The very same." - -"Wasn't it a shame that she did not marry him after he had gained two -thousand francs a year for her?" exclaimed La Cibot. "And she thought -to clear off scores by making him a present of a dozen shirts and a -couple of dozen pocket-handkerchiefs; an outfit, in short." - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, that outfit cost a thousand francs, and Fraisier -was just setting up for himself in the Quarter, and wanted the things -very badly. And what was more, she paid the bill without asking any -questions. That affair brought him clients, and now he is very busy; -but in my line a practice brings--" - -"It is only the righteous that suffer here below," said La Cibot. -"Well, M. Poulain, good-day and thank you." - -And herewith begins the tragedy, or, if you like to have it so, a -terrible comedy--the death of an old bachelor delivered over by -circumstances too strong for him to the rapacity and greed that -gathered about his bed. And other forces came to the support of -rapacity and greed; there was the picture collector's mania, that most -intense of all passions; there was the cupidity of the Sieur Fraisier, -whom you shall presently behold in his den, a sight to make you -shudder; and lastly, there was the Auvergnat thirsting for money, -ready for anything--even for a crime--that should bring him the -capital he wanted. The first part of the story serves in some sort as -a prelude to this comedy in which all the actors who have hitherto -occupied the stage will reappear. - -The degradation of a word is one of those curious freaks of manners -upon which whole volumes of explanation might be written. Write to an -attorney and address him as "Lawyer So-and-so," and you insult him as -surely as you would insult a wholesale colonial produce merchant by -addressing your letter to "Mr. So-and-so, Grocer." There are plenty of -men of the world who ought to be aware, since the knowledge of such -subtle distinctions is their province, that you cannot insult a French -writer more cruelly than by calling him /un homme de lettres/--a -literary man. The word /monsieur/ is a capital example of the life and -death of words. Abbreviated from monseigneur, once so considerable a -title, and even now, in the form of /sire/, reserved for emperors and -kings, it is bestowed indifferently upon all and sundry; while the -twin-word /messire/, which is nothing but its double and equivalent, -if by any chance it slips into a certificate of burial, produces an -outcry in the Republican papers. - -Magistrates, councillors, jurisconsults, judges, barristers, officers -for the crown, bailiffs, attorneys, clerks of the court, procurators, -solicitors, and agents of various kinds, represent or misrepresent -Justice. The "lawyer" and the bailiff's men (commonly called "the -brokers") are the two lowest rungs of the ladder. Now, the bailiff's -man is an outsider, an adventitious minister of justice, appearing to -see that judgment is executed; he is, in fact, a kind of inferior -executioner employed by the county court. But the word "lawyer" (homme -de loi) is a depreciatory term applied to the legal profession. -Consuming professional jealousy finds similar disparaging epithets for -fellow-travelers in every walk of life, and every calling has its -special insult. The scorn flung into the words /homme de loi, homme de -lettres/, is wanting in the plural form, which may be used without -offence; but in Paris every profession, learned or unlearned, has its -/omega/, the individual who brings it down to the level of the lowest -class; and the written law has its connecting link with the custom -right of the streets. There are districts where the pettifogging man -of business, known as Lawyer So-and-So, is still to be found. M. -Fraisier was to the member of the Incorporated Law Society as the -money-lender of the Halles, offering small loans for a short period at -an exorbitant interest, is to the great capitalist. - -Working people, strange to say are as shy of officials as of -fashionable restaurants, they take advice from irregular sources as -they turn into a little wineshop to drink. Each rank in life finds its -own level, and there abides. None but a chosen few care to climb the -heights, few can feel at ease in the presence of their betters, or -take their place among them, like a Beaumarchais letting fall the -watch of the great lord who tried to humiliate him. And if there are -few who can even rise to a higher social level, those among them who -can throw off their swaddling-clothes are rare and great exceptions. - - - -At six o'clock the next morning Mme. Cibot stood in the Rue de la -Perle; she was making a survey of the abode of her future adviser, -Lawyer Fraisier. The house was one of the old-fashioned kind formerly -inhabited by small tradespeople and citizens with small means. A -cabinetmaker's shop occupied almost the whole of the ground floor, as -well as the little yard behind, which was covered with his workshops -and warehouses; the small remaining space being taken up by the -porter's lodge and the passage entry in the middle. The staircase -walls were half rotten with damp and covered with saltpetre to such a -degree that the house seemed to be stricken with leprosy. - -Mme. Cibot went straight to the porter's lodge, and there encountered -one of the fraternity, a shoemaker, his wife, and two small children, -all housed in a room ten feet square, lighted from the yard at the -back. La Cibot mentioned her profession, named herself, and spoke of -her house in the Rue de Normandie, and the two women were on cordial -terms at once. After a quarter of an hour spent in gossip while the -shoemaker's wife made breakfast ready for her husband and the -children, Mme. Cibot turned the conversation to the subject of the -lodgers, and spoke of the lawyer. - -"I have come to see him on business," she said. "One of his friends, -Dr. Poulain, recommended me to him. Do you know Dr. Poulain?" - -"I should think I do," said the lady of the Rue de la Perle. "He saved -my little girl's life when she had the croup." - -"He saved my life, too, madame. What sort of a man is this M. -Fraisier?" - -"He is the sort of man, my dear lady, out of whom it is very difficult -to get the postage-money at the end of the month." - -To a person of La Cibot's intelligence this was enough. - -"One may be poor and honest," observed she. - -"I am sure I hope so," returned Fraisier's portress. "We are not -rolling in coppers, let alone gold or silver; but we have not a -farthing belonging to anybody else." - -This sort of talk sounded familiar to La Cibot. - -"In short, one can trust him, child, eh?" - -"Lord! when M. Fraisier means well by any one, there is not his like, -so I have heard Mme. Florimond say." - -"And why didn't she marry him when she owed her fortune to him?" La -Cibot asked quickly. "It is something for a little haberdasher, kept -by an old man, to be a barrister's wife--" - -"Why?--" asked the portress, bringing Mme. Cibot out into the passage. -"Why?--You are going to see him, are you not, madame?--Very well, when -you are in his office you will know why." - -From the state of the staircase, lighted by sash-windows on the side -of the yard, it was pretty evident that the inmates of the house, with -the exception of the landlord and M. Fraisier himself, were all -workmen. There were traces of various crafts in the deposit of mud -upon the steps--brass-filings, broken buttons, scraps of gauze, and -esparto grass lay scattered about. The walls of the upper stories were -covered with apprentices' ribald scrawls and caricatures. The -portress' last remark had roused La Cibot's curiosity; she decided, -not unnaturally, that she would consult Dr. Poulain's friend; but as -for employing him, that must depend upon her impressions. - -"I sometimes wonder how Mme. Sauvage can stop in his service," said -the portress, by way of comment; she was following in Mme. Cibot's -wake. "I will come up with you, madame" she added; "I am taking the -milk and the newspaper up to my landlord." - -Arrived on the second floor above the entresol, La Cibot beheld a door -of the most villainous description. The doubtful red paint was coated -for seven or eight inches round the keyhole with a filthy glaze, a -grimy deposit from which the modern house-decorator endeavors to -protect the doors of more elegant apartments by glass "finger-plates." -A grating, almost stopped up with some compound similar to the deposit -with which a restaurant-keeper gives an air of cellar-bound antiquity -to a merely middle-aged bottle, only served to heighten the general -resemblance to a prison door; a resemblance further heightened by the -trefoil-shaped iron-work, the formidable hinges, the clumsy nail- -heads. A miser, or a pamphleteer at strife with the world at large, -must surely have invented these fortifications. A leaden sink, which -received the waste water of the household, contributed its quota to -the fetid atmosphere of the staircase, and the ceiling was covered -with fantastic arabesques traced by candle-smoke--such arabesques! On -pulling a greasy acorn tassel attached to the bell-rope, a little bell -jangled feebly somewhere within, complaining of the fissure in its -metal sides. - -Every detail was in keeping with the general dismal effect. La Cibot -heard a heavy footstep, and the asthmatic wheezing of a virago within, -and Mme. Sauvage presently showed herself. Adrien Brauwer might have -painted just such a hag for his picture of /Witches starting for the -Sabbath/; a stout, unwholesome slattern, five feet six inches in -height, with a grenadier countenance and a beard which far surpassed -La Cibot's own; she wore a cheap, hideously ugly cotton gown, a -bandana handkerchief knotted over hair which she still continued to -put in curl papers (using for that purpose the printed circulars which -her master received), and a huge pair of gold earrings like cart- -wheels in her ears. This female Cerberus carried a battered skillet in -one hand, and opening the door, set free an imprisoned odor of -scorched milk--a nauseous and penetrating smell, that lost itself at -once, however, among the fumes outside. - -"What can I do for you, missus?" demanded Mme. Sauvage, and with a -truculent air she looked La Cibot over; evidently she was of the -opinion that the visitor was too well dressed, and her eyes looked the -more murderous because they were naturally bloodshot. - -"I have come to see M. Fraisier; his friend, Dr. Poulain, sent me." - -"Oh! come in, missus," said La Sauvage, grown very amiable of a -sudden, which proves that she was prepared for this morning visit. - -With a sweeping courtesy, the stalwart woman flung open the door of a -private office, which looked upon the street, and discovered the ex- -attorney of Mantes. - -The room was a complete picture of a third-rate solicitor's office; -with the stained wooden cases, the letter-files so old that they had -grown beards (in ecclesiastical language), the red tape dangling limp -and dejected, the pasteboard boxes covered with traces of the gambols -of mice, the dirty floor, the ceiling tawny with smoke. A frugal -allowance of wood was smouldering on a couple of fire-dogs on the -hearth. And on the chimney-piece above stood a foggy mirror and a -modern clock with an inlaid wooden case; Fraisier had picked it up at -an execution sale, together with the tawdry imitation rococo -candlesticks, with the zinc beneath showing through the lacquer in -several places. - -M. Fraisier was small, thin, and unwholesome looking; his red face, -covered with an eruption, told of tainted blood; and he had, moreover, -a trick of continually scratching his right arm. A wig pushed to the -back of his head displayed a brick-colored cranium of ominous -conformation. This person rose from a cane-seated armchair, in which -he sat on a green leather cushion, assumed an agreeable expression, -and brought forward a chair. - -"Mme. Cibot, I believe?" queried he, in dulcet tones. - -"Yes, sir," answered the portress. She had lost her habitual -assurance. - -Something in the tones of a voice which strongly resembled the sounds -of the little door-bell, something in a glance even sharper than the -sharp green eyes of her future legal adviser, scared Mme. Cibot. -Fraisier's presence so pervaded the room, that any one might have -thought there was pestilence in the air; and in a flash Mme. Cibot -understood why Mme. Florimond had not become Mme. Fraisier. - -"Poulain told me about you, my dear madame," said the lawyer, in the -unnatural fashion commonly described by the words "mincing tones"; -tones sharp, thin, and grating as verjuice, in spite of all his -efforts. - -Arrived at this point, he tried to draw the skirts of his dressing- -gown over a pair of angular knees encased in threadbare felt. The robe -was an ancient printed cotton garment, lined with wadding which took -the liberty of protruding itself through various slits in it here and -there; the weight of this lining had pulled the skirts aside, -disclosing a dingy-hued flannel waistcoat beneath. With something of a -coxcomb's manner, Fraisier fastened this refractory article of dress, -tightening the girdle to define his reedy figure; then with a blow of -the tongs, he effected a reconciliation between two burning brands -that had long avoided one another, like brothers after a family -quarrel. A sudden bright idea struck him, and he rose from his chair. - -"Mme. Sauvage!" called he. - -"Well?" - -"I am not at home to anybody!" - -"Eh! bless your life, there's no need to say that!" - -"She is my old nurse," the lawyer said in some confusion. - -"And she has not recovered her figure yet," remarked the heroine of -the Halles. - -Fraisier laughed, and drew the bolt lest his housekeeper should -interrupt Mme. Cibot's confidences. - -"Well, madame, explain your business," said he, making another effort -to drape himself in the dressing-gown. "Any one recommended to me by -the only friend I have in the world may count upon me--I may say-- -absolutely." - -For half an hour Mme. Cibot talked, and the man of law made no -interruption of any sort; his face wore the expression of curious -interest with which a young soldier listens to a pensioner of "The Old -Guard." Fraisier's silence and acquiescence, the rapt attention with -which he appeared to listen to a torrent of gossip similar to the -samples previously given, dispelled some of the prejudices inspired in -La Cibot's mind by his squalid surroundings. The little lawyer with -the black-speckled green eyes was in reality making a study of his -client. When at length she came to a stand and looked to him to speak, -he was seized with a fit of the complaint known as a "churchyard -cough," and had recourse to an earthenware basin half full of herb -tea, which he drained. - -"But for Poulain, my dear madame, I should have been dead before -this," said Fraisier, by way of answer to the portress' look of -motherly compassion; "but he will bring me round, he says--" - -As all the client's confidences appeared to have slipped from the -memory of her legal adviser, she began to cast about for a way of -taking leave of a man so apparently near death. - -"In an affair of this kind, madame," continued the attorney from -Mantes, suddenly returning to business, "there are two things which it -is most important to know. In the first place, whether the property is -sufficient to be worth troubling about; and in the second, who the -next-of-kin may be; for if the property is the booty, the next-of-kin -is the enemy." - -La Cibot immediately began to talk of Remonencq and Elie Magus, and -said that the shrewd couple valued the pictures at six hundred -thousand francs. - -"Would they take them themselves at that price?" inquired the lawyer. -"You see, madame, that men of business are shy of pictures. A picture -may mean a piece of canvas worth a couple of francs or a painting -worth two hundred thousand. Now, paintings worth two hundred thousand -francs are usually well known; and what errors in judgment people make -in estimating even the most famous pictures of all! There was once a -great capitalist whose collection was admired, visited, and engraved-- -actually engraved! He was supposed to have spent millions of francs on -it. He died, as men must, and--well, his /genuine/ pictures did not -fetch more than two hundred thousand francs! You must let me see these -gentlemen.--Now for the next-of-kin," and Fraisier again relapsed into -his attitude of listener. - -When President Camusot's name came up, he nodded with a grimace which -riveted Mme. Cibot's attention. She tried to read the forehead and the -villainous face, and found what is called in business a "wooden head." - -"Yes, my dear sir," repeated La Cibot. "Yes, my M. Pons is own cousin -to President Camusot de Marville; he tells me that ten times a day. M. -Camusot the silk mercer was married twice--" - -"He that has just been nominated for a peer of France?--" - -"And his first wife was a Mlle. Pons, M. Pons' first cousin." - -"Then they are first cousins once removed--" - -"They are 'not cousins.' They have quarreled." - -It may be remembered that before M. Camusot de Marville came to Paris, -he was President of the Tribunal of Mantes for five years; and not -only was his name still remembered there, but he had kept up a -correspondence with Mantes. Camusot's immediate successor, the judge -with whom he had been most intimate during his term of office, was -still President of the Tribunal, and consequently knew all about -Fraisier. - -"Do you know, madame," Fraisier said, when at last the red sluices of -La Cibot's torrent tongue were closed, "do you know that your -principal enemy will be a man who can send you to the scaffold?" - -The portress started on her chair, making a sudden spring like a jack- -in-the-box. - -"Calm yourself, dear madame," continued Fraisier. "You may not have -known the name of the President of the Chamber of Indictments at the -Court of Appeal in Paris; but you ought to have known that M. Pons -must have an heir-at-law. M. le President de Marville is your -invalid's sole heir; but as he is a collateral in the third degree, M. -Pons is entitled by law to leave his fortune as he pleases. You are -not aware either that, six weeks ago at least, M. le President's -daughter married the eldest son of M. le Comte Popinot, peer of -France, once Minister of Agriculture, and President of the Board of -Trade, one of the most influential politicians of the day. President -de Marville is even more formidable through this marriage than in his -own quality of head of the Court of Assize." - -At that word La Cibot shuddered. - -"Yes, and it is he who sends you there," continued Fraisier. "Ah! my -dear madame, you little know what a red robe means! It is bad enough -to have a plain black gown against you! You see me here, ruined, bald, -broken in health--all because, unwittingly, I crossed a mere attorney -for the crown in the provinces. I was forced to sell my connection at -a loss, and very lucky I was to come off with the loss of my money. If -I had tried to stand out, my professional position would have gone as -well. - -"One thing more you do not know," he continued, "and this it is. If -you had only to do with President Camusot himself, it would be -nothing; but he has a wife, mind you!--and if you ever find yourself -face to face with that wife, you will shake in your shoes as if you -were on the first step of the scaffold, your hair will stand on end. -The Presidente is so vindictive that she would spend ten years over -setting a trap to kill you. She sets that husband of hers spinning -like a top. Through her a charming young fellow committed suicide at -the Conciergerie. A count was accused of forgery--she made his -character as white as snow. She all but drove a person of the highest -quality from the Court of Charles X. Finally, she displaced the -Attorney-General, M. de Granville--" - -"That lived in the Rue Vieille-du-Temple, at the corner of the Rue -Saint-Francois?" - -"The very same. They say that she means to make her husband Home -Secretary, and I do not know that she will not gain her end.--If she -were to take it into her head to send us both to the Criminal Court -first and the hulks afterwards--I should apply for a passport and set -sail for America, though I am as innocent as a new-born babe. So well -I know what justice means. Now, see here, my dear Mme. Cibot; to marry -her only daughter to young Vicomte Popinot (heir to M. Pillerault, -your landlord, it is said)--to make that match, she stripped herself -of her whole fortune, so much so that the President and his wife have -nothing at this moment except his official salary. Can you suppose, my -dear madame, that under the circumstances Mme. la Presidente will let -M. Pons' property go out of the family without a word?--Why, I would -sooner face guns loaded with grape-shot than have such a woman for my -enemy--" - -"But they have quarreled," put in La Cibot. - -"What has that got to do with it?" asked Fraisier. "It is one reason -the more for fearing her. To kill a relative of whom you are tired, is -something; but to inherit his property afterwards--that is a real -pleasure!" - -"But the old gentleman has a horror of his relatives. He says over and -over again that these people--M. Cardot, M. Berthier, and the rest of -them (I can't remember their names)--have crushed him as a tumbril -cart crushes an egg--" - -"Have you a mind to be crushed too?" - -"Oh dear! oh dear!" cried La Cibot. "Ah! Ma'am Fontaine was right when -she said that I should meet with difficulties: still, she said that I -should succeed--" - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot.--As for making some thirty thousand -francs out of this business--that is possible; but for the whole of -the property, it is useless to think of it. We talked over your case -yesterday evening, Dr. Poulain and I--" - -La Cibot started again. - -"Well, what is the matter?" - -"But if you knew about the affair, why did you let me chatter away -like a magpie?" - -"Mme. Cibot, I knew all about your business, but I knew nothing of -Mme. Cibot. So many clients, so many characters--" - -Mme. Cibot gave her legal adviser a queer look at this; all her -suspicions gleamed in her eyes. Fraisier saw this. - -"I resume," he continued. "So, our friend Poulain was once called in -by you to attend old M. Pillerault, the Countess Popinot's great- -uncle; that is one of your claims to my devotion. Poulain goes to see -your landlord (mark this!) once a fortnight; he learned all these -particulars from him. M. Pillerault was present at his grand-nephew's -wedding--for he is an uncle with money to leave; he has an income of -fifteen thousand francs, though he has lived like a hermit for the -last five-and-twenty years, and scarcely spends a thousand crowns-- -well, /he/ told Poulain all about this marriage. It seems that your -old musician was precisely the cause of the row; he tried to disgrace -his own family by way of revenge.--If you only hear one bell, you only -hear one sound.--Your invalid says that he meant no harm, but -everybody thinks him a monster of--" - -"And it would not astonish me if he was!" cried La Cibot. "Just -imagine it!--For these ten years past I have been money out of pocket -for him, spending my savings on him, and he knows it, and yet he will -not let me lie down to sleep on a legacy!--No, sir! he will /not/. He -is obstinate, a regular mule he is.--I have talked to him these ten -days, and the cross-grained cur won't stir no more than a sign-post. -He shuts his teeth and looks at me like--The most that he would say -was that he would recommend me to M. Schmucke." - -"Then he means to make his will in favor of this Schmucke?" - -"Everything will go to him--" - -"Listen, my dear Mme. Cibot, if I am to arrive at any definite -conclusions and think of a plan, I must know M. Schmucke. I must see -the property and have some talk with this Jew of whom you speak; and -then, let me direct you--" - -"We shall see, M. Fraisier." - -"What is this? 'We shall see?' " repeated Fraisier, speaking in the -voice natural to him, as he gave La Cibot a viperous glance. "Am I -your legal adviser or am I not, I say? Let us know exactly where we -stand." - -La Cibot felt that he read her thoughts. A cold chill ran down her -back. - -"I have told you all I know," she said. She saw that she was at the -tiger's mercy. - -"We attorneys are accustomed to treachery. Just think carefully over -your position; it is superb.--If you follow my advice point by point, -you will have thirty or forty thousand francs. But there is a reverse -side to this beautiful medal. How if the Presidente comes to hear that -M. Pons' property is worth a million of francs, and that you mean to -have a bit out of it?--for there is always somebody ready to take that -kind of errand--" he added parenthetically. - -This remark, and the little pause that came before and after it, sent -another shudder through La Cibot. She thought at once that Fraisier -himself would probably undertake that office. - -"And then, my dear client, in ten minutes old Pillerault is asked to -dismiss you, and then on a couple of hours' notice--" - -"What does that matter to me?" said La Cibot, rising to her feet like -a Bellona; "I shall stay with the gentlemen as their housekeeper." - -"And then, a trap will be set for you, and some fine morning you and -your husband will wake up in a prison cell, to be tried for your -lives--" - -"/I?/" cried La Cibot, "I that have not a farthing that doesn't belong -to me? . . . /I!/ . . . /I!/" - -For five minutes she held forth, and Fraisier watched the great artist -before him as she executed a concerto of self-praise. He was quite -untouched, and even amused by the performance. His keen glances -pricked La Cibot like stilettos; he chuckled inwardly, till his -shrunken wig was shaking with laughter. He was a Robespierre at an age -when the Sylla of France was make couplets. - -"And how? and why? And on what pretext?" demanded she, when she had -come to an end. - -"You wish to know how you may come to the guillotine?" - -La Cibot turned pale as death at the words; the words fell like a -knife upon her neck. She stared wildly at Fraisier. - -"Listen to me, my dear child," began Fraisier, suppressing his inward -satisfaction at his client's discomfiture. - -"I would sooner leave things as they are--" murmured La Cibot, and she -rose to go. - -"Stay," Fraisier said imperiously. "You ought to know the risks that -you are running; I am bound to give you the benefit of my lights.--You -are dismissed by M. Pillerault, we will say; there is no doubt about -that, is there? You enter the service of these two gentlemen. Very -good! That is a declaration of war against the Presidente. You mean to -do everything you can to gain possession of the property, and to get a -slice of it at any rate-- - -"Oh, I am not blaming you," Fraisier continued, in answer to a gesture -from his client. "It is not my place to do so. This is a battle, and -you will be led on further than you think for. One grows full of one's -ideas, one hits hard--" - -Another gesture of denial. This time La Cibot tossed her head. - -"There, there, old lady," said Fraisier, with odious familiarity, "you -will go a very long way!--" - -"You take me for a thief, I suppose?" - -"Come, now, mamma, you hold a receipt in M. Schmucke's hand which did -not cost you much.--Ah! you are in the confessional, my lady! Don't -deceive your confessor, especially when the confessor has the power of -reading your thoughts." - -La Cibot was dismayed by the man's perspicacity; now she knew why he -had listened to her so intently. - -"Very good," continued he, "you can admit at once that the Presidente -will not allow you to pass her in the race for the property.--You will -be watched and spied upon.--You get your name into M. Pons' will; -nothing could be better. But some fine day the law steps in, arsenic -is found in a glass, and you and your husband are arrested, tried, and -condemned for attempting the life of the Sieur Pons, so as to come by -your legacy. I once defended a poor woman at Versailles; she was in -reality as innocent as you would be in such a case. Things were as I -have told you, and all that I could do was to save her life. The -unhappy creature was sentenced to twenty years' penal servitude. She -is working out her time now at St. Lazare." - -Mme. Cibot's terror grew to the highest pitch. She grew paler and -paler, staring at the little, thin man with the green eyes, as some -wretched Moor, accused of adhering to her own religion, might gaze at -the inquisitor who doomed her to the stake. - -"Then, do you tell me, that if I leave you to act, and put my -interests in your hands, I shall get something without fear?" - -"I guarantee you thirty thousand francs," said Fraisier, speaking like -a man sure of the fact. - -"After all, you know how fond I am of dear Dr. Poulain," she began -again in her most coaxing tones; "he told me to come to you, worthy -man, and he did not send me here to be told that I shall be -guillotined for poisoning some one." - -The thought of the guillotine so moved her that she burst into tears, -her nerves were shaken, terror clutched at her heart, she lost her -head. Fraisier gloated over his triumph. When he saw his client -hesitate, he thought that he had lost his chance; he had set himself -to frighten and quell La Cibot till she was completely in his power, -bound hand and foot. She had walked into his study as a fly walks into -a spider's web; there she was doomed to remain, entangled in the toils -of the little lawyer who meant to feed upon her. Out of this bit of -business, indeed, Fraisier meant to gain the living of old days; -comfort, competence, and consideration. He and his friend Dr. Poulain -had spent the whole previous evening in a microscopic examination of -the case; they had made mature deliberations. The doctor described -Schmucke for his friend's benefit, and the alert pair had plumbed all -hypotheses and scrutinized all risks and resources, till Fraisier, -exultant, cried aloud, "Both our fortunes lie in this!" He had gone so -far as to promise Poulain a hospital, and as for himself, he meant to -be justice of the peace of an arrondissement. - -To be a justice of the peace! For this man with his abundant capacity, -for this doctor of law without a pair of socks to his name, the dream -was a hippogriff so restive, that he thought of it as a deputy- -advocate thinks of the silk gown, as an Italian priest thinks of the -tiara. It was indeed a wild dream! - -M. Vitel, the justice of the peace before whom Fraisier pleaded, was a -man of sixty-nine, in failing health; he talked of retiring on a -pension; and Fraisier used to talk with Poulain of succeeding him, -much as Poulain talked of saving the life of some rich heiress and -marrying her afterwards. No one knows how greedily every post in the -gift of authority is sought after in Paris. Every one wants to live in -Paris. If a stamp or tobacco license falls in, a hundred women rise up -as one and stir all their friends to obtain it. Any vacancy in the -ranks of the twenty-four collectors of taxes sends a flood of -ambitious folk surging in upon the Chamber of Deputies. Decisions are -made in committee, all appointments are made by the Government. Now -the salary of a justice of the peace, the lowest stipendiary -magistrate in Paris, is about six thousand francs. The post of -registrar to the court is worth a hundred thousand francs. Few places -are more coveted in the administration. Fraisier, as a justice of the -peace, with the head physician of a hospital for his friend, would -make a rich marriage himself and a good match for Dr. Poulain. Each -would lend a hand to each. - -Night set its leaden seal upon the plans made by the sometime attorney -of Mantes, and a formidable scheme sprouted up, a flourishing scheme, -fertile in harvests of gain and intrigue. La Cibot was the hinge upon -which the whole matter turned; and for this reason, any rebellion on -the part of the instrument must be at once put down; such action on -her part was quite unexpected; but Fraisier had put forth all the -strength of his rancorous nature, and the audacious portress lay -trampled under his feet. - -"Come, reassure yourself, my dear madame," he remarked, holding out -his hand. The touch of the cold, serpent-like skin made a terrible -impression upon the portress. It brought about something like a -physical reaction, which checked her emotion; Mme. Fontaine's toad, -Astaroth, seemed to her to be less deadly than this poison-sac that -wore a sandy wig and spoke in tones like the creaking of a hinge. - -"Do not imagine that I am frightening you to no purpose," Fraisier -continued. (La Cibot's feeling of repulsion had not escaped him.) "The -affairs which made Mme. la Presidente's dreadful reputation are so -well known at the law-courts, that you can make inquiries there if you -like. The great person who was all but sent into a lunatic asylum was -the Marquis d'Espard. The Marquis d'Esgrignon was saved from the -hulks. The handsome young man with wealth and a great future before -him, who was to have married a daughter of one of the first families -of France, and hanged himself in a cell of the Conciergerie, was the -celebrated Lucien de Rubempre; the affair made a great deal of noise -in Paris at the time. That was a question of a will. His mistress, the -notorious Esther, died and left him several millions, and they accused -the young fellow of poisoning her. He was not even in Paris at the -time of her death, nor did he so much as know the woman had left the -money to him!--One cannot well be more innocent than that! Well, after -M. Camusot examined him, he hanged himself in his cell. Law, like -medicine, has its victims. In the first case, one man suffers for the -many, and in the second, he dies for science," he added, and an ugly -smile stole over his lips. "Well, I know the risks myself, you see; -poor and obscure little attorney as I am, the law has been the ruin of -me. My experience was dearly bought--it is all at your service." - -"Thank you, no," said La Cibot; "I will have nothing to do with it, -upon my word! . . . I shall have nourished ingratitude, that is all! I -want nothing but my due; I have thirty years of honesty behind me, -sir. M. Pons says that he will recommend me to his friend Schmucke; -well and good, I shall end my days in peace with the German, good -man." - -Fraisier had overshot his mark. He had discouraged La Cibot. Now he -was obliged to remove these unpleasant impressions. - -"Do not let us give up," he said; "just go away quietly home. Come, -now, we will steer the affair to a good end." - -"But what about my /rentes/, what am I to do to get them, and--" - -"And feel no remorse?" he interrupted quickly. "Eh! it is precisely -for that that men of business were invented; unless you keep within -the law, you get nothing. You know nothing of law; I know a good deal. -I will see that you keep on the right side of it, and you can hold -your own in all men's sight. As for your conscience, that is your own -affair." - -"Very well, tell me how to do it," returned La Cibot, curious and -delighted. - -"I do not know how yet. I have not looked at the strong points of the -case yet; I have been busy with the obstacles. But the first thing to -be done is to urge him to make a will; you cannot go wrong over that; -and find out, first of all, how Pons means to leave his fortune; for -if you were his heir--" - -"No, no; he does not like me. Ah! if I had but known the value of his -gimcracks, and if I had known what I know now about his amours, I -should be easy in my mind this day--" - -"Keep on, in fact," broke in Fraisier. "Dying folk have queer fancies, -my dear madame; they disappoint hopes many a time. Let him make his -will, and then we shall see. And of all things, the property must be -valued. So I must see this Remonencq and the Jew; they will be very -useful to us. Put entire confidence in me, I am at your disposal. When -a client is a friend to me, I am his friend through thick and thin. -Friend or enemy, that is my character." - -"Very well," said La Cibot, "I am yours entirely; and as for fees, M. -Poulain--" - -"Let us say nothing about that," said Fraisier. "Think how you can -keep Poulain at the bedside; he is one of the most upright and -conscientious men I know; and, you see, we want some one there whom we -can trust. Poulain would do better than I; I have lost my character." - -"You look as if you had," said La Cibot; "but, for my own part, I -should trust you." - -"And you would do well. Come to see me whenever anything happens, and ---there!--you are an intelligent woman; all will go well." - -"Good-day, M. Fraisier. I hope you will recover your health. Your -servant, sir." - -Fraisier went to the door with his client. But this time it was he, -and not La Cibot, who was struck with an idea on the threshold. - -"If you could persuade M. Pons to call me in, it would be a great -step." - -"I will try," said La Cibot. - -Fraisier drew her back into his sanctum. "Look here, old lady, I know -M. Trognon, the notary of the quarter, very well. If M. Pons has not a -notary, mention M. Trognon to him. Make him take M. Trognon--" - -"Right," returned La Cibot. - -And as she came out again she heard the rustle of a dress and the -sound of a stealthy, heavy footstep. - -Out in the street and by herself, Mme. Cibot to some extent recovered -her liberty of mind as she walked. Though the influence of the -conversation was still upon her, and she had always stood in dread of -scaffolds, justice, and judges, she took a very natural resolution -which was to bring about a conflict of strategy between her and her -formidable legal adviser. - -"What do I want with other folk?" said she to herself. "Let us make a -round sum, and afterwards I will take all that they offer me to push -their interests;" and this thought, as will shortly be seen, hastened -the poor old musician's end. - - - -"Well, dear M. Schmucke, and how is our dear, adored patient?" asked -La Cibot, as she came into the room. - -"Fery pad; Bons haf peen vandering all der night." - -"Then, what did he say?" - -"Chust nonsense. He vould dot I haf all his fortune, on kondition dot -I sell nodings.--Den he cried! Boor mann! It made me ver' sad." - -"Never mind, honey," returned the portress. "I have kept you waiting -for your breakfast; it is nine o'clock and past; but don't scold me. I -have business on hand, you see, business of yours. Here are we without -any money, and I have been out to get some." - -"Vere?" asked Schmucke. - -"Of my uncle." - -"Onkel?" - -"Up the spout." - -"Shpout?" - -"Oh! the dear man! how simple he is? No, you are a saint, a love, an -archbishop of innocence, a man that ought to be stuffed, as the old -actor said. What! you have lived in Paris for twenty-nine years; you -saw the Revolution of July, you did, and you have never so much as -heard tell of a pawnbroker--a man that lends you money on your things? ---I have been pawning our silver spoons and forks, eight of them, -thread pattern. Pooh, Cibot can eat his victuals with German silver; -it is quite the fashion now, they say. It is not worth while to say -anything to our angel there; it would upset him and make him yellower -than before, and he is quite cross enough as it is. Let us get him -round again first, and afterwards we shall see. What must be must; and -we must take things as we find them, eh?" - -"Goot voman! nople heart!" cried poor Schmucke, with a great -tenderness in his face. He took La Cibot's hand and clasped it to his -breast. When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. - -"There, that will do, Papa Schmucke; how funny you are! This is too -bad. I am an old daughter of the people--my heart is in my hand. I -have something /here/, you see, like you have, hearts of gold that you -are," she added, slapping her chest. - -"Baba Schmucke!" continued the musician. "No. To know de tepths of -sorrow, to cry mit tears of blood, to mount up in der hefn--dat is -mein lot! I shall not lif after Bons--" - -"Gracious! I am sure you won't, you are killing yourself.--Listen, -pet!" - -"Bet?" - -"Very well, my sonny--" - -"Zonny?" - -"My lamb, then, if you like it better." - -"It is not more clear." - -"Oh, well, let /me/ take care of you and tell you what to do; for if -you go on like this, I shall have both of you laid up on my hands, you -see. To my little way of thinking, we must do the work between us. You -cannot go about Paris to give lessons for it tires you, and then you -are not fit to do anything afterwards, and somebody must sit up of a -night with M. Pons, now that he is getting worse and worse. I will run -round to-day to all your pupils and tell them that you are ill; is it -not so? And then you can spend the nights with our lamb, and sleep of -a morning from five o'clock till, let us say, two in the afternoon. I -myself will take the day, the most tiring part, for there is your -breakfast and dinner to get ready, and the bed to make, and the things -to change, and the doses of medicine to give. I could not hold out for -another ten days at this rate. What would become of you if I were to -fall ill? And you yourself, it makes one shudder to see you; just look -at yourself, after sitting up with him last night!" - -She drew Schmucke to the glass, and Schmucke thought that there was a -great change. - -"So, if you are of my mind, I'll have your breakfast ready in a jiffy. -Then you will look after our poor dear again till two o'clock. Let me -have a list of your people, and I will soon arrange it. You will be -free for a fortnight. You can go to bed when I come in, and sleep till -night." - -So prudent did the proposition seem, that Schmucke then and there -agreed to it. - -"Not a word to M. Pons; he would think it was all over with him, you -know, if we were to tell him in this way that his engagement at the -theatre and his lessons are put off. He would be thinking that he -should not find his pupils again, poor gentleman--stuff and nonsense! -M. Poulain says that we shall save our Benjamin if we keep him as -quiet as possible." - -"Ach! fery goot! Pring up der preakfast; I shall make der bett, and -gif you die attresses!--You are right; it vould pe too much for me." - -An hour later La Cibot, in her Sunday clothes, departed in great -state, to the no small astonishment of the Remonencqs; she promised -herself that she would support the character of confidential servant -of the pair of nutcrackers, in the boarding-schools and private -families in which they gave music-lessons. - -It is needless to repeat all the gossip in which La Cibot indulged on -her round. The members of every family, the head-mistress of every -boarding-school, were treated to a variation upon the theme of Pons' -illness. A single scene, which took place in the Illustrious -Gaudissart's private room, will give a sufficient idea of the rest. La -Cibot met with unheard-of difficulties, but she succeeded in -penetrating at last to the presence. Kings and cabinet ministers are -less difficult of access than the manager of a theatre in Paris; nor -is it hard to understand why such prodigious barriers are raised -between them and ordinary mortals: a king has only to defend himself -from ambition; the manager of a theatre has reason to dread the -wounded vanity of actors and authors. - -La Cibot, however, struck up an acquaintance with the portress, and -traversed all distances in a brief space. There is a sort of -freemasonry among the porter tribe, and, indeed, among the members of -every profession; for each calling has its shibboleth, as well as its -insulting epithet and the mark with which it brands its followers. - -"Ah! madame, you are the portress here," began La Cibot. "I myself am -a portress, in a small way, in a house in the Rue de Normandie. M. -Pons, your conductor, lodges with us. Oh, how glad I should be to have -your place, and see the actors and dancers and authors go past. It is -the marshal's baton in our profession, as the old actor said." - -"And how is M. Pons going on, good man?" inquired the portress. - -"He is not going on at all; he has not left his bed these two months. -He will only leave the house feet foremost, that is certain." - -"He will be missed." - -"Yes. I have come with a message to the manager from him. Just try to -get me a word with him, dear." - -"A lady from M. Pons to see you, sir!" After this fashion did the -youth attached to the service of the manager's office announce La -Cibot, whom the portress below had particularly recommended to his -care. - -Gaudissart had just come in for a rehearsal. Chance so ordered it that -no one wished to speak with him; actors and authors were alike late. -Delighted to have news of his conductor, he made a Napoleonic gesture, -and La Cibot was admitted. - -The sometime commercial traveler, now the head of a popular theatre, -regarded his sleeping partners in the light of a legitimate wife; they -were not informed of all his doings. The flourishing state of his -finances had reacted upon his person. Grown big and stout and high- -colored with good cheer and prosperity, Gaudissart made no disguise of -his transformation into a Mondor. - -"We are turning into a city-father," he once said, trying to be the -first to laugh. - -"You are only in the Turcaret stage yet, though," retorted Bixiou, who -often replaced Gaudissart in the company of the leading lady of the -ballet, the celebrated Heloise Brisetout. - -The former Illustrious Gaudissart, in fact, was exploiting the theatre -simply and solely for his own particular benefit, and with brutal -disregard of other interests. He first insinuated himself as a -collaborator in various ballets, plays, and vaudevilles; then he -waited till the author wanted money and bought up the other half of -the copyright. These after-pieces and vaudevilles, always added to -successful plays, brought him in a daily harvest of gold coins. He -trafficked by proxy in tickets, allotting a certain number to himself, -as the manager's share, till he took in this way a tithe of the -receipts. And Gaudissart had other methods of making money besides -these official contributions. He sold boxes, he took presents from -indifferent actresses burning to go upon the stage to fill small -speaking parts, or simply to appear as queens, or pages, and the like; -he swelled his nominal third share of the profits to such purpose that -the sleeping partners scarcely received one-tenth instead of the -remaining two-thirds of the net receipts. Even so, however, the tenth -paid them a dividend of fifteen per cent on their capital. On the -strength of that fifteen per cent Gaudissart talked of his -intelligence, honesty, and zeal, and the good fortune of his partners. -When Count Popinot, showing an interest in the concern, asked Matifat, -or General Gouraud (Matifat's son-in-law), or Crevel, whether they -were satisfied with Gaudissart, Gouraud, now a peer of France, -answered, "They say he robs us; but he is such a clever, good-natured -fellow, that we are quite satisfied." - -"This is like La Fontaine's fable," smiled the ex-cabinet minister. - -Gaudissart found investments for his capital in other ventures. He -thought well of Schwab, Brunner, and the Graffs; that firm was -promoting railways, he became a shareholder in the lines. His -shrewdness was carefully hidden beneath the frank carelessness of a -man of pleasure; he seemed to be interested in nothing but amusements -and dress, yet he thought everything over, and his wide experience of -business gained as a commercial traveler stood him in good stead. - -A self-made man, he did not take himself seriously. He gave suppers -and banquets to celebrities in rooms sumptuously furnished by the -house decorator. Showy by nature, with a taste for doing things -handsomely, he affected an easy-going air, and seemed so much the less -formidable because he had kept the slang of "the road" (to use his own -expression), with a few green-room phrases superadded. Now, artists in -the theatrical profession are wont to express themselves with some -vigor; Gaudissart borrowed sufficient racy green-room talk to blend -with his commercial traveler's lively jocularity, and passed for a -wit. He was thinking at that moment of selling his license and "going -into another line," as he said. He thought of being chairman of a -railway company, of becoming a responsible person and an -administrator, and finally of marrying Mlle. Minard, daughter of the -richest mayor in Paris. He might hope to get into the Chamber through -"his line," and, with Popinot's influence, to take office under the -Government. - -"Whom have I the honor of addressing?" inquired Gaudissart, looking -magisterially at La Cibot. - -"I am M. Pons' confidential servant, sir." - -"Well, and how is the dear fellow?" - -"Ill, sir--very ill." - -"The devil he is! I am sorry to hear it--I must come and see him; he -is such a man as you don't often find." - -"Ah yes! sir, he is a cherub, he is. I have always wondered how he -came to be in a theatre." - -"Why, madame, the theatre is a house of correction for morals," said -Gaudissart. "Poor Pons!--Upon my word, one ought to cultivate the -species to keep up the stock. 'Tis a pattern man, and has talent too. -When will he be able to take his orchestra again, do you think? A -theatre, unfortunately, is like a stage coach: empty or full, it -starts at the same time. Here at six o'clock every evening, up goes -the curtain; and if we are never sorry for ourselves, it won't make -good music. Let us see now--how is he?" - -La Cibot pulled out her pocket-handkerchief and held it to her eyes. - -"It is a terrible thing to say, my dear sir," said she; "but I am -afraid we shall lose him, though we are as careful of him as of the -apple of our eyes. And, at the same time, I came to say that you must -not count on M. Schmucke, worthy man, for he is going to sit up with -him at night. One cannot help doing as if there was hope still left, -and trying one's best to snatch the dear, good soul from death. But -the doctor has given him up----" - -"What is the matter with him?" - -"He is dying of grief, jaundice, and liver complaint, with a lot of -family affairs to complicate matters." - -"And a doctor as well," said Gaudissart. "He ought to have had Lebrun, -our doctor; it would have cost him nothing." - -"M. Pons' doctor is a Providence on earth. But what can a doctor do, -no matter how clever he is, with such complications?" - -"I wanted the good pair of nutcrackers badly for the accompaniment of -my new fairy piece." - -"Is there anything that I can do for them?" asked La Cibot, and her -expression would have done credit to a Jocrisse. - -Gaudissart burst out laughing. - -"I am their housekeeper, sir, and do many things for my gentlemen--" -She did not finish her speech, for in the middle of Gaudissart's roar -of laughter a woman's voice exclaimed, "If you are laughing, old man, -one may come in," and the leading lady of the ballet rushed into the -room and flung herself upon the only sofa. The newcomer was Heloise -Brisetout, with a splendid /algerienne/, such as scarves used to be -called, about her shoulders. - -"Who is amusing you? Is it this lady? What post does she want?" asked -this nymph, giving the manager such a glance as artist gives artist, a -glance that would make a subject for a picture. - -Heloise, a young woman of exceedingly literary tastes, was on intimate -terms with great and famous artists in Bohemia. Elegant, accomplished, -and graceful, she was more intelligent than dancers usually are. As -she put her question, she sniffed at a scent-bottle full of some -aromatic perfume. - -"One fine woman is as good as another, madame; and if I don't sniff -the pestilence out of a scent-bottle, nor daub brickdust on my -cheeks--" - -"That would be a sinful waste, child, when Nature put it on for you to -begin with," said Heloise, with a side glance at her manager. - -"I am an honest woman--" - -"So much the worse for you. It is not every one by a long chalk that -can find some one to keep them, and kept I am, and in slap-up style, -madame." - -"So much the worse! What do you mean? Oh, you may toss your head and -go about in scarves, you will never have as many declarations as I -have had, missus. You will never match the /Belle Ecaillere of the -Cadran Bleu/." - -Heloise Brisetout rose at once to her feet, stood at attention, and -made a military salute, like a soldier who meets his general. - -"What?" asked Gaudissart, "are you really /La Belle Ecaillere/ of whom -my father used to talk?" - -"In that case the cachucha and the polka were after your time; and -madame has passed her fiftieth year," remarked Heloise, and striking -an attitude, she declaimed, " 'Cinna, let us be friends.' " - -"Come, Heloise, the lady is not up to this; let her alone." - -"Madame is perhaps the New Heloise," suggested La Cibot, with sly -innocence. - -"Not bad, old lady!" cried Gaudissart. - -"It is a venerable joke," said the dancer, "a grizzled pun; find us -another old lady--or take a cigarette." - -"I beg your pardon, madame, I feel too unhappy to answer you; my two -gentlemen are very ill; and to buy nourishment for them and to spare -them trouble, I have pawned everything down to my husband's clothes -that I pledged this morning. Here is the ticket!" - -"Oh! here, the affair is becoming tragic," cried the fair Heloise. -"What is it all about?" - -"Madame drops down upon us like--" - -"Like a dancer," said Heloise; "let me prompt you,--missus!" - -"Come, I am busy," said Gaudissart. "The joke has gone far enough. -Heloise, this is M. Pons' confidential servant; she had come to tell -me that I must not count upon him; our poor conductor is not expected -to live. I don't know what to do." - -"Oh! poor man; why, he must have a benefit." - -"It would ruin him," said Gaudissart. "He might find next day that he -owed five hundred francs to charitable institutions, and they refuse -to admit that there are any sufferers in Paris except their own. No, -look here, my good woman, since you are going in for the Montyon -prize----" - -He broke off, rang the bell, and the youth before mentioned suddenly -appeared. - -"Tell the cashier to send me up a thousand-franc note.--Sit down, -madame." - -"Ah! poor woman, look, she is crying!" exclaimed Heloise. "How stupid! -There, there, mother, we will go to see him; don't cry.--I say, now," -she continued, taking the manager into a corner, "you want to make me -take the leading part in the ballet in /Ariane/, you Turk. You are -going to be married, and you know how I can make you miserable--" - -"Heloise, my heart is copper-bottomed like a man-of-war." - -"I shall bring your children on the scene! I will borrow some -somewhere." - -"I have owned up about the attachment." - -"Do be nice, and give Pons' post to Garangeot; he has talent, poor -fellow, and he has not a penny; and I promise peace." - -"But wait till Pons is dead, in case the good man may come back -again." - -"Oh, as to that, no, sir," said La Cibot. "He began to wander in his -mind last night, and now he is delirious. It will soon be over, -unfortunately." - -"At any rate, take Garangeot as a stop-gap!" pleaded Heloise. "He has -the whole press on his side--" - -Just at that moment the cashier came in with a note for a thousand -francs in his hand. - -"Give it to madame here," said Gaudissart. "Good-day, my good woman; -take good care of the dear man, and tell him that I am coming to see -him to-morrow, or sometime--as soon as I can, in short." - -"A drowning man," said Heloise. - -"Ah, sir, hearts like yours are only found in a theatre. May God bless -you!" - -"To what account shall I post this item?" asked the cashier. - -"I will countersign the order. Post it to the bonus account." - -Before La Cibot went out, she made Mlle. Brisetout a fine courtesy, -and heard Gaudissart remark to his mistress: - -"Can Garangeot do the dance-music for the /Mohicans/ in twelve days? -If he helps me out of my predicament, he shall have Pons' place." - -La Cibot had cut off the incomes of the two friends, she had left them -without means of subsistence if Pons should chance to recover, and was -better rewarded for all this mischief than for any good that she had -done. In a few days' time her treacherous trick would bring about the -desired result--Elie Magus would have his coveted pictures. But if -this first spoliation was to be effected, La Cibot must throw dust in -Fraisier's eyes, and lull the suspicions of that terrible fellow- -conspirator of her own seeking; and Elie Magus and Remonencq must be -bound over to secrecy. - -As for Remonencq, he had gradually come to feel such a passion as -uneducated people can conceive when they come to Paris from the depths -of the country, bringing with them all the fixed ideas bred of the -solitary country life; all the ignorance of a primitive nature, all -the brute appetites that become so many fixed ideas. Mme. Cibot's -masculine beauty, her vivacity, her market-woman's wit, had all been -remarked by the marine store-dealer. He thought at first of taking La -Cibot from her husband, bigamy among the lower classes in Paris being -much more common than is generally supposed; but greed was like a -slip-knot drawn more and more tightly about his heart, till reason at -length was stifled. When Remonencq computed that the commission paid -by himself and Elie Magus amounted to about forty thousand francs, he -determined to have La Cibot for his legitimate spouse, and his -thoughts turned from a misdemeanor to a crime. A romantic purely -speculative dream, persistently followed through a tobacco-smoker's -long musings as he lounged in the doorway, had brought him to the -point of wishing that the little tailor were dead. At a stroke he -beheld his capital trebled; and then he thought of La Cibot. What a -good saleswoman she would be! What a handsome figure she would make in -a magnificent shop on the boulevards! The twofold covetousness turned -Remonencq's head. In fancy he took a shop that he knew of on the -Boulevard de la Madeleine, he stocked it with Pons' treasures, and -then--after dreaming his dream in sheets of gold, after seeing -millions in the blue spiral wreaths that rose from his pipe, he awoke -to find himself face to face with the little tailor. Cibot was -sweeping the yard, the doorstep, and the pavement just as his neighbor -was taking down the shutters and displaying his wares; for since Pons -fell ill, La Cibot's work had fallen to her husband. - -The Auvergnat began to look upon the little, swarthy, stunted, copper- -colored tailor as the one obstacle in his way, and pondered how to be -rid of him. Meanwhile this growing passion made La Cibot very proud, -for she had reached an age when a woman begins to understand that she -may grow old. - -So early one morning, she meditatively watched Remonencq as he -arranged his odds and ends for sale. She wondered how far his love -could go. He came across to her. - -"Well," he said, "are things going as you wish?" - -"It is you who makes me uneasy," said La Cibot. "I shall be talked -about; the neighbors will see you making sheep's eyes at me." - -She left the doorway and dived into the Auvergnat's back shop. - -"What a notion!" said Remonencq. - -"Come here, I have something to say to you," said La Cibot. "M. Pons' -heirs are about to make a stir; they are capable of giving us a lot of -trouble. God knows what might come of it if they send the lawyers here -to poke their noses into the affair like hunting-dogs. I cannot get M. -Schmucke to sell a few pictures unless you like me well enough to keep -the secret--such a secret!--With your head on the block, you must not -say where the pictures come from, nor who it was that sold them. When -M. Pons is once dead and buried, you understand, nobody will know how -many pictures there ought to be; if there are fifty-three pictures -instead of sixty-seven, nobody will be any the wiser. Besides, if M. -Pons sold them himself while he was alive, nobody can find fault." - -"No," agreed Remonencq, "it is all one to me, but M. Elie Magus will -want receipts in due form." - -"And you shall have your receipt too, bless your life! Do you suppose -that /I/ should write them?--No, M. Schmucke will do that. But tell -your Jew that he must keep the secret as closely as you do," she -continued. - -"We will be as mute as fishes. That is our business. I myself can -read, but I cannot write, and that is why I want a capable wife that -has had education like you. I have thought of nothing but earning my -bread all my days, and now I wish I had some little Remonencqs. Do -leave that Cibot of yours." - -"Why, here comes your Jew," said the portress; "we can arrange the -whole business." - -Elie Magus came every third day very early in the morning to know when -he could buy his pictures. "Well, my dear lady," said he, "how are we -getting on?" - -"Has nobody been to speak to you about M. Pons and his gimcracks?" -asked La Cibot. - -"I received a letter from a lawyer," said Elie Magus, "a rascal that -seems to me to be trying to work for himself; I don't like people of -that sort, so I took no notice of his letter. Three days afterwards he -came to see me, and left his card. I told my porter that I am never at -home when he calls." - -"You are a love of a Jew," said La Cibot. Little did she know Elie -Magus' prudence. "Well, sonnies, in a few days' time I will bring M. -Schmucke to the point of selling you seven or eight pictures, ten at -most. But on two conditions.--Absolute secrecy in the first place. M. -Schmucke will send for you, sir, is not that so? And M. Remonencq -suggested that you might be a purchaser, eh?--And, come what may, I -will not meddle in it for nothing. You are giving forty-six thousand -francs for four pictures, are you not?" - -"So be it," groaned the Jew. - -"Very good. This is the second condition. You will give me /forty- -three/ thousand francs, and pay three thousand only to M. Schmucke; -Remonencq will buy four for two thousand francs, and hand over the -surplus to me.--But at the same time, you see my dear M. Magus, I am -going to help you and Remonencq to a splendid bit of business--on -condition that the profits are shared among the three of us. I will -introduce you to that lawyer, as he, no doubt, will come here. You -shall make a valuation of M. Pons' things at the prices which you can -give for them, so that M. Fraisier may know how much the property is -worth. But--not until after our sale, you understand!" - -"I understand," said the Jew, "but it takes time to look at the things -and value them." - -"You shall have half a day. But, there, that is my affair. Talk it -over between yourselves, my boys, and for that matter the business -will be settled by the day after to-morrow. I will go round to speak -to this Fraisier; for Dr. Poulain tells him everything that goes on in -the house, and it is a great bother to keep that scarecrow quiet." - -La Cibot met Fraisier halfway between the Rue de la Perle and the Rue -de Normandie; so impatient was he to know the "elements of the case" -(to use his own expression), that he was coming to see her. - -"I say! I was going to you," said she. - -Fraisier grumbled because Elie Magus had refused to see him. But La -Cibot extinguished the spark of distrust that gleamed in the lawyer's -eyes by informing him that Elie Magus had returned from a journey, and -that she would arrange for an interview in Pons' rooms and for the -valuation of the property; for the day after to-morrow at latest. - -"Deal frankly with me," returned Fraisier. "It is more than probable -that I shall act for M. Pons' next-of-kin. In that case, I shall be -even better able to serve you." - -The words were spoken so drily that La Cibot quaked. This starving -limb of the law was sure to manoeuvre on his side as she herself was -doing. She resolved forthwith to hurry on the sale of the pictures. - -La Cibot was right. The doctor and lawyer had clubbed together to buy -a new suit of clothes in which Fraisier could decently present himself -before Mme. la Presidente Camusot de Marville. Indeed, if the clothes -had been ready, the interview would have taken place sooner, for the -fate of the couple hung upon its issues. Fraisier left Mme. Cibot, and -went to try on his new clothes. He found them waiting for him, went -home, adjusted his new wig, and towards ten o'clock that morning set -out in a carriage from a livery stable for the Rue de Hanovre, hoping -for an audience. In his white tie, yellow gloves, and new wig, -redolent of /eau de Portugal/, he looked something like a poisonous -essence kept in a cut-glass bottle, seeming but the more deadly -because everything about it is daintily neat, from the stopper covered -with white kid to the label and the thread. His peremptory manner, the -eruption on his blotched countenance, the green eyes, and a malignant -something about him,--all these things struck the beholder with the -same sense of surprise as storm-clouds in a blue sky. If in his -private office, as he showed himself to La Cibot, he was the common -knife that a murderer catches up for his crime,--now, at the -Presidente's door, he was the daintily-wrought dagger which a woman -sets among the ornaments on her what-not. - -A great change had taken place in the Rue de Hanovre. The Count and -Countess Popinot and the young people would not allow the President -and his wife to leave the house that they had settled upon their -daughter to pay rent elsewhere. M. and Mme. la Presidente, therefore, -were installed on the second floor, now left at liberty, for the -elderly lady had made up her mind to end her days in the country. - -Mme. Camusot took Madeleine Vivet, with her cook and her man-servant, -to the second floor, and would have been as much pinched for money as -in the early days, if the house had not been rent free, and the -President's salary increased to ten thousand francs. This /aurea -mediocritas/ was but little satisfactory to Mme. de Marville. Even now -she wished for means more in accordance with her ambitions; for when -she handed over their fortune to their daughter, she spoiled her -husband's prospects. Now Amelie had set her heart upon seeing her -husband in the Chamber of Deputies; she was not one of those women who -find it easy to give up their way; and she by no means despaired of -returning her husband for the arrondissement in which Marville is -situated. So for the past two months she had teased her father-in-law, -M. le Baron Camusot (for the new peer of France had been advanced to -that rank), and done her utmost to extort an advance of a hundred -thousand francs of the inheritance which one day would be theirs. She -wanted, she said, to buy a small estate worth about two thousand -francs per annum set like a wedge within the Marville lands. There she -and her husband would be near their children and in their own house, -while the addition would round out the Marville property. With that -the Presidente laid stress upon the recent sacrifices which she and -her husband had been compelled to make in order to marry Cecile to -Viscount Popinot, and asked the old man how he could bar his eldest -son's way to the highest honors of the magistracy, when such honors -were only to be had by those who made themselves a strong position in -parliament. Her husband would know how to take up such a position, he -would make himself feared by those in office, and so on and so on. - -"They do nothing for you unless you tighten a halter round their necks -to loosen their tongues," said she. "They are ungrateful. What do they -not owe to Camusot! Camusot brought the House of Orleans to the throne -by enforcing the ordinances of July." - -M. Camusot senior answered that he had gone out of his depth in -railway speculations. He quite admitted that it was necessary to come -to the rescue, but put off the day until shares should rise, as they -were expected to do. - -This half-promise, extracted some few days before Fraisier's visit, -had plunged the Presidente into depths of affliction. It was doubtful -whether the ex-proprietor of Marville was eligible for re-election -without the land qualification. - -Fraisier found no difficulty in obtaining speech of Madeleine Vivet; -such viper natures own their kinship at once. - -"I should like to see Mme. la Presidente for a few moments, -mademoiselle," Fraisier said in bland accents; "I have come on a -matter of business which touches her fortune; it is a question of a -legacy, be sure to mention that. I have not the honor of being known -to Mme. la Presidente, so my name is of no consequence. I am not in -the habit of leaving my chambers, but I know the respect that is due -to a President's wife, and I took the trouble of coming myself to save -all possible delay." - -The matter thus broached, when repeated and amplified by the waiting- -maid, naturally brought a favorable answer. It was a decisive moment -for the double ambition hidden in Fraisier's mind. Bold as a petty -provincial attorney, sharp, rough-spoken, and curt as he was, he felt -as captains feel before the decisive battle of a campaign. As he went -into the little drawing-room where Amelie was waiting for him, he felt -a slight perspiration breaking out upon his forehead and down his -back. Every sudorific hitherto employed had failed to produce this -result upon a skin which horrible diseases had left impervious. "Even -if I fail to make my fortune," said he to himself, "I shall recover. -Poulain said that if I could only perspire I should recover." - -The Presidente came forward in her morning gown. - -"Madame--" said Fraisier, stopping short to bow with the humility by -which officials recognize the superior rank of the person whom they -address. - -"Take a seat, monsieur," said the Presidente. She saw at a glance that -this was a man of law. - -"Mme. la Presidente, if I take the liberty of calling your attention -to a matter which concerns M. le President, it is because I am sure -that M. de Marville, occupying, as he does, a high position, would -leave matters to take their natural course, and so lose seven or eight -hundred thousand francs, a sum which ladies (who, in my opinion, have -a far better understanding of private business than the best of -magistrates)--a sum which ladies, I repeat, would by no means -despise--" - -"You spoke of a legacy," interrupted the lady, dazzled by the wealth, -and anxious to hide her surprise. Amelie de Marville, like an -impatient novel-reader, wanted the end of the story. - -"Yes, madame, a legacy that you are like to lose; yes, to lose -altogether; but I can, that is, I /could/, recover it for you, if--" - -"Speak out, monsieur." Mme. de Marville spoke frigidly, scanning -Fraisier as she spoke with a sagacious eye. - -"Madame, your eminent capacity is known to me; I was once at Mantes. -M. Leboeuf, President of the Tribunal, is acquainted with M. de -Marville, and can answer inquiries about me--" - -The Presidente's shrug was so ruthlessly significant, that Fraisier -was compelled to make short work of his parenthetic discourse. - -"So distinguished a woman will at once understand why I speak of -myself in the first place. It is the shortest way to the property." - -To this acute observation the lady replied by a gesture. Fraisier took -the sign for a permission to continue. - -"I was an attorney, madame, at Mantes. My connection was all the -fortune that I was likely to have. I took over M. Levroux's practice. -You knew him, no doubt?" - -The Presidente inclined her head. - -"With borrowed capital and some ten thousand francs of my own, I went -to Mantes. I had been with Desroches, one of the cleverest attorneys -in Paris, I had been his head-clerk for six years. I was so unlucky as -to make an enemy of the attorney for the crown at Mantes, Monsieur--" - -"Olivier Vinet." - -"Son of the Attorney-General, yes, madame. He was paying his court to -a little person--" - -"Whom?" - -"Mme. Vatinelle." - -"Oh! Mme. Vatinelle. She was very pretty and very--er--when I was -there--" - -"She was not unkind to me: /inde iroe/," Fraisier continued. "I was -industrious; I wanted to repay my friends and to marry; I wanted work; -I went in search of it; and before long I had more on my hands than -anybody else. Bah! I had every soul in Mantes against me--attorneys, -notaries, and even the bailiffs. They tried to fasten a quarrel on me. -In our ruthless profession, as you know, madame, if you wish to ruin a -man, it is soon done. I was concerned for both parties in a case, and -they found it out. It was a trifle irregular; but it is sometimes done -in Paris, attorneys in certain cases hand the rhubarb and take the -senna. They do things differently at Mantes. I had done M. Bouyonnet -this little service before; but, egged on by his colleagues and the -attorney for the crown, he betrayed me.--I am keeping back nothing, -you see.--There was a great hue and cry about it. I was a scoundrel; -they made me out blacker than Marat; forced me to sell out; ruined me. -And I am in Paris now. I have tried to get together a practice; but my -health is so bad, that I have only two quiet hours out of the twenty- -four. - -"At this moment I have but one ambition, and a very small one. Some -day," he continued, "you will be the wife of the Keeper of the Seals, -or of the Home Secretary, it may be; but I, poor and sickly as I am, -desire nothing but a post in which I can live in peace for the rest of -my life, a place without any opening in which to vegetate. I should -like to be a justice of the peace in Paris. It would be a mere trifle -for you and M. le President to gain the appointment for me; for the -present Keeper of the Seals must be anxious to keep on good terms with -you . . . - -"And that is not all, madame," added Fraisier. Seeing that Mme. de -Marville was about to speak, he cut her short with a gesture. "I have -a friend, the doctor in attendance on the old man who ought to leave -his property to M. le President. (We are coming to the point, you -see.) The doctor's co-operation is indispensable, and the doctor is -precisely in my position: he has abilities, he is unlucky. I learned -through him how far your interests were imperiled; for even as I -speak, all may be over, and the will disinheriting M. le President may -have been made. This doctor wishes to be head-surgeon of a hospital or -of a Government school. He must have a position in Paris equal to -mine. . . . Pardon me if I have enlarged on a matter so delicate; but -we must have no misunderstandings in this business. The doctor is, -besides, much respected and learned; he saved the life of the Comtesse -Popinot's great-uncle, M. Pillerault. - -"Now, if you are so good as to promise these two posts--the -appointment of justice of the peace and the sinecure for my friend--I -will undertake to bring you the property, /almost/ intact.--Almost -intact, I say, for the co-operation of the legatee and several other -persons is absolutely indispensable, and some obligations will be -incurred. You will not redeem your promises until I have fulfilled -mine." - -The Presidente had folded her arms, and for the last minute or two sat -like a person compelled to listen to a sermon. Now she unfolded her -arms, and looked at Fraisier as she said, "Monsieur, all that you say -concerning your interests has the merit of clearness; but my own -interests in the matter are by no means so clear--" - -"A word or two will explain everything, madame. M. le President is M. -Pons' first cousin once removed, and his sole heir. M. Pons is very -ill; he is about to make his will, if it is not already made, in favor -of a German, a friend of his named Schmucke; and he has more than -seven hundred thousand francs to leave. I hope to have an accurate -valuation made in two or three days--" - -"If this is so," said the Presidente, "I made a great mistake in -quarreling with him and throwing the blame----" she thought aloud, -amazed by the possibility of such a sum. - -"No, madame. If there had been no rupture, he would be as blithe as a -lark at this moment, and might outlive you and M. le President and me. -. . . The ways of Providence are mysterious, let us not seek to fathom -them," he added to palliate to some extent the hideous idea. "It -cannot be helped. We men of business look at the practical aspects of -things. Now you see clearly, madame, that M. de Marville in his public -position would do nothing, and could do nothing, as things are. He has -broken off all relations with his cousin. You see nothing now of Pons; -you have forbidden him the house; you had excellent reasons, no doubt, -for doing as you did, but the old man is ill, and he is leaving his -property to the only friend left to him. A President of the Court of -Appeal in Paris could say nothing under such circumstances if the will -was made out in due form. But between ourselves, madame, when one has -a right to expect seven or eight hundred thousand francs--or a -million, it may be (how should I know?)--it is very unpleasant to have -it slip through one's fingers, especially if one happens to be the -heir-at-law. . . . But, on the other hand, to prevent this, one is -obliged to stoop to dirty work; work so difficult, so ticklish, -bringing you cheek by jowl with such low people, servants and -subordinates; and into such close contact with them too, that no -barrister, no attorney in Paris could take up such a case. - -"What you want is a briefless barrister like me," said he, "a man who -should have real and solid ability, who has learned to be devoted, and -yet, being in a precarious position, is brought temporarily to a level -with such people. In my arrondissement I undertake business for small -tradespeople and working folk. Yes, madame, you see the straits to -which I have been brought by the enmity of an attorney for the crown, -now a deputy-public prosecutor in Paris, who could not forgive me my -superiority.--I know you, madame, I know that your influence means a -solid certainty; and in such a service rendered to you, I saw the end -of my troubles and success for my friend Dr. Poulain." - -The lady sat pensive during a moment of unspeakable torture for -Fraisier. Vinet, an orator of the Centre, attorney-general -(/procureur-general/) for the past sixteen years, nominated half-a- -score of times for the chancellorship, the father, moreover, of the -attorney for the crown at Mantes who had been appointed to a post in -Paris within the last year--Vinet was an enemy and a rival for the -malignant Presidente. The haughty attorney-general did not hide his -contempt for President Camusot. This fact Fraisier did not know, and -could not know. - -"Have you nothing on your conscience but the fact that you were -concerned for both parties?" asked she, looking steadily at Fraisier. - -"Mme. la Presidente can see M. Leboeuf; M. Leboeuf was favorable to -me." - -"Do you feel sure that M. Leboeuf will give M. de Marville and M. le -Comte Popinot a good account of you?" - -"I will answer for it, especially now that M. Olivier Vinet has left -Mantes; for between ourselves, good M. Leboeuf was afraid of that -crabbed little official. If you will permit me, Madame La Presidente, -I will go to Mantes and see M. Leboeuf. No time will be lost, for I -cannot be certain of the precise value of the property for two or -three days. I do not wish that you should know all the ins and outs of -this affair; you ought not to know them, Mme. la Presidente, but is -not the reward that I expect for my complete devotion a pledge of my -success?" - -"Very well. If M. Leboeuf will speak in your favor, and if the -property is worth as much as you think (I doubt it myself), you shall -have both appointments, /if/ you succeed, mind you--" - -"I will answer for it, madame. Only, you must be so good as to have -your notary and your attorney here when I shall need them; you must -give me a power of attorney to act for M. le President, and tell those -gentlemen to follow my instructions, and to do nothing on their own -responsibility." - -"The responsibility rests with you," the Presidente answered solemnly, -"so you ought to have full powers.--But is M. Pons very ill?" she -asked, smiling. - -"Upon my word, madame, he might pull through, especially with so -conscientious a doctor as Poulain in attendance; for this friend of -mine, madame, is simply an unconscious spy directed by me in your -interests. Left to himself, he would save the old man's life; but -there is some one else by the sickbed, a portress, who would push him -into the grave for thirty thousand francs. Not that she would kill him -outright; she will not give him arsenic, she is not so merciful; she -will do worse, she will kill him by inches; she will worry him to -death day by day. If the poor old man were kept quiet and left in -peace; if he were taken into the country and cared for and made much -of by friends, he would get well again; but he is harassed by a sort -of Mme. Evrard. When the woman was young she was one of thirty /Belles -Ecailleres/, famous in Paris, she is a rough, greedy, gossiping woman; -she torments him to make a will and to leave her something handsome, -and the end of it will be induration of the liver, calculi are -possibly forming at this moment, and he has not enough strength to -bear an operation. The doctor, noble soul, is in a horrible -predicament. He really ought to send the woman away--" - -"Why, then, this vixen is a monster!" cried the lady in thin flute- -like tones. - -Fraisier smiled inwardly at the likeness between himself and the -terrible Presidente; he knew all about those suave modulations of a -naturally sharp voice. He thought of another president, the hero of an -anecdote related by Louis XI., stamped by that monarch's final praise. -Blessed with a wife after the pattern of Socrates' spouse, and -ungifted with the sage's philosophy, he mingled salt with the corn in -the mangers and forbad the grooms to give water to the horses. As his -wife rode along the Seine towards their country-house, the animals -bolted into the river with the lady, and the magistrate returned -thanks to Providence for ridding him of his wife "in so natural a -manner." At this present moment Mme. de Marville thanked Heaven for -placing at Pons' bedside a woman so likely to get him "decently" out -of the way. - -Aloud she said, "I would not take a million at the price of a single -scruple.--Your friend ought to speak to M. Pons and have the woman -sent away." - -"In the first place, madame, Messrs. Schmucke and Pons think the woman -an angel; they would send my friend away. And secondly, the doctor -lies under an obligation to this horrid oyster-woman; she called him -in to attend M. Pillerault. When he tells her to be as gentle as -possible with the patient, he simply shows the creature how to make -matters worse." - -"What does your friend think of /my/ cousin's condition?" - -This man's clear, business-like way of putting the facts of the case -frightened Mme. de Marville; she felt that his keen gaze read the -thoughts of a heart as greedy as La Cibot's own. - -"In six weeks the property will change hands." - -The Presidente dropped her eyes. - -"Poor man!" she sighed, vainly striving after a dolorous expression. - -"Have you any message, madame, for M. Leboeuf? I am taking the train -to Mantes." - -"Yes. Wait a moment, and I will write to ask him to dine with us -to-morrow. I want to see him, so that he may act in concert to repair -the injustice to which you have fallen a victim." - -The Presidente left the room. Fraisier saw himself a justice of the -peace. He felt transformed at the thought; he grew stouter; his lungs -were filled with the breath of success, the breeze of prosperity. He -dipped into the mysterious reservoirs of volition for fresh and strong -doses of the divine essence. To reach success, he felt, as Remonencq -half felt, that he was ready for anything, for crime itself, provided -that no proofs of it remained. He had faced the Presidente boldly; he -had transmuted conjecture into reality; he had made assertions right -and left, all to the end that she might authorize him to protect her -interests and win her influence. As he stood there, he represented the -infinite misery of two lives, and the no less boundless desires of two -men. He spurned the squalid horrors of the Rue de la Perle. He saw the -glitter of a thousand crowns in fees from La Cibot, and five thousand -francs from the Presidente. This meant an abode such as befitted his -future prospects. Finally, he was repaying Dr. Poulain. - -There are hard, ill-natured beings, goaded by distress or disease into -active malignity, that yet entertain diametrically opposed sentiments -with a like degree of vehemence. If Richelieu was a good hater, he was -no less a good friend. Fraisier, in his gratitude, would have let -himself be cut in two for Poulain. - -So absorbed was he in these visions of a comfortable and prosperous -life, that he did not see the Presidente come in with the letter in -her hand, and she, looking at him, thought him less ugly now than at -first. He was about to be useful to her, and as soon as a tool belongs -to us we look upon it with other eyes. - -"M. Fraisier," said she, "you have convinced me of your intelligence, -and I think that you can speak frankly." - -Fraisier replied by an eloquent gesture. - -"Very well," continued the lady, "I must ask you to give a candid -reply to this question: Are we, either of us, M. de Marville or I, -likely to be compromised, directly or indirectly, by your action in -this matter?" - -"I would not have come to you, madame, if I thought that some day I -should have to reproach myself for bringing so much as a splash of mud -upon you, for in your position a speck the size of a pin's head is -seen by all the world. You forget, madame, that I must satisfy you if -I am to be a justice of the peace in Paris. I have received one lesson -at the outset of my life; it was so sharp that I do not care to lay -myself open to a second thrashing. To sum it up in a last word, -madame, I will not take a step in which you are indirectly involved -without previously consulting you--" - -"Very good. Here is the letter. And now I shall expect to be informed -of the exact value of the estate." - -"There is the whole matter," said Fraisier shrewdly, making his bow to -the Presidente with as much graciousness as his countenance could -exhibit. - -"What a providence!" thought Mme. Camusot de Marville. "So I am to be -rich! Camusot will be sure of his election if we let loose this -Fraisier upon the Bolbec constituency. What a tool!" - -"What a providence!" Fraisier said to himself as he descended the -staircase; "and what a sharp woman Mme. Camusot is! I should want a -woman in these circumstances. Now to work!" - -And he departed for Mantes to gain the good graces of a man he -scarcely knew; but he counted upon Mme. Vatinelle, to whom, -unfortunately, he owed all his troubles--and some troubles are of a -kind that resemble a protested bill while the defaulter is yet -solvent, in that they bear interest. - -Three days afterwards, while Schmucke slept (for in accordance with -the compact he now sat up at night with the patient), La Cibot had a -"tiff," as she was pleased to call it, with Pons. It will not be out -of place to call attention to one particularly distressing symptom of -liver complaint. The sufferer is always more or less inclined to -impatience and fits of anger; an outburst of this kind seems to give -relief at the time, much as a patient while the fever fit is upon him -feels that he has boundless strength; but collapse sets in so soon as -the excitement passes off, and the full extent of mischief sustained -by the system is discernible. This is especially the case when the -disease has been induced by some great shock; and the prostration is -so much the more dangerous because the patient is kept upon a -restricted diet. It is a kind of fever affecting neither the blood nor -the brain, but the humoristic mechanism, fretting the whole system, -producing melancholy, in which the patient hates himself; in such a -crisis anything may cause dangerous irritation. - -In spite of all that the doctor could say, La Cibot had no belief in -this wear and tear of the nervous system by the humoristic. She was a -woman of the people, without experience or education; Dr. Poulain's -explanations for her were simply "doctor's notions." Like most of her -class, she thought that sick people must be fed, and nothing short of -Dr. Poulain's direct order prevented her from administering ham, a -nice omelette, or vanilla chocolate upon the sly. - -The infatuation of the working classes on this point is very strong. -The reason of their reluctance to enter a hospital is the idea that -they will be starved there. The mortality caused by the food smuggled -in by the wives of patients on visiting-days was at one time so great -that the doctors were obliged to institute a very strict search for -contraband provisions. - -If La Cibot was to realize her profits at once, a momentary quarrel -must be worked up in some way. She began by telling Pons about her -visit to the theatre, not omitting her passage at arms with Mlle. -Heloise the dancer. - -"But why did you go?" the invalid asked for the third time. La Cibot -once launched on a stream of words, he was powerless to stop her. - -"So, then, when I had given her a piece of my mind, Mademoiselle -Heloise saw who I was and knuckled under, and we were the best of -friends.--And now do you ask me why I went?" she added, repeating -Pons' question. - -There are certain babblers, babblers of genius are they, who sweep up -interruptions, objections, and observations in this way as they go -along, by way of provision to swell the matter of their conversation, -as if that source were ever in any danger of running dry. - -"Why I went?" repeated she. "I went to get your M. Gaudissart out of a -fix. He wants some music for a ballet, and you are hardly fit to -scribble on sheets of paper and do your work, dearie.--So I -understood, things being so, that a M. Garangeot was to be asked to -set the /Mohicans/ to music--" - -"Garangeot!" roared Pons in fury. "/Garangeot!/ a man with no talent; -I would not have him for first violin! He is very clever, he is very -good at musical criticism, but as to composing--I doubt it! And what -the devil put the notion of going to the theatre into your head?" - -"How confoundedly contrairy the man is! Look here, dearie, we mustn't -boil over like milk on the fire! How are you to write music in the -state that you are in? Why, you can't have looked at yourself in the -glass! Will you have the glass and see? You are nothing but skin and -bone--you are as weak as a sparrow, and do you think that you are fit -to make your notes! why, you would not so much as make out mine. . . . -And that reminds me that I ought to go up to the third floor lodger's -that owes us seventeen francs, for when the chemist has been paid we -shall not have twenty left.--So I had to tell M. Gaudissart (I like -that name), a good sort he seems to be,--a regular Roger Bontemps that -would just suit me.--/He/ will never have liver complaint!--Well, so I -had to tell him how you were.--Lord! you are not well, and he has put -some one else in your place for a bit--" - -"Some one else in my place!" cried Pons in a terrible voice, as he sat -right up in bed. Sick people, generally speaking, and those most -particularly who lie within the sweep of the scythe of Death, cling to -their places with the same passionate energy that the beginner -displays to gain a start in life. To hear that someone had taken his -place was like a foretaste of death to the dying man. - -"Why, the doctor told me that I was going on as well as possible," -continued he; "he said that I should soon be about again as usual. You -have killed me, ruined me, murdered me!" - -"Tut, tut, tut!" cried La Cibot, "there you go! I am killing you, am -I? Mercy on us! these are the pretty things that you are always -telling M. Schmucke when my back is turned. I hear all that you say, -that I do! You are a monster of ingratitude." - -"But you do not know that if I am only away for another fortnight, -they will tell me that I have had my day, that I am old-fashioned, out -of date, Empire, rococo, when I go back. Garangeot will have made -friends all over the theatre, high and low. He will lower the pitch to -suit some actress that cannot sing, he will lick M. Gaudissart's -boots!" cried the sick man, who clung to life. "He has friends that -will praise him in all the newspapers; and when things are like that -in such a shop, Mme. Cibot, they can find holes in anybody's coat. -. . . What fiend drove you to do it?" - -"Why! plague take it, M. Schmucke talked it over with me for a week. -What would you have? You see nothing but yourself! You are so selfish -that other people may die if you can only get better.--Why poor M. -Schmucke has been tired out this month past! he is tied by the leg, he -can go nowhere, he cannot give lessons nor take his place at the -theatre. Do you really see nothing? He sits up with you at night, and -I take the nursing in the day. If I were to sit up at night with you, -as I tried to do at first when I thought you were so poor, I should -have to sleep all day. And who would see to the house and look out for -squalls! Illness is illness, it cannot be helped, and here are you--" - -"This was not Schmucke's idea, it is quite impossible--" - -"That means that it was /I/ who took it into my head to do it, does -it? Do you think that we are made of iron? Why, if M. Schmucke had -given seven or eight lessons every day and conducted the orchestra -every evening at the theatre from six o'clock till half-past eleven at -night, he would have died in ten days' time. Poor man, he would give -his life for you, and do you want to be the death of him? By the -authors of my days, I have never seen a sick man to match you! Where -are your senses? have you put them in pawn? We are all slaving our -lives out for you; we do all for the best, and you are not satisfied! -Do you want to drive us raging mad? I myself, to begin with, am tired -out as it is----" - -La Cibot rattled on at her ease; Pons was too angry to say a word. He -writhed on his bed, painfully uttering inarticulate sounds; the blow -was killing him. And at this point, as usual, the scolding turned -suddenly to tenderness. The nurse dashed at her patient, grasped him -by the head, made him lie down by main force, and dragged the blankets -over him. - -"How any one can get into such a state!" exclaimed she. "After all, it -is your illness, dearie. That is what good M. Poulain says. See now, -keep quiet and be good, my dear little sonny. Everybody that comes -near you worships you, and the doctor himself comes to see you twice a -day. What would he say if he found you in such a way? You put me out -of all patience; you ought not to behave like this. If you have Ma'am -Cibot to nurse you, you should treat her better. You shout and you -talk!--you ought not to do it, you know that. Talking irritates you. -And why do you fly into a passion? The wrong is all on your side; you -are always bothering me. Look here, let us have it out! If M. Schmucke -and I, who love you like our life, thought that we were doing right-- -well, my cherub, it was right, you may be sure." - -"Schmucke never could have told you to go to the theatre without -speaking to me about it--" - -"And must I wake him, poor dear, when he is sleeping like one of the -blest, and call him in as a witness?" - -"No, no!" cried Pons. "If my kind and loving Schmucke made the -resolution, perhaps I am worse than I thought." His eyes wandered -round the room, dwelling on the beautiful things in it with a -melancholy look painful to see. - -"So I must say good-bye to my dear pictures, to all the things that -have come to be like so many friends to me . . . and to my divine -friend Schmucke? . . . Oh! can it be true?" - -La Cibot, acting her heartless comedy, held her handkerchief to her -eyes; and at that mute response the sufferer fell to dark musing--so -sorely stricken was he by the double stab dealt to health and his -interests by the loss of his post and the near prospect of death, that -he had no strength left for anger. He lay, ghastly and wan, like a -consumptive patient after a wrestling bout with the Destroyer. - -"In M. Schmucke's interests, you see, you would do well to send for M. -Trognon; he is the notary of the quarter and a very good man," said La -Cibot, seeing that her victim was completely exhausted. - -"You are always talking about this Trognon--" - -"Oh! he or another, it is all one to me, for anything you will leave -me." - -She tossed her head to signify that she despised riches. There was -silence in the room. - -A moment later Schmucke came in. He had slept for six hours, hunger -awakened him, and now he stood at Pons' bedside watching his friend -without saying a word, for Mme. Cibot had laid a finger on her lips. - -"Hush!" she whispered. Then she rose and went up to add under her -breath, "He is going off to sleep at last, thank Heaven! He is as -cross as a red donkey!--What can you expect, he is struggling with his -illness----" - -"No, on the contrary, I am very patient," said the victim in a weary -voice that told of a dreadful exhaustion; "but, oh! Schmucke, my dear -friend, she has been to the theatre to turn me out of my place." - -There was a pause. Pons was too weak to say more. La Cibot took the -opportunity and tapped her head significantly. "Do not contradict -him," she said to Schmucke; "it would kill him." - -Pons gazed into Schmucke's honest face. "And she says that you sent -her--" he continued. - -"Yes," Schmucke affirmed heroically. "It had to pe. Hush!--let us safe -your life. It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength gif you haf a -dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some prick-a-prack und end our tays -kvietly in a corner somveres, mit kind Montame Zipod." - -"She has perverted you," moaned Pons. - -Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make signals -unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. "She is murdering -me," he added. - -"What is that? I am murdering you, am I?" cried La Cibot, suddenly -appearing, hand on hips and eyes aflame. "I am as faithful as a dog, -and this is all I get! God Almighty!--" - -She burst into tears and dropped down into the great chair, a tragical -movement which wrought a most disastrous revulsion in Pons. - -"Very good," she said, rising to her feet. The woman's malignant eyes -looked poison and bullets at the two friends. "Very good. Nothing that -I can do is right here, and I am tired of slaving my life out. You -shall take a nurse." - -Pons and Schmucke exchanged glances in dismay. - -"Oh! you may look at each other like actors. I mean it. I shall ask -Dr. Poulain to find a nurse for you. And now we will settle accounts. -You shall pay me back the money that I have spent on you, and that I -would never have asked you for, I that have gone to M. Pillerault to -borrow another five hundred francs of him--" - -"It ees his illness!" cried Schmucke--he sprang to Mme. Cibot and put -an arm round her waist--"haf batience." - -"As for you, you are an angel, I could kiss the ground you tread -upon," said she. "But M. Pons never liked me, he always hated me. -Besides, he thinks perhaps that I want to be mentioned in his will--" - -"Hush! you vill kill him!" cried Schmucke. - -"Good-bye, sir," said La Cibot, with a withering look at Pons. "You -may keep well for all the harm I wish you. When you can speak to me -pleasantly, when you can believe that what I do is done for the best, -I will come back again. Till then I shall stay in my own room. You -were like my own child to me; did anybody ever see a child revolt -against its mother? . . . No, no, M. Schmucke, I do not want to hear -more. I will bring you /your/ dinner and wait upon /you/, but you must -take a nurse. Ask M. Poulain about it." - -And she went out, slamming the door after her so violently that the -precious, fragile objects in the room trembled. To Pons in his -torture, the rattle of china was like the final blow dealt by the -executioner to a victim broken on the wheel. - -An hour later La Cibot called to Schmucke through the door, telling -him that his dinner was waiting for him in the dining-room. She would -not cross the threshold. Poor Schmucke went out to her with a haggard, -tear-stained face. - -"Mein boor Bons in vandering," said he; "he says dat you are ein pad -voman. It ees his illness," he added hastily, to soften La Cibot and -excuse his friend. - -"Oh, I have had enough of his illness! Look here, he is neither -father, nor husband, nor brother, nor child of mine. He has taken a -dislike to me; well and good, that is enough! As for you, you see, I -would follow /you/ to the end of the world; but when a woman gives her -life, her heart, and all her savings, and neglects her husband (for -here has Cibot fallen ill), and then hears that she is a bad woman--it -is coming it rather too strong, it is." - -"Too shtrong?" - -"Too strong, yes. Never mind idle words. Let us come to the facts. As -to that, you owe me for three months at a hundred and ninety francs-- -that is five hundred seventy francs; then there is the rent that I -have paid twice (here are the receipts), six hundred more, including -rates and the sou in the franc for the porter--something under twelve -hundred francs altogether, and with the two thousand francs besides-- -without interest, mind you--the total amounts to three thousand one -hundred and ninety-two francs. And remember that you will want at -least two thousand francs before long for the doctor, and the nurse, -and the medicine, and the nurse's board. That was why I borrowed a -thousand francs of M. Pillerault," and with that she held up -Gaudissart's bank-note. - -It may readily be conceived that Schmucke listened to this reckoning -with amazement, for he knew about as much of business as a cat knows -of music. - -"Montame Zipod," he expostulated, "Bons haf lost his head. Bardon him, -and nurse him as before, und pe our profidence; I peg it of you on -mine knees," and he knelt before La Cibot and kissed the tormentor's -hands. - -La Cibot raised Schmucke and kissed him on the forehead. "Listen, my -lamb," said she, "here is Cibot ill in bed; I have just sent for Dr. -Poulain. So I ought to set my affairs in order. And what is more, -Cibot saw me crying, and flew into such a passion that he will not -have me set foot in here again. It is /he/ who wants the money; it is -his, you see. We women can do nothing when it comes to that. But if -you let him have his money back again--the three thousand two hundred -francs--he will be quiet perhaps. Poor man, it is his all, earned by -the sweat of his brow, the savings of twenty-six years of life -together. He must have his money to-morrow; there is no getting round -him.--You do not know Cibot; when he is angry he would kill a man. -Well, I might perhaps get leave of him to look after you both as -before. Be easy. I will just let him say anything that comes into his -head. I will bear it all for love of you, an angel as you are." - -"No, I am ein boor man, dot lof his friend and vould gif his life to -save him--" - -"But the money?" broke in La Cibot. "My good M. Schmucke, let us -suppose that you pay me nothing; you will want three thousand francs, -and where are they to come from? Upon my word, do you know what I -should do in your place? I should not think twice, I should just sell -seven or eight good-for-nothing pictures and put up some of those -instead that are standing in your closet with their faces to the wall -for want of room. One picture or another, what difference does it -make?" - -"Und vy?" - -"He is so cunning. It is his illness, for he is a lamb when he is -well. He is capable of getting up and prying about; and if by any -chance he went into the salon, he is so weak that he could not go -beyond the door; he would see that they are all still there." - -"Drue!" - -"And when he is quite well, we will tell him about the sale. And if -you wish to confess, throw it all upon me, say that you were obliged -to pay me. Come! I have a broad back--" - -"I cannot tispose of dings dot are not mine," the good German answered -simply. - -"Very well. I will summons you, you and M. Pons." - -"It vould kill him--" - -"Take your choice! Dear me, sell the pictures and tell him about it -afterwards . . . you can show him the summons--" - -"Ver' goot. Summons us. Dot shall pe mine egscuse. I shall show him -der chudgment." - -Mme. Cibot went down to the court, and that very day at seven o'clock -she called to Schmucke. Schmucke found himself confronted with M. -Tabareau the bailiff, who called upon him to pay. Schmucke made -answer, trembling from head to foot, and was forthwith summoned -together with Pons, to appear in the county court to hear judgment -against him. The sight of the bailiff and a bit of stamped paper -covered with scrawls produced such an effect upon Schmucke, that he -held out no longer. - -"Sell die bictures," he said, with tears in his eyes. - -Next morning, at six o'clock, Elie Magus and Remonencq took down the -paintings of their choice. Two receipts for two thousand five hundred -francs were made out in correct form:-- - -"I, the undersigned, representing M. Pons, acknowledge the receipt of -two thousand five hundred francs from M. Elie Magus for the four -pictures sold to him, the said sum being appropriated to the use of M. -Pons. The first picture, attributed to Durer, is a portrait of a -woman; the second, likewise a portrait, is of the Italian School; the -third, a Dutch landscape by Breughel; and the fourth, a /Holy Family/ -by an unknown master of the Florentine School." - -Remonencq's receipt was worded in precisely the same way; a Greuze, a -Claude Lorraine, a Rubens, and a Van Dyck being disguised as pictures -of the French and Flemish schools. - -"Der monny makes me beleef dot the chimcracks haf som value," said -Schmucke when the five thousand francs were paid over. - -"They are worth something," said Remonencq. "I would willingly give -you a hundred thousand francs for the lot." - -Remonencq, asked to do a trifling service, hung eight pictures of the -proper size in the same frames, taking them from among the less -valuable pictures in Schmucke's bedroom. - -No sooner was Elie Magus in possession of the four great pictures than -he went, taking La Cibot with him, under pretence of settling -accounts. But he pleaded poverty, he found fault with the pictures, -they needed rebacking, he offered La Cibot thirty thousand francs by -way of commission, and finally dazzled her with the sheets of paper on -which the Bank of France engraves the words "One thousand francs" in -capital letters. Magus thereupon condemned Remonencq to pay the like -sum to La Cibot, by lending him the money on the security of his four -pictures, which he took with him as a guarantee. So glorious were -they, that Magus could not bring himself to part with them, and next -day he bought them of Remonencq for six thousand francs over and above -the original price, and an invoice was duly made out for the four. -Mme. Cibot, the richer by sixty-eight thousand francs, once more swore -her two accomplices to absolute secrecy. Then she asked the Jew's -advice. She wanted to invest the money in such a way that no one -should know of it. - -"Buy shares in the Orleans Railway," said he; "they are thirty francs -below par, you will double your capital in three years. They will give -you scraps of paper, which you keep safe in a portfolio." - -"Stay here, M. Magus. I will go and fetch the man of business who acts -for M. Pons' family. He wants to know how much you will give him for -the whole bag of tricks upstairs. I will go for him now." - -"If only she were a widow!" said Remonencq when she was gone. "She -would just suit me; she will have plenty of money now--" - -"Especially if she puts her money into the Orleans Railway; she will -double her capital in two years' time. I have put all my poor little -savings into it," added the Jew, "for my daughter's portion.--Come, -let us take a turn on the boulevard until this lawyer arrives." - -"Cibot is very bad as it is," continued Remonencq; "if it should -please God to take him to Himself, I should have a famous wife to keep -a shop; I could set up on a large scale--" - -"Good-day, M. Fraisier," La Cibot began in an ingratiating tone as she -entered her legal adviser's office. "Why, what is this that your -porter has been telling me? are you going to move?" - -"Yes, my dear Mme. Cibot. I am taking the first floor above Dr. -Poulain, and trying to borrow two or three thousand francs so as to -furnish the place properly; it is very nice, upon my word, the -landlord has just papered and painted it. I am acting, as I told you, -in President de Marville's interests and yours. . . . I am not a -solicitor now; I mean to have my name entered on the roll of -barristers, and I must be well lodged. A barrister in Paris cannot -have his name on the rolls unless he has decent furniture and books -and the like. I am a doctor of law, I have kept my terms, and have -powerful interest already. . . . Well, how are we getting on?" - -"Perhaps you would accept my savings," said La Cibot. "I have put them -in a savings bank. I have not much, only three thousand francs, the -fruits of twenty-five years of stinting and scraping. You might give -me a bill of exchange, as Remonencq says; for I am ignorant myself, I -only know what they tell me." - -"No. It is against the rules of the guild for a barrister (/avocat/) -to put his name to a bill. I will give you a receipt, bearing interest -at five per cent per annum, on the understanding that if I make an -income of twelve hundred francs for you out of old Pons' estate you -will cancel it." - -La Cibot, caught in the trap, uttered not a word. - -"Silence gives consent," Fraisier continued. "Let me have it to-morrow -morning." - -"Oh! I am quite willing to pay fees in advance," said La Cibot; "it is -one way of making sure of my money." - -Fraisier nodded. "How are you getting on?" he repeated. "I saw Poulain -yesterday; you are hurrying your invalid along, it seems. . . . One -more scene such as yesterday's, and gall-stones will form. Be gentle -with him, my dear Mme. Cibot, do not lay up remorse for yourself. Life -is not too long." - -"Just let me alone with your remorse! Are you going to talk about the -guillotine again? M. Pons is a contrairy old thing. You don't know -him. It is he that bothers me. There is not a more cross-grained man -alive; his relations are in the right of it, he is sly, revengeful, -and contrairy. . . . M. Magus has come, as I told you, and is waiting -to see you." - -"Right! I will be there as soon as you. Your income depends upon the -price the collection will fetch. If it brings in eight hundred -thousand francs, you shall have fifteen hundred francs a year. It is a -fortune." - -"Very well. I will tell them to value the things on their -consciences." - - - -An hour later, Pons was fast asleep. The doctor had ordered a soothing -draught, which Schmucke administered, all unconscious that La Cibot -had doubled the dose. Fraisier, Remonencq, and Magus, three gallows- -birds, were examining the seventeen hundred different objects which -formed the old musician's collection one by one. - -Schmucke had gone to bed. The three kites, drawn by the scent of a -corpse, were masters of the field. - -"Make no noise," said La Cibot whenever Magus went into ecstasies or -explained the value of some work of art to Remonencq. The dying man -slept on in the neighboring room, while greed in four different forms -appraised the treasures that he must leave behind, and waited -impatiently for him to die--a sight to wring the heart. - -Three hours went by before they had finished the salon. - -"On an average," said the grimy old Jew, "everything here is worth a -thousand francs." - -"Seventeen hundred thousand francs!" exclaimed Fraisier in -bewilderment. - -"Not to me," Magus answered promptly, and his eyes grew dull. "I would -not give more than a hundred thousand francs myself for the -collection. You cannot tell how long you may keep a thing on hand. -. . . There are masterpieces that wait ten years for a buyer, and -meanwhile the purchase money is doubled by compound interest. Still, I -should pay cash." - -"There is stained glass in the other room, as well as enamels and -miniatures and gold and silver snuff-boxes," put in Remonencq. - -"Can they be seen?" inquired Fraisier. - -"I'll see if he is sound asleep," replied La Cibot. She made a sign, -and the three birds of prey came in. - -"There are masterpieces yonder!" said Magus, indicating the salon, -every bristle of his white beard twitching as he spoke. "But the -riches are here! And what riches! Kings have nothing more glorious in -royal treasuries." - -Remonencq's eyes lighted up till they glowed like carbuncles, at the -sight of the gold snuff-boxes. Fraisier, cool and calm as a serpent, -or some snake-creature with the power of rising erect, stood with his -viper head stretched out, in such an attitude as a painter would -choose for Mephistopheles. The three covetous beings, thirsting for -gold as devils thirst for the dew of heaven, looked simultaneously, as -it chanced, at the owner of all this wealth. Some nightmare troubled -Pons; he stirred, and suddenly, under the influence of those -diabolical glances, he opened his eyes with a shrill cry. - -"Thieves! . . . There they are! . . . Help! Murder! Help!" - -The nightmare was evidently still upon him, for he sat up in bed, -staring before him with blank, wide-open eyes, and had not the power -to move. - -Elie Magus and Remonencq made for the door, but a word glued them to -the spot. - -"/Magus/ here! . . . I am betrayed!" - -Instinctively the sick man had known that his beloved pictures were in -danger, a thought that touched him at least as closely as any dread -for himself, and he awoke. Fraisier meanwhile did not stir. - -"Mme. Cibot! who is that gentleman?" cried Pons, shivering at the -sight. - -"Goodness me! how could I put him out of the door?" she inquired, with -a wink and gesture for Fraisier's benefit. "This gentleman came just a -minute ago, from your family." - -Fraisier could not conceal his admiration for La Cibot. - -"Yes, sir," he said, "I have come on behalf of Mme. la Presidente de -Marville, her husband, and her daughter, to express their regret. They -learned quite by accident that you are ill, and they would like to -nurse you themselves. They want you to go to Marville and get well -there. Mme. la Vicomtesse Popinot, the little Cecile that you love so -much, will be your nurse. She took your part with her mother. She -convinced Mme. de Marville that she had made a mistake." - -"So my next-of-kin have sent you to me, have they?" Pons exclaimed -indignantly, "and sent the best judge and expert in all Paris with you -to show you the way? Oh! a nice commission!" he cried, bursting into -wild laughter. "You have come to value my pictures and curiosities, my -snuff-boxes and miniatures! . . . Make your valuation. You have a man -there who understands everything, and more--he can buy everything, for -he is a millionaire ten times over. . . . My dear relatives will not -have long to wait," he added, with bitter irony, "they have choked the -last breath out of me. . . . Ah! Mme. Cibot, you said you were a -mother to me, and you bring dealers into the house, and my competitor -and the Camusots, while I am asleep! . . . Get out, all of you!--" - -The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he rose from -the bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure. - -"Take my arm, sir," said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest Pons -should fall. "Pray calm yourself, the gentlemen are gone." - -"I want to see the salon. . . ." said the death-stricken man. La Cibot -made a sign to the three ravens to take flight. Then she caught up -Pons as if he had been a feather, and put him in bed again, in spite -of his cries. When she saw that he was quite helpless and exhausted, -she went to shut the door on the staircase. The three who had done -Pons to death were still on the landing; La Cibot told them to wait. -She heard Fraisier say to Magus: - -"Let me have it in writing, and sign it, both of you. Undertake to pay -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for M. Pons' collection, and we -will see about putting you in the way of making a handsome profit." - -With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that the -others could not catch it, and went down after the two dealers to the -porter's room. - -"Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?" asked the unhappy Pons, when she came -back again. - -"Gone? . . . who?" asked she. - -"Those men." - -"What men? There, now, you have seen men," said she. "You have just -had a raving fit; if it hadn't been for me you would have gone out the -window, and now you are still talking of men in the room. Is it always -to be like this?" - -"What! was there not a gentleman here just now, saying that my -relatives had sent him?" - -"Will you still stand me out?" said she. "Upon my word, do you know -where you ought to be sent?--To the asylum at Charenton. You see -men--" - -"Elie Magus, Remonencq, and--" - -"Oh! as for Remonencq, you may have seen /him/, for he came up to tell -me that my poor Cibot is so bad that I must clear out of this and come -down. My Cibot comes first, you see. When my husband is ill, I can -think of nobody else. Try to keep quiet and sleep for a couple of -hours; I have sent for Dr. Poulain, and I will come up with him. . . . -Take a drink and be good--" - -"Then was there no one in the room just now, when I waked? . . ." - -"No one," said she. "You must have seen M. Remonencq in one of your -looking-glasses." - -"You are right, Mme. Cibot," said Pons, meek as a lamb. - -"Well, now you are sensible again. . . . Good-bye, my cherub; keep -quiet, I shall be back again in a minute." - -When Pons heard the outer door close upon her, he summoned up all his -remaining strength to rise. - -"They are cheating me," he muttered to himself, "they are robbing me! -Schmucke is a child that would let them tie him up in a sack." - -The terrible scene had seemed so real, it could not be a dream, he -thought; a desire to throw light upon the puzzle excited him; he -managed to reach the door, opened it after many efforts, and stood on -the threshold of his salon. There they were--his dear pictures, his -statues, his Florentine bronzes, his porcelain; the sight of them -revived him. The old collector walked in his dressing-gown along the -narrow spaces between the credence-tables and the sideboards that -lined the wall; his feet bare, his head on fire. His first glance of -ownership told him that everything was there; he turned to go back to -bed again, when he noticed that a Greuze portrait looked out of the -frame that had held Sebastian del Piombo's /Templar/. Suspicion -flashed across his brain, making his dark thoughts apparent to him, as -a flash of lightning marks the outlines of the cloud-bars on a stormy -sky. He looked round for the eight capital pictures of the collection; -each one of them was replaced by another. A dark film suddenly -overspread his eyes; his strength failed him; he fell fainting upon -the polished floor. - -So heavy was the swoon, that for two hours he lay as he fell, till -Schmucke awoke and went to see his friend, and found him lying -unconscious in the salon. With endless pains Schmucke raised the half- -dead body and laid it on the bed; but when he came to question the -death-stricken man, and saw the look in the dull eyes and heard the -vague, inarticulate words, the good German, so far from losing his -head, rose to the very heroism of friendship. Man and child as he was, -with the pressure of despair came the inspiration of a mother's -tenderness, a woman's love. He warmed towels (he found towels!), he -wrapped them about Pons' hands, he laid them over the pit of the -stomach; he took the cold, moist forehead in his hands, he summoned -back life with a might of will worthy of Apollonius of Tyana, laying -kisses on his friend's eyelids like some Mary bending over the dead -Christ, in a /pieta/ carved in bas-relief by some great Italian -sculptor. The divine effort, the outpouring of one life into another, -the work of mother and of lover, was crowned with success. In half an -hour the warmth revived Pons; he became himself again, the hues of -life returned to his eyes, suspended faculties gradually resumed their -play under the influence of artificial heat; Schmucke gave him balm- -water with a little wine in it; the spirit of life spread through the -body; intelligence lighted up the forehead so short a while ago -insensible as a stone; and Pons knew that he had been brought back to -life, by what sacred devotion, what might of friendship! - -"But for you, I should die," he said, and as he spoke he felt the good -German's tears falling on his face. Schmucke was laughing and crying -at once. - -Poor Schmucke! he had waited for those words with a frenzy of hope as -costly as the frenzy of despair; and now his strength utterly failed -him, he collapsed like a rent balloon. It was his turn to fall; he -sank into the easy-chair, clasped his hands, and thanked God in -fervent prayer. For him a miracle had just been wrought. He put no -belief in the efficacy of the prayer of his deeds; the miracle had -been wrought by God in direct answer to his cry. And yet that miracle -was a natural effect, such as medical science often records. - -A sick man, surrounded by those who love him, nursed by those who wish -earnestly that he should live, will recover (other things being -equal), when another patient tended by hirelings will die. Doctors -decline to see unconscious magnetism in this phenomenon; for them it -is the result of intelligent nursing, of exact obedience to their -orders; but many a mother knows the virtue of such ardent projection -of strong, unceasing prayer. - -"My good Schmucke--" - -"Say nodings; I shall hear you mit mein heart . . . rest, rest!" said -Schmucke, smiling at him. - -"Poor friend, noble creature, child of God, living in God! . . . The -one being that has loved me. . . ." The words came out with pauses -between them; there was a new note, a something never heard before, in -Pons' voice. All the soul, so soon to take flight, found utterance in -the words that filled Schmucke with happiness almost like a lover's -rapture. - -"Yes, yes. I shall be shtrong as a lion. I shall vork for two!" - -"Listen, my good, my faithful, adorable friend. Let me speak, I have -not much time left. I am a dead man. I cannot recover from these -repeated shocks." - -Schmucke was crying like a child. - -"Just listen," continued Pons, "and cry afterwards. As a Christian, -you must submit. I have been robbed. It is La Cibot's doing. . . . I -ought to open your eyes before I go; you know nothing of life. . . . -Somebody has taken away eight of the pictures, and they were worth a -great deal of money." - -"Vorgif me--I sold dem." - -"/You/ sold them?" - -"Yes, I," said poor Schmucke. "Dey summoned us to der court--" - -"/Summoned?/. . . . Who summoned us?" - -"Wait," said Schmucke. He went for the bit of stamped-paper left by -the bailiff, and gave it to Pons. Pons read the scrawl through with -close attention, then he let the paper drop and lay quite silent for a -while. A close observer of the work of men's hands, unheedful so far -of the workings of the brain, Pons finally counted out the threads of -the plot woven about him by La Cibot. The artist's fire, the intellect -that won the Roman scholarship--all his youth came back to him for a -little. - -"My good Schmucke," he said at last, "you must do as I tell you, and -obey like a soldier. Listen! go downstairs into the lodge and tell -that abominable woman that I should like to see the person sent to me -by my cousin the President; and that unless he comes, I shall leave my -collection to the Musee. Say that a will is in question." - -Schmucke went on his errand; but at the first word, La Cibot answered -by a smile. - -"My good M. Schmucke, our dear invalid has had a delirious fit; he -thought that there were men in the room. On my word, as an honest -woman, no one has come from the family." - -Schmucke went back with his answer, which he repeated word for word. - -"She is cleverer, more astute and cunning and wily, than I thought," -said Pons with a smile. "She lies even in her room. Imagine it! This -morning she brought a Jew here, Elie Magus by name, and Remonencq, and -a third whom I do not know, more terrific than the other two put -together. She meant to make a valuation while I was asleep; I happened -to wake, and saw them all three, estimating the worth of my snuff- -boxes. The stranger said, indeed, that the Camusots had sent him here; -I spoke to him. . . . That shameless woman stood me out that I was -dreaming! . . . My good Schmucke, it was not a dream. I heard the man -perfectly plainly; he spoke to me. . . . The two dealers took fright -and made for the door. . . . I thought that La Cibot would contradict -herself--the experiment failed. . . . I will lay another snare, and -trap the wretched woman. . . . Poor Schmucke, you think that La Cibot -is an angel; and for this month past she has been killing me by inches -to gain her covetous ends. I would not believe that a woman who served -us faithfully for years could be so wicked. That doubt has been my -ruin. . . . How much did the eight pictures fetch?" - -"Vife tausend vrancs." - -"Good heavens! they were worth twenty times as much!" cried Pons; "the -gems of the collection! I have not time now to institute proceedings; -and if I did, you would figure in court as the dupe of those rascals. -. . . A lawsuit would be the death of you. You do not know what -justice means--a court of justice is a sink of iniquity. . . . At the -sight of such horrors, a soul like yours would give way. And besides, -you will have enough. The pictures cost me forty thousand francs. I -have had them for thirty-six years. . . . Oh, we have been robbed with -surprising dexterity. I am on the brink of the grave, I care for -nothing now but thee--for thee, the best soul under the sun. . . . - -"I will not have you plundered; all that I have is yours. So you must -trust nobody, Schmucke, you that have never suspected any one in your -life. I know God watches over you, but He may forget for one moment, -and you will be seized like a vessel among pirates. . . . La Cibot is -a monster! She is killing me; and you think her an angel! You shall -see what she is. Go and ask her to give you the name of a notary, and -I will show you her with her hand in the bag." - -Schmucke listened as if Pons proclaimed an apocalypse. Could so -depraved a creature as La Cibot exist? If Pons was right, it seemed to -imply that there was no God in the world. He went right down again to -Mme. Cibot. - -"Mein boor vriend Bons feel so ill," he said, "dat he vish to make his -vill. Go und pring ein nodary." - -This was said in the hearing of several persons, for Cibot's life was -despaired of. Remonencq and his sister, two women from neighboring -porters' lodges, two or three servants, and the lodger from the first -floor on the side next the street, were all standing outside in the -gateway. - -"Oh! you can just fetch a notary yourself, and have your will made as -you please," cried La Cibot, with tears in her eyes. "My poor Cibot is -dying, and it is no time to leave him. I would give all the Ponses in -the world to save Cibot, that has never given me an ounce of -unhappiness in these thirty years since we were married." - -And in she went, leaving Schmucke in confusion. - -"Is M. Pons really seriously ill, sir?" asked the first-floor lodger, -one Jolivard, a clerk in the registrar's office at the Palais de -Justice. - -"He nearly died chust now," said Schmucke, with deep sorrow in his -voice. - -"M. Trognon lives near by in the Rue Saint-Louis," said M. Jolivard, -"he is the notary of the quarter." - -"Would you like me to go for him?" asked Remonencq. - -"I should pe fery glad," said Schmucke; "for gif Montame Zipod cannot -pe mit mine vriend, I shall not vish to leaf him in der shtate he is -in--" - -"Mme. Cibot told us that he was going out of his mind," resumed -Jolivard. - -"Bons! out off his mind!" cried Schmucke, terror-stricken by the idea. -"Nefer vas he so clear in der head . . . dat is chust der reason vy I -am anxious for him." - -The little group of persons listened to the conversation with a very -natural curiosity, which stamped the scene upon their memories. -Schmucke did not know Fraisier, and could not note his satanic -countenance and glittering eyes. But two words whispered by Fraisier -in La Cibot's ear had prompted a daring piece of acting, somewhat -beyond La Cibot's range, it may be, though she played her part -throughout in a masterly style. To make others believe that the dying -man was out of his mind--it was the very corner-stone of the edifice -reared by the petty lawyer. The morning's incident had done Fraisier -good service; but for him, La Cibot in her trouble might have fallen -into the snare innocently spread by Schmucke, when he asked her to -send back the person sent by the family. - -Remonencq saw Dr. Poulain coming towards them, and asked no better -than to vanish. The fact was that for the last ten days the Auvergnat -had been playing Providence in a manner singularly displeasing to -Justice, which claims the monopoly of that part. He had made up his -mind to rid himself at all costs of the one obstacle in his way to -happiness, and happiness for him meant capital trebled and marriage -with the irresistibly charming portress. He had watched the little -tailor drinking his herb-tea, and a thought struck him. He would -convert the ailment into mortal sickness; his stock of old metals -supplied him with the means. - -One morning as he leaned against the door-post, smoking his pipe and -dreaming of that fine shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine where Mme. -Cibot, gorgeously arrayed, should some day sit enthroned, his eyes -fell upon a copper disc, about the size of a five-franc piece, covered -thickly with verdigris. The economical idea of using Cibot's medicine -to clean the disc immediately occurred to him. He fastened the thing -in a bit of twine, and came over every morning to inquire for tidings -of his friend the tailor, timing his visit during La Cibot's visit to -her gentlemen upstairs. He dropped the disc into the tumbler, allowed -it to steep there while he talked, and drew it out again by the string -when he went away. - -The trace of tarnished copper, commonly called verdigris, poisoned the -wholesome draught; a minute dose administered by stealth did -incalculable mischief. Behold the results of this criminal -homoeopathy! On the third day poor Cibot's hair came out, his teeth -were loosened in their sockets, his whole system was deranged by a -scarcely perceptible trace of poison. Dr. Poulain racked his brains. -He was enough of a man of science to see that some destructive agent -was at work. He privately carried off the decoction, analyzed it -himself, but found nothing. It so chanced that Remonencq had taken -fright and omitted to dip the disc in the tumbler that day. - -Then Dr. Poulain fell back on himself and science and got out of the -difficulty with a theory. A sedentary life in a damp room; a cramped -position before the barred window--these conditions had vitiated the -blood in the absence of proper exercise, especially as the patient -continually breathed an atmosphere saturated with the fetid -exhalations of the gutter. The Rue de Normandie is one of the old- -fashioned streets that slope towards the middle; the municipal -authorities of Paris as yet have laid on no water supply to flush the -central kennel which drains the houses on either side, and as a result -a stream of filthy ooze meanders among the cobblestones, filters into -the soil, and produces the mud peculiar to the city. La Cibot came and -went; but her husband, a hard-working man, sat day in day out like a -fakir on the table in the window, till his knee-joints were stiffened, -the blood stagnated in his body, and his legs grew so thin and crooked -that he almost lost the use of them. The deep copper tint of the man's -complexion naturally suggested that he had been out of health for a -very long time. The wife's good health and the husband's illness -seemed to the doctor to be satisfactorily accounted for by this -theory. - -"Then what is the matter with my poor Cibot?" asked the portress. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot, he is dying of the porter's disease," said the -doctor. "Incurable vitiation of the blood is evident from the general -anaemic condition." - -No one had anything to gain by a crime so objectless. Dr. Poulain's -first suspicions were effaced by this thought. Who could have any -possible interest in Cibot's death? His wife?--the doctor saw her -taste the herb-tea as she sweetened it. Crimes which escape social -vengeance are many enough, and as a rule they are of this order--to -wit, murders committed without any startling sign of violence, without -bloodshed, bruises, marks of strangling, without any bungling of the -business, in short; if there seems to be no motive for the crime, it -most likely goes unpunished, especially if the death occurs among the -poorer classes. Murder is almost always denounced by its advanced -guards, by hatred or greed well known to those under whose eyes the -whole matter has passed. But in the case of the Cibots, no one save -the doctor had any interest in discovering the actual cause of death. -The little copper-faced tailor's wife adored her husband; he had no -money and no enemies; La Cibot's fortune and the marine-store dealer's -motives were alike hidden in the shade. Poulain knew the portress and -her way of thinking perfectly well; he thought her capable of -tormenting Pons, but he saw that she had neither motive enough nor wit -enough for murder; and besides--every time the doctor came and she -gave her husband a draught, she took a spoonful herself. Poulain -himself, the only person who might have thrown light on the matter, -inclined to believe that this was one of the unaccountable freaks of -disease, one of the astonishing exceptions which make medicine so -perilous a profession. And in truth, the little tailor's unwholesome -life and unsanitary surroundings had unfortunately brought him to such -a pass that the trace of copper-poisoning was like the last straw. -Gossips and neighbors took it upon themselves to explain the sudden -death, and no suspicion of blame lighted upon Remonencq. - -"Oh! this long time past I have said that M. Cibot was not well," -cried one. - -"He worked too hard, he did," said another; "he heated his blood." - -"He would not listen to me," put in a neighbor; "I advised him to walk -out of a Sunday and keep Saint Monday; two days in the week is not too -much for amusement." - -In short, the gossip of the quarter, the tell-tale voice to which -Justice, in the person of the commissary of police, the king of the -poorer classes, lends an attentive ear--gossip explained the little -tailor's demise in a perfectly satisfactory manner. Yet M. Poulain's -pensive air and uneasy eyes embarrassed Remonencq not a little, and at -sight of the doctor he offered eagerly to go in search of M. Trognon, -Fraisier's acquaintance. Fraisier turned to La Cibot to say in a low -voice, "I shall come back again as soon as the will is made. In spite -of your sorrow, you must look for squalls." Then he slipped away like -a shadow and met his friend the doctor. - -"Ah, Poulain!" he exclaimed, "it is all right. We are safe! I will -tell you about it to-night. Look out a post that will suit you, you -shall have it! For my own part, I am a justice of the peace. Tabareau -will not refuse me now for a son-in-law. And as for you, I will -undertake that you shall marry Mlle. Vitel, granddaughter of our -justice of the peace." - -Fraisier left Poulain reduced to dumb bewilderment by these wild -words; bounced like a ball into the boulevard, hailed an omnibus, and -was set down ten minutes later by the modern coach at the corner of -the Rue de Choiseul. By this time it was nearly four o'clock. Fraisier -felt quite sure of a word in private with the Presidente, for -officials seldom leave the Palais de Justice before five o'clock. - -Mme. de Marville's reception of him assured Fraisier that M. Leboeuf -had kept his promise made to Mme. Vatinelle and spoken favorably of -the sometime attorney at Mantes. Amelie's manner was almost caressing. -So might the Duchesse de Montpensier have treated Jacques Clement. The -petty attorney was a knife to her hand. But when Fraisier produced the -joint-letter signed by Elie Magus and Remonencq offering the sum of -nine hundred thousand francs in cash for Pons' collection, then the -Presidente looked at her man of business and the gleam of the money -flashed from her eyes. That ripple of greed reached the attorney. - -"M. le President left a message with me," she said; "he hopes that you -will dine with us to-morrow. It will be a family party. M. Godeschal, -Desroches' successor and my attorney, will come to meet you, and -Berthier, our notary, and my daughter and son-in-law. After dinner, -you and I and the notary and attorney will have the little -consultation for which you ask, and I will give you full powers. The -two gentlemen will do as you require and act upon your inspiration; -and see that /everything/ goes well. You shall have a power of -attorney from M. de Marville as soon as you want it." - -"I shall want it on the day of the decease." - -"It shall be in readiness." - -"Mme. la Presidente, if I ask for a power of attorney, and would -prefer that your attorney's name should not appear I wish it less in -my own interest than in yours. . . . When I give myself, it is without -reserve. And in return, madame, I ask the same fidelity; I ask my -patrons (I do not venture to call you my clients) to put the same -confidence in me. You may think that in acting thus I am trying to -fasten upon this affair--no, no, madame; there may be reprehensible -things done; with an inheritance in view one is dragged on . . . -especially with nine hundred thousand francs in the balance. Well, -now, you could not disavow a man like Maitre Godeschal, honesty -itself, but you can throw all the blame on the back of a miserable -pettifogging lawyer--" - -Mme. Camusot de Marville looked admiringly at Fraisier. - -"You ought to go very high," said she, "or sink very low. In your -place, instead of asking to hide myself away as a justice of the -peace, I would aim at the crown attorney's appointment--at, say, -Mantes!--and make a great career for myself." - -"Let me have my way, madame. The post of justice of the peace is an -ambling pad for M. Vitel; for me it shall be a war-horse." - -And in this way the Presidente proceeded to a final confidence. - -"You seem to be so completely devoted to our interests," she began, -"that I will tell you about the difficulties of our position and our -hopes. The President's great desire, ever since a match was projected -between his daughter and an adventurer who recently started a bank,-- -the President's wish, I say, has been to round out the Marville estate -with some grazing land, at that time in the market. We dispossessed -ourselves of fine property, as you know, to settle it upon our -daughter; but I wish very much, my daughter being an only child, to -buy all that remains of the grass land. Part has been sold already. -The estate belongs to an Englishman who is returning to England after -a twenty years' residence in France. He built the most charming -cottage in a delightful situation, between Marville Park and the -meadows which once were part of the Marville lands; he bought up -covers, copse, and gardens at fancy prices to make the grounds about -the cottage. The house and its surroundings make a feature of the -landscape, and it lies close to my daughter's park palings. The whole, -land and house, should be bought for seven hundred thousand francs, -for the net revenue is about twenty thousand francs. . . . But if Mr. -Wadman finds out that /we/ think of buying it, he is sure to add -another two or three hundred thousand francs to the price; for he will -lose money if the house counts for nothing, as it usually does when -you buy land in the country--" - -"Why, madame," Fraisier broke in, "in my opinion you can be so sure -that the inheritance is yours that I will offer to act the part of -purchaser for you. I will undertake that you shall have the land at -the best possible price, and have a written engagement made out under -private seal, like a contract to deliver goods. . . . I will go to the -Englishman in the character of buyer. I understand that sort of thing; -it was my specialty at Mantes. Vatinelle doubled the value of his -practice, while I worked in his name." - -"Hence your connection with little Madame Vatinelle. He must be very -well off--" - -"But Mme. Vatinelle has expensive tastes. . . . So be easy, madame--I -will serve you up the Englishman done to a turn--" - -"If you can manage that you will have eternal claims to my gratitude. -Good-day, my dear M. Fraisier. Till to-morrow--" - -Fraisier went. His parting bow was a degree less cringing than on the -first occasion. - -"I am to dine to-morrow with President de Marville!" he said to -himself. "Come now, I have these folk in my power. Only, to be -absolute master, I ought to be the German's legal adviser in the -person of Tabareau, the justice's clerk. Tabareau will not have me now -for his daughter, his only daughter, but he will give her to me when I -am a justice of the peace. I shall be eligible. Mlle. Tabareau, that -tall, consumptive girl with the red hair, has a house in the Place -Royale in right of her mother. At her father's death she is sure to -come in for six thousand francs, you must not look too hard at the -plank." - -As he went back to the Rue de Normandie by way of the boulevards, he -dreamed out his golden dream, he gave himself up to the happiness of -the thought that he should never know want again. He would marry his -friend Poulain to Mlle. Vitel, the daughter of the justice of the -peace; together, he and his friend the doctor would reign like kings -in the quarter; he would carry all the elections--municipal, military, -or political. The boulevards seem short if, while you pace afoot, you -mount your ambition on the steed of fancy in this way. - -Schmucke meanwhile went back to his friend Pons with the news that -Cibot was dying, and Remonencq gone in search of M. Trognon, the -notary. Pons was struck by the name. It had come up again and again in -La Cibot's interminable talk, and La Cibot always recommended him as -honesty incarnate. And with that a luminous idea occurred to Pons, in -whom mistrust had grown paramount since the morning, an idea which -completed his plan for outwitting La Cibot and unmasking her -completely for the too-credulous Schmucke. - -So many unexpected things had happened that day that poor Schmucke was -quite bewildered. Pons took his friend's hand. - -"There must be a good deal of confusion in the house, Schmucke; if the -porter is at death's door, we are almost free for a minute or two; -that is to say, there will be no spies--for we are watched, you may be -sure of that. Go out, take a cab, go to the theatre, and tell Mlle. -Heloise Brisetout that I should like to see her before I die. Ask her -to come here to-night when she leaves the theatre. Then go to your -friends Brunner and Schwab and beg them to come to-morrow morning at -nine o'clock to inquire after me; let them come up as if they were -just passing by and called in to see me." - -The old artist felt that he was dying, and this was the scheme that he -forged. He meant Schmucke to be his universal legatee. To protect -Schmucke from any possible legal quibbles, he proposed to dictate his -will to a notary in the presence of witnesses, lest his sanity should -be called in question and the Camusots should attempt upon that -pretext to dispute the will. At the name of Trognon he caught a -glimpse of machinations of some kind; perhaps a flaw purposely -inserted, or premeditated treachery on La Cibot's part. He would -prevent this. Trognon should dictate a holograph will which should be -signed and deposited in a sealed envelope in a drawer. Then Schmucke, -hidden in one of the cabinets in his alcove, should see La Cibot -search for the will, find it, open the envelope, read it through, and -seal it again. Next morning, at nine o'clock, he would cancel the will -and make a new one in the presence of two notaries, everything in due -form and order. La Cibot had treated him as a madman and a visionary; -he saw what this meant--he saw the Presidente's hate and greed, her -revenge in La Cibot's behavior. In the sleepless hours and lonely days -of the last two months, the poor man had sifted the events of his past -life. - -It has been the wont of sculptors, ancient and modern, to set a -tutelary genius with a lighted torch upon either side of a tomb. Those -torches that light up the paths of death throw light for dying eyes -upon the spectacle of a life's mistakes and sins; the carved stone -figures express great ideas, they are symbols of a fact in human -experience. The agony of death has its own wisdom. Not seldom a simple -girl, scarcely more than a child, will grow wise with the experience -of a hundred years, will gain prophetic vision, judge her family, and -see clearly through all pretences, at the near approach of Death. -Herein lies Death's poetry. But, strange and worthy of remark it is, -there are two manners of death. - -The poetry of prophecy, the gift of seeing clearly into the future or -the past, only belongs to those whose bodies are stricken, to those -who die by the destruction of the organs of physical life. Consumptive -patients, for instance, or those who die of gangrene like Louis XIV., -of fever like Pons, of a stomach complaint like Mme. de Mortsauf, or -of wounds received in the full tide of life like soldiers on the -battlefield--all these may possess this supreme lucidity to the full; -their deaths fill us with surprise and wonder. But many, on the other -hand, die of /intelligential/ diseases, as they may be called; of -maladies seated in the brain or in that nervous system which acts as a -kind of purveyor of thought fuel--and these die wholly, body and -spirit are darkened together. The former are spirits deserted by the -body, realizing for us our ideas of the spirits of Scripture; the -latter are bodies untenanted by a spirit. - -Too late the virgin nature, the epicure-Cato, the righteous man almost -without sin, was discovering the Presidente's real character--the sac -of gall that did duty for her heart. He knew the world now that he was -about to leave it, and for the past few hours he had risen gaily to -his part, like a joyous artist finding a pretext for caricature and -laughter in everything. The last links that bound him to life, the -chains of admiration, the strong ties that bind the art lover to Art's -masterpieces, had been snapped that morning. When Pons knew that La -Cibot had robbed him, he bade farewell, like a Christian, to the pomps -and vanities of Art, to his collection, to all his old friendships -with the makers of so many fair things. Our forefathers counted the -day of death as a Christian festival, and in something of the same -spirit Pons' thoughts turned to the coming end. In his tender love he -tried to protect Schmucke when he should be low in the grave. It was -this father's thought that led him to fix his choice upon the leading -lady of the ballet. Mlle. Brisetout should help him to baffle -surrounding treachery, and those who in all probability would never -forgive his innocent universal legatee. - -Heloise Brisetout was one of the few natures that remain true in a -false position. She was an opera-girl of the school of Josepha and -Jenny Cadine, capable of playing any trick on a paying adorer; yet she -was a good comrade, dreading no power on earth, accustomed as she was -to see the weak side of the strong and to hold her own with the police -at the scarcely idyllic Bal de Mabille and the carnival. - -"If she asked for my place for Garangeot, she will think that she owes -me a good turn by so much the more," said Pons to himself. - -Thanks to the prevailing confusion in the porter's lodge, Schmucke -succeeded in getting out of the house. He returned with the utmost -speed, fearing to leave Pons too long alone. M. Trognon reached the -house just as Schmucke came in. Albeit Cibot was dying, his wife came -upstairs with the notary, brought him into the bedroom, and withdrew, -leaving Schmucke and Pons with M. Trognon; but she left the door ajar, -and went no further than the next room. Providing herself with a -little hand-glass of curious workmanship, she took up her station in -the doorway, so that she could not only hear but see all that passed -at the supreme moment. - -"Sir," said Pons, "I am in the full possession of my faculties, -unfortunately for me, for I feel that I am about to die; and -doubtless, by the will of God, I shall be spared nothing of the agony -of death. This is M. Schmucke"--(the notary bowed to M. Schmucke)--"my -one friend on earth," continued Pons. "I wish to make him my universal -legatee. Now, tell me how to word the will, so that my friend, who is -a German and knows nothing of French law, may succeed to my -possessions without any dispute." - -"Anything is liable to be disputed, sir," said the notary; "that is -the drawback of human justice. But in the matter of wills, there are -wills so drafted that they cannot be upset--" - -"In what way?" queried Pons. - -"If a will is made in the presence of a notary, and before witnesses -who can swear that the testator was in the full possession of his -faculties; and if the testator has neither wife nor children, nor -father nor mother--" - -"I have none of these; all my affection is centred upon my dear friend -Schmucke here." - -The tears overflowed Schmucke's eyes. - -"Then, if you have none but distant relatives, the law leaves you free -to dispose of both personalty and real estate as you please, so long -as you bequeath them for no unlawful purpose; for you must have come -across cases of wills disputed on account of the testator's -eccentricities. A will made in the presence of a notary is considered -to be authentic; for the person's identity is established, the notary -certifies that the testator was sane at the time, and there can be no -possible dispute over the signature.--Still, a holograph will, -properly and clearly worded, is quite as safe." - -"I have decided, for reasons of my own, to make a holograph will at -your dictation, and to deposit it with my friend here. Is this -possible?" - -"Quite possible," said the notary. "Will you write? I will begin to -dictate--" - -"Schmucke, bring me my little Boule writing-desk.--Speak low, sir," he -added; "we may be overheard." - -"Just tell me, first of all, what you intend," demanded the notary. - -Ten minutes later La Cibot saw the notary look over the will, while -Schmucke lighted a taper (Pons watching her reflection all the while -in a mirror). She saw the envelope sealed, saw Pons give it to -Schmucke, and heard him say that it must be put away in a secret -drawer in his bureau. Then the testator asked for the key, tied it to -the corner of his handkerchief, and slipped it under his pillow. - -The notary himself, by courtesy, was appointed executor. To him Pons -left a picture of price, such a thing as the law permits a notary to -receive. Trognon went out and came upon Mme. Cibot in the salon. - -"Well, sir, did M. Pons remember me?" - -"You do not expect a notary to betray secrets confided to him, my -dear," returned M. Trognon. "I can only tell you this--there will be -many disappointments, and some that are anxious after the money will -be foiled. M. Pons has made a good and very sensible will, a patriotic -will, which I highly approve." - -La Cibot's curiosity, kindled by such words, reached an unimaginable -pitch. She went downstairs and spent the night at Cibot's bedside, -inwardly resolving that Mlle. Remonencq should take her place towards -two or three in the morning, when she would go up and have a look at -the document. - -Mlle. Brisetout's visit towards half-past ten that night seemed -natural enough to La Cibot; but in her terror lest the ballet-girl -should mention Gaudissart's gift of a thousand francs, she went -upstairs with her, lavishing polite speeches and flattery as if Mlle. -Heloise had been a queen. - -"Ah! my dear, you are much nicer here on your own ground than at the -theatre," Heloise remarked. "I advise you to keep to your employment." - -Heloise was splendidly dressed. Bixiou, her lover, had brought her in -his carriage on the way to an evening party at Mariette's. It so fell -out that the first-floor lodger, M. Chapoulot, a retired braid -manufacturer from the Rue Saint-Denis, returning from the Ambigu- -Comique with his wife and daughter, was dazzled by a vision of such a -costume and such a charming woman upon their staircase. - -"Who is that, Mme. Cibot?" asked Mme. Chapoulot. - -"A no-better-than-she-should-be, a light-skirts that you may see half- -naked any evening for a couple of francs," La Cibot answered in an -undertone for Mme. Chapoulot's ear. - -"Victorine!" called the braid manufacturer's wife, "let the lady pass, -child." - -The matron's alarm signal was not lost upon Heloise. - -"Your daughter must be more inflammable than tinder, madame, if you -are afraid that she will catch fire by touching me," she said. - -M. Chapoulot waited on the landing. "She is uncommonly handsome off -the stage," he remarked. Whereupon Mme. Chapoulot pinched him sharply -and drove him indoors. - -"Here is a second-floor lodger that has a mind to set up for being on -the fourth floor," said Heloise as she continued to climb. - -"But mademoiselle is accustomed to going higher and higher." - -"Well, old boy," said Heloise, entering the bedroom and catching sight -of the old musician's white, wasted face. "Well, old boy, so we are -not very well? Everybody at the theatre is asking after you; but -though one's heart may be in the right place, every one has his own -affairs, you know, and cannot find time to go to see friends. -Gaudissart talks of coming round every day, and every morning the -tiresome management gets hold of him. Still, we are all of us fond of -you--" - -"Mme. Cibot," said the patient, "be so kind as to leave us; we want to -talk about the theatre and my post as conductor, with this lady. -Schmucke, will you go to the door with Mme. Cibot?" - -At a sign from Pons, Schmucke saw Mme. Cibot out at the door, and drew -the bolts. - -"Ah, that blackguard of a German! Is he spoiled, too?" La Cibot said -to herself as she heard the significant sounds. "That is M. Pons' -doing; he taught him those disgusting tricks. . . . But you shall pay -for this, my dears," she thought as she went down stairs. "Pooh! if -that tight-rope dancer tells him about the thousand francs, I shall -say that it is a farce. - -She seated herself by Cibot's pillow. Cibot complained of a burning -sensation in the stomach. Remonencq had called in and given him a -draught while his wife was upstairs. - -As soon as Schmucke had dismissed La Cibot, Pons turned to the ballet- -girl. - -"Dear child, I can trust no one else to find me a notary, an honest -man, and send him here to make my will to-morrow morning at half-past -nine precisely. I want to leave all that I have to Schmucke. If he is -persecuted, poor German that he is, I shall reckon upon the notary; -the notary must defend him. And for that reason I must have a wealthy -notary, highly thought of, a man above the temptations to which -pettifogging lawyers yield. He must succor my poor friend. I cannot -trust Berthier, Cardot's successor. And you know so many people--" - -"Oh! I have the very man for you," Heloise broke in; "there is the -notary that acts for Florine and the Comtesse du Bruel, Leopold -Hannequin, a virtuous man that does not know what a /lorette/ is! He -is a sort of chance-come father--a good soul that will not let you -play ducks and drakes with your earnings; I call him /Le Pere aux -Rats/, because he instils economical notions into the minds of all my -friends. In the first place, my dear fellow, he has a private income -of sixty thousand francs; and he is a notary of the real old sort, a -notary while he walks or sleeps; his children must be little notaries -and notaresses. He is a heavy, pedantic creature, and that's the -truth; but on his own ground, he is not the man to flinch before any -power in creation. . . . No woman ever got money out of him; he is a -fossil pater-familias, his wife worships him, and does not deceive -him, although she is a notary's wife.--What more do you want? as a -notary he has not his match in Paris. He is in the patriarchal style; -not queer and amusing, as Cardot used to be with Malaga; but he will -never decamp like little What's-his-name that lived with Antonia. So I -will send round my man to-morrow morning at eight o'clock. . . . You -may sleep in peace. And I hope, in the first place, that you will get -better, and make charming music for us again; and yet, after all, you -see, life is very dreary--managers chisel you, and kings mizzle and -ministers fizzle and rich fold economizzle.--Artists have nothing left -/here/" (tapping her breast)--"it is a time to die in. Good-bye, old -boy." - -"Heloise, of all things, I ask you to keep my counsel." - -"It is not a theatre affair," she said; "it is sacred for an artist." - -"Who is your gentleman, child?" - -"M. Baudoyer, the mayor of your arrondissement, a man as stupid as the -late Crevel; Crevel once financed Gaudissart, you know, and a few days -ago he died and left me nothing, not so much as a pot of pomatum. That -made me say just now that this age of ours is something sickening." - -"What did he die of?" - -"Of his wife. If he had stayed with me, he would be living now. Good- -bye, dear old boy, I am talking of going off, because I can see that -you will be walking about the boulevards in a week or two, hunting up -pretty little curiosities again. You are not ill; I never saw your -eyes look so bright." And she went, fully convinced that her protege -Garangeot would conduct the orchestra for good. - -Every door stood ajar as she went downstairs. Every lodger, on tip- -toe, watched the lady of the ballet pass on her way out. It was quite -an event in the house. - -Fraisier, like the bulldog that sets his teeth and never lets go, was -on the spot. He stood beside La Cibot when Mlle. Brisetout passed -under the gateway and asked for the door to be opened. Knowing that a -will had been made, he had come to see how the land lay, for Maitre -Trognon, notary, had refused to say a syllable--Fraisier's questions -were as fruitless as Mme. Cibot's. Naturally the ballet-girl's visit -/in extremis/ was not lost upon Fraisier; he vowed to himself that he -would turn it to good account. - -"My dear Mme. Cibot," he began, "now is the critical moment for you." - -"Ah, yes . . . my poor Cibot!" said she. "When I think that he will -not live to enjoy anything I may get--" - -"It is a question of finding out whether M. Pons has left you anything -at all; whether your name is mentioned or left out, in fact," he -interrupted. "I represent the next-of-kin, and to them you must look -in any case. It is a holograph will, and consequently very easy to -upset.--Do you know where our man has put it?" - -"In a secret drawer in his bureau, and he has the key of it. He tied -it to a corner of his handkerchief, and put it under his pillow. I saw -it all." - -"Is the will sealed?" - -"Yes, alas!" - -"It is a criminal offence if you carry off a will and suppress it, but -it is only a misdemeanor to look at it; and anyhow, what does it -amount to? A peccadillo, and nobody will see you. Is your man a heavy -sleeper?" - -"Yes. But when you tried to see all the things and value them, he -ought to have slept like a top, and yet he woke up. Still, I will see -about it. I will take M. Schmucke's place about four o'clock this -morning; and if you care to come, you shall have the will in your -hands for ten minutes." - -"Good. I will come up about four o'clock, and I will knock very -softly--" - -"Mlle Remonencq will take my place with Cibot. She will know, and open -the door; but tap on the window, so as to rouse nobody in the house." - -"Right," said Fraisier. "You will have a light, will you not. A candle -will do." - - - -At midnight poor Schmucke sat in his easy-chair, watching with a -breaking heart that shrinking of the features that comes with death; -Pons looked so worn out with the day's exertions, that death seemed -very near. - -Presently Pons spoke. "I have just enough strength, I think, to last -till to-morrow night," he said philosophically. "To-morrow night the -death agony will begin; poor Schmucke! As soon as the notary and your -two friends are gone, go for our good Abbe Duplanty, the curate of -Saint-Francois. Good man, he does not know that I am ill, and I wish -to take the holy sacrament to-morrow at noon." - -There was a long pause. - -"God so willed it that life has not been as I dreamed," Pons resumed. -"I should so have loved wife and children and home. . . . To be loved -by a very few in some corner--that was my whole ambition! Life is hard -for every one; I have seen people who had all that I wanted so much -and could not have, and yet they were not happy. . . . Then at the end -of my life, God put untold comfort in my way, when He gave me such a -friend. . . . And one thing I have not to reproach myself with--that I -have not known your worth nor appreciated you, my good Schmucke. . . . -I have loved you with my whole heart, with all the strength of love -that is in me. . . . Do not cry, Schmucke; I shall say no more if you -cry and it is so sweet to me to talk of ourselves to you. . . . If I -had listened to you, I should not be dying. I should have left the -world and broken off my habits, and then I should not have been -wounded to death. And now, I want to think of no one but you at the -last--" - -"You are missdaken--" - -"Do not contradict me--listen, dear friend. . . . You are as guileless -and simple as a six-year-old child that has never left its mother; one -honors you for it--it seems to me that God Himself must watch over -such as you. But men are so wicked, that I ought to warn you -beforehand . . . and then you will lose your generous trust, your -saint-like belief in others, the bloom of a purity of soul that only -belongs to genius or to hearts like yours. . . . In a little while you -will see Mme. Cibot, who left the door ajar and watched us closely -while M. Trognon was here--in a little while you will see her come for -the will, as she believes it to be. . . . I expect the worthless -creature will do her business this morning when she thinks you are -asleep. Now, mind what I say, and carry out my instructions to the -letter. . . . Are you listening?" asked the dying man. - -But Schmucke was overcome with grief, his heart was throbbing -painfully, his head fell back on the chair, he seemed to have lost -consciousness. - -"Yes," he answered, "I can hear, but it is as if you vere doo huntert -baces afay from me. . . . It seem to me dat I am going town into der -grafe mit you," said Schmucke, crushed with pain. - -He went over to the bed, took one of Pons' hands in both his own, and -within himself put up a fervent prayer. - -"What is that that you are mumbling in German?" - -"I asked Gott dat He vould take us poth togedders to Himself!" -Schmucke answered simply when he had finished his prayer. - -Pons bent over--it was a great effort, for he was suffering -intolerable pain; but he managed to reach Schmucke, and kissed him on -the forehead, pouring out his soul, as it were, in benediction upon a -nature that recalled the lamb that lies at the foot of the Throne of -God. - -"See here, listen, my good Schmucke, you must do as dying people tell -you--" - -"I am lisdening." - -"The little door in the recess in your bedroom opens into that -closet." - -"Yes, but it is blocked up mit bictures." - -"Clear them away at once, without making too much noise." - -"Yes." - -"Clear a passage on both sides, so that you can pass from your room -into mine.--Now, leave the door ajar.--When La Cibot comes to take -your place (and she is capable of coming an hour earlier than usual), -you can go away to bed as if nothing had happened, and look very -tired. Try to look sleepy. As soon as she settles down into the -armchair, go into the closet, draw aside the muslin curtains over the -glass door, and watch her. . . . Do you understand?" - -"I oondershtand; you belief dat die pad voman is going to purn der -vill." - -"I do not know what she will do; but I am sure of this--that you will -not take her for an angel afterwards.--And now play for me; improvise -and make me happy. It will divert your thoughts; your gloomy ideas -will vanish, and for me the dark hours will be filled with your -dreams. . . ." - -Schmucke sat down at the piano. Here he was in his element; and in a -few moments, musical inspiration, quickened by the pain with which he -was quivering and the consequent irritation that followed came upon -the kindly German, and, after his wont, he was caught up and borne -above the world. On one sublime theme after another he executed -variations, putting into them sometimes Chopin's sorrow, Chopin's -Raphael-like perfection; sometimes the stormy Dante's grandeur of -Liszt--the two musicians who most nearly approach Paganini's -temperament. When execution reaches this supreme degree, the executant -stands beside the poet, as it were; he is to the composer as the actor -is to the writer of plays, a divinely inspired interpreter of things -divine. But that night, when Schmucke gave Pons an earnest of diviner -symphonies, of that heavenly music for which Saint Cecile let fall her -instruments, he was at once Beethoven and Paganini, creator and -interpreter. It was an outpouring of music inexhaustible as the -nightingale's song--varied and full of delicate undergrowth as the -forest flooded with her trills; sublime as the sky overhead. Schmucke -played as he had never played before, and the soul of the old musician -listening to him rose to ecstasy such as Raphael once painted in a -picture which you may see at Bologna. - -A terrific ringing of the door-bell put an end to these visions. The -first-floor lodgers sent up a servant with a message. Would Schmucke -please stop the racket overhead. Madame, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle -Chapoulot had been wakened, and could not sleep for the noise; they -called his attention to the fact that the day was quite long enough -for rehearsals of theatrical music, and added that people ought not to -"strum" all night in a house in the Marais.--It was then three o'clock -in the morning. At half-past three, La Cibot appeared, just as Pons -had predicted. He might have actually heard the conference between -Fraisier and the portress: "Did I not guess exactly how it would be?" -his eyes seemed to say as he glanced at Schmucke, and, turning a -little, he seemed to be fast asleep. - -Schmucke's guileless simplicity was an article of belief with La Cibot -(and be it noted that this faith in simplicity is the great source and -secret of the success of all infantine strategy); La Cibot, therefore, -could not suspect Schmucke of deceit when he came to say to her, with -a face half of distress, half of glad relief: - -"I haf had a derrible night! a derrible dime of it! I vas opliged to -play to keep him kviet, and the virst-floor lodgers vas komm up to -tell /me/ to be kviet! . . . It was frightful, for der life of mein -friend vas at shtake. I am so tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis -morning I am all knocked up." - -"My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday, and he -will have no strength left. . . . One can't help it; it is God's -will." - -"You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der Zipod -die, ve shall lif togedder," said the cunning Schmucke. - -The craft of simple, straightforward folk is formidable indeed; they -are exactly like children, setting their unsuspected snares with the -perfect craft of the savage. - -"Oh, well go and sleep, sonny!" returned La Cibot. "Your eyes look -tired, they are as big as my fist. But there! if anything could -comfort me for losing Cibot, it would be the thought of ending my days -with a good man like you. Be easy. I will give Mme. Chapoulot a -dressing down. . . . To think of a retired haberdasher's wife giving -herself such airs!" - -Schmucke went to his room and took up his post in the closet. - -La Cibot had left the door ajar on the landing; Fraisier came in and -closed it noiselessly as soon as he heard Schmucke shut his bedroom -door. He had brought with him a lighted taper and a bit of very fine -wire to open the seal of the will. La Cibot, meanwhile, looking under -the pillow, found the handkerchief with the key of the bureau knotted -to one corner; and this so much the more easily because Pons purposely -left the end hanging over the bolster, and lay with his face to the -wall. - -La Cibot went straight to the bureau, opened it cautiously so as to -make as little noise as possible, found the spring of the secret -drawer, and hurried into the salon with the will in her hand. Her -flight roused Pons' curiosity to the highest pitch; and as for -Schmucke, he trembled as if he were the guilty person. - -"Go back," said Fraisier, when she handed over the will. "He may wake, -and he must find you there." - -Fraisier opened the seal with a dexterity which proved that his was no -'prentice hand, and read the following curious document, headed "My -Will," with ever-deepening astonishment: - - "On this fifteenth day of April, eighteen hundred and forty-five, - I, being in my sound mind (as this my Will, drawn up in concert - with M. Trognon, will testify), and feeling that I must shortly - die of the malady from which I have suffered since the beginning - of February last, am anxious to dispose of my property, and have - herein recorded my last wishes:-- - - "I have always been impressed by the untoward circumstances that - injure great pictures, and not unfrequently bring about total - destruction. I have felt sorry for the beautiful paintings - condemned to travel from land to land, never finding some fixed - abode whither admirers of great masterpieces may travel to see - them. And I have always thought that the truly deathless work of a - great master ought to be national property; put where every one of - every nation may see it, even as the light, God's masterpiece, - shines for all His children. - - "And as I have spent my life in collecting together and choosing a - few pictures, some of the greatest masters' most glorious work, - and as these pictures are as the master left them--genuine - examples, neither repainted nor retouched,--it has been a painful - thought to me that the paintings which have been the joy of my - life, may be sold by public auction, and go, some to England, some - to Russia, till they are all scattered abroad again as if they had - never been gathered together. From this wretched fate I have - determined to save both them and the frames in which they are set, - all of them the work of skilled craftsmen. - - "On these grounds, therefore, I give and bequeath the pictures - which compose my collection to the King, for the gallery in the - Louvre, subject to the charge (if the legacy is accepted) of a - life-annuity of two thousand four hundred francs to my friend - Wilhelm Schmucke. - - "If the King, as usufructuary of the Louvre collection, should - refuse the legacy with the charge upon it, the said pictures shall - form a part of the estate which I leave to my friend, Schmucke, on - condition that he shall deliver the /Monkey's Head/, by Goya, to - my cousin, President Camusot; a /Flower-piece/, the tulips, by - Abraham Mignon, to M. Trognon, notary (whom I appoint as my - executor): and allow Mme. Cibot, who has acted as my housekeeper - for ten years, the sum of two hundred francs per annum. - - "Finally, my friend Schmucke is to give the /Descent from the - Cross/, Ruben's sketch for his great picture at Antwerp, to adorn - a chapel in the parish church, in grateful acknowledgment of M. - Duplanty's kindness to me; for to him I owe it that I can die as a - Christian and a Catholic."--So ran the will. - -"This is ruin!" mused Fraisier, "the ruin of all my hopes. Ha! I begin -to believe all that the Presidente told me about this old artist and -his cunning." - -"Well?" La Cibot came back to say. - -"Your gentleman is a monster. He is leaving everything to the Crown. -Now, you cannot plead against the Crown. . . . The will cannot be -disputed. . . . We are robbed, ruined, spoiled, and murdered!" - -"What has he left to me?" - -"Two hundred francs a year." - -"A pretty come-down! . . . Why, he is a finished scoundrel." - -"Go and see," said Fraisier, "and I will put your scoundrel's will -back again in the envelope." - -While Mme. Cibot's back was turned, Fraisier nimbly slipped a sheet of -blank paper into the envelope; the will he put in his pocket. He next -proceeded to seal the envelope again so cleverly that he showed the -seal to Mme. Cibot when she returned, and asked her if she could see -the slightest trace of the operation. La Cibot took up the envelope, -felt it over, assured herself that it was not empty, and heaved a deep -sigh. She had entertained hopes that Fraisier himself would have -burned the unlucky document while she was out of the room. - -"Well, my dear M. Fraisier, what is to be done?" - -"Oh! that is your affair! I am not one of the next-of-kin, myself; but -if I had the slightest claim to any of /that/" (indicating the -collection), "I know very well what I should do." - -"That is just what I want to know," La Cibot answered, with sufficient -simplicity. - -"There is a fire in the grate----" he said. Then he rose to go. - -"After all, no one will know about it, but you and me----" began La -Cibot. - -"It can never be proved that a will existed," asserted the man of law. - -"And you?" - -"I? . . . If M. Pons dies intestate, you shall have a hundred thousand -francs." - -"Oh yes, no doubt," returned she. "People promise you heaps of money, -and when they come by their own, and there is talk of paying they -swindle you like--" "Like Elie Magus," she was going to say, but she -stopped herself just in time. - -"I am going," said Fraisier; "it is not to your interest that I should -be found here; but I shall see you again downstairs." - -La Cibot shut the door and returned with the sealed packet in her -hand. She had quite made up her mind to burn it; but as she went -towards the bedroom fireplace, she felt the grasp of a hand on each -arm, and saw--Schmucke on one hand, and Pons himself on the other, -leaning against the partition wall on either side of the door. - -La Cibot cried out, and fell face downwards in a fit; real or feigned, -no one ever knew the truth. This sight produced such an impression on -Pons that a deadly faintness came upon him, and Schmucke left the -woman on the floor to help Pons back to bed. The friends trembled in -every limb; they had set themselves a hard task, it was done, but it -had been too much for their strength. When Pons lay in bed again, and -Schmucke had regained strength to some extent, he heard a sound of -sobbing. La Cibot, on her knees, bursting into tears, held out -supplicating hands to them in very expressive pantomime. - -"It was pure curiosity!" she sobbed, when she saw that Pons and -Schmucke were paying attention to her proceedings. "Pure curiosity; a -woman's fault, you know. But I did not know how else to get a sight of -your will, and I brought it back again--" - -"Go!" said Schmucke, standing erect, his tall figure gaining in height -by the full height of his indignation. "You are a monster! You dried -to kill mein goot Bons! He is right. You are worse than a monster, you -are a lost soul!" - -La Cibot saw the look of abhorrence in the frank German's face; she -rose, proud as Tartuffe, gave Schmucke a glance which made him quake, -and went out, carrying off under her dress an exquisite little picture -of Metzu's pointed out by Elie Magus. "A diamond," he had called it. -Fraisier downstairs in the porter's lodge was waiting to hear that La -Cibot had burned the envelope and the sheet of blank paper inside it. -Great was his astonishment when he beheld his fair client's agitation -and dismay. - -"What has happened?" - -"/This/ has happened, my dear M. Fraisier. Under pretence of giving me -good advice and telling me what to do, you have lost me my annuity and -the gentlemen's confidence. . . ." - -One of the word-tornadoes in which she excelled was in full progress, -but Fraisier cut her short. - -"This is idle talk. The facts, the facts! and be quick about it." - -"Well; it came about in this way,"--and she told him of the scene -which she had just come through. - -"You have lost nothing through me," was Fraisier's comment. "The -gentlemen had their doubts, or they would not have set this trap for -you. They were lying in wait and spying upon you. . . . You have not -told me everything," he added, with a tiger's glance at the woman -before him. - -"/I/ hide anything from you!" cried she--"after all that we have done -together!" she added with a shudder. - -"My dear madame, /I/ have done nothing blameworthy," returned -Fraisier. Evidently he meant to deny his nocturnal visit to Pons' -rooms. - -Every hair on La Cibot's head seemed to scorch her, while a sense of -icy cold swept over her from head to foot. - -"/What?/" . . . she faltered in bewilderment. - -"Here is a criminal charge on the face of it. . . . You may be accused -of suppressing the will," Fraisier made answer drily. - -La Cibot started. - -"Don't be alarmed; I am your legal adviser. I only wished to show you -how easy it is, in one way or another, to do as I once explained to -you. Let us see, now; what have you done that this simple German -should be hiding in the room?" - -"Nothing at all, unless it was that scene the other day when I stood -M. Pons out that his eyes dazzled. And ever since, the two gentlemen -have been as different as can be. So you have brought all my troubles -upon me; I might have lost my influence with M. Pons, but I was sure -of the German; just now he was talking of marrying me or of taking me -with him--it is all one." - -The excuse was so plausible that Fraisier was fain to be satisfied -with it. "You need fear nothing," he resumed. "I gave you my word that -you shall have your money, and I shall keep my word. The whole matter, -so far, was up in the air, but now it is as good as bank-notes. . . . -You shall have at least twelve hundred francs per annum. . . . But, my -good lady, you must act intelligently under my orders." - -"Yes, my dear M. Fraisier," said La Cibot with cringing servility. She -was completely subdued. - -"Very good. Good-bye," and Fraisier went, taking the dangerous -document with him. He reached home in great spirits. The will was a -terrible weapon. - -"Now," thought he, "I have a hold on Mme. la Presidente de Marville; -she must keep her word with me. If she did not, she would lose the -property." - -At daybreak, when Remonencq had taken down his shutters and left his -sister in charge of the shop, he came, after his wont of late, to -inquire for his good friend Cibot. The portress was contemplating the -Metzu, privately wondering how a little bit of painted wood could be -worth such a lot of money. - -"Aha!" said he, looking over her shoulder, "that is the one picture -which M. Elie Magus regretted; with that little bit of a thing, he -says, his happiness would be complete." - -"What would he give for it?" asked La Cibot. - -"Why, if you will promise to marry me within a year of widowhood, I -will undertake to get twenty thousand francs for it from Elie Magus; -and unless you marry me you will never get a thousand francs for the -picture." - -"Why not?" - -"Because you would be obliged to give a receipt for the money, and -then you might have a lawsuit with the heirs-at-law. If you were my -wife, I myself should sell the thing to M. Magus, and in the way of -business it is enough to make an entry in the day-book, and I should -note that M. Schmucke sold it to me. There, leave the panel with me. -. . . If your husband were to die you might have a lot of bother over -it, but no one would think it odd that I should have a picture in the -shop. . . . You know me quite well. Besides, I will give you a receipt -if you like." - -The covetous portress felt that she had been caught; she agreed to a -proposal which was to bind her for the rest of her life to the marine- -store dealer. - -"You are right," said she, as she locked the picture away in a chest; -"bring me the bit of writing." - -Remonencq beckoned her to the door. - -"I can see, neighbor, that we shall not save our poor dear Cibot," he -said lowering his voice. "Dr. Poulain gave him up yesterday evening, -and said that he could not last out the day. . . . It is a great -misfortune. But after all, this was not the place for you. . . . You -ought to be in a fine curiosity shop on the Boulevard des Capucines. -Do you know that I have made nearly a hundred thousand francs in ten -years? And if you will have as much some day, I will undertake to make -a handsome fortune for you--as my wife. You would be the mistress--my -sister should wait on you and do the work of the house, and--" - -A heartrending moan from the little tailor cut the tempter short; the -death agony had begun. - -"Go away," said La Cibot. "You are a monster to talk of such things -and my poor man dying like this--" - -"Ah! it is because I love you," said Remonencq; "I could let -everything else go to have you--" - -"If you loved me, you would say nothing to me just now," returned she. -And Remonencq departed to his shop, sure of marrying La Cibot. - -Towards ten o'clock there was a sort of commotion in the street; M. -Cibot was taking the Sacrament. All the friends of the pair, all the -porters and porters' wives in the Rue de Normandie and neighboring -streets, had crowded into the lodge, under the archway, and stood on -the pavement outside. Nobody so much as noticed the arrival of M. -Leopold Hannequin and a brother lawyer. Schwab and Brunner reached -Pons' rooms unseen by Mme. Cibot. The notary, inquiring for Pons, was -shown upstairs by the portress of a neighboring house. Brunner -remembered his previous visit to the museum, and went straight in with -his friend Schwab. - -Pons formally revoked his previous will and constituted Schmucke his -universal legatee. This accomplished, he thanked Schwab and Brunner, -and earnestly begged M. Leopold Hannequin to protect Schmucke's -interests. The demands made upon him by last night's scene with La -Cibot, and this final settlement of his worldly affairs, left him so -faint and exhausted that Schmucke begged Schwab to go for the Abbe -Duplanty; it was Pons' great desire to take the Sacrament, and -Schmucke could not bring himself to leave his friend. - -La Cibot, sitting at the foot of her husband's bed, gave not so much -as a thought to Schmucke's breakfast--for that matter had been -forbidden to return; but the morning's events, the sight of Pons' -heroic resignation in the death agony, so oppressed Schmucke's heart -that he was not conscious of hunger. Towards two o'clock, however, as -nothing had been seen of the old German, La Cibot sent Remonencq's -sister to see whether Schmucke wanted anything; prompted not so much -by interest as by curiosity. The Abbe Duplanty had just heard the old -musician's dying confession, and the administration of the sacrament -of extreme unction was disturbed by repeated ringing of the door-bell. -Pons, in his terror of robbery, had made Schmucke promise solemnly to -admit no one into the house; so Schmucke did not stir. Again and again -Mlle. Remonencq pulled the cord, and finally went downstairs in alarm -to tell La Cibot that Schmucke would not open the door; Fraisier made -a note of this. Schmucke had never seen any one die in his life; -before long he would be perplexed by the many difficulties which beset -those who are left with a dead body in Paris, this more especially if -they are lonely and helpless and have no one to act for them. Fraisier -knew, moreover, that in real affliction people lose their heads, and -therefore immediately after breakfast he took up his position in the -porter's lodge, and sitting there in perpetual committee with Dr. -Poulain, conceived the idea of directing all Schmucke's actions -himself. - -To obtain the important result, the doctor and the lawyer took their -measures on this wise:-- - -The beadle of Saint-Francois, Cantinet by name, at one time a retail -dealer in glassware, lived in the Rue d'Orleans, next door to Dr. -Poulain and under the same roof. Mme. Cantinet, who saw to the letting -of the chairs at Saint-Francois, once had fallen ill and Dr. Poulain -had attended her gratuitously; she was, as might be expected, -grateful, and often confided her troubles to him. The "nutcrackers," -punctual in their attendance at Saint-Francois on Sundays and saints'- -days, were on friendly terms with the beadle and the lowest -ecclesiastical rank and file, commonly called in Paris /le bas -clerge/, to whom the devout usually give little presents from time to -time. Mme. Cantinet therefore knew Schmucke almost as well as Schmucke -knew her. And Mme. Cantinet was afflicted with two sore troubles which -enabled the lawyer to use her as a blind and involuntary agent. -Cantinet junior, a stage-struck youth, had deserted the paths of the -Church and turned his back on the prospect of one day becoming a -beadle, to make his /debut/ among the supernumeraries of the Cirque- -Olympique; he was leading a wild life, breaking his mother's heart and -draining her purse by frequent forced loans. Cantinet senior, much -addicted to spirituous liquors and idleness, had, in fact, been driven -to retire from business by those two failings. So far from reforming, -the incorrigible offender had found scope in his new occupation for -the indulgence of both cravings; he did nothing, and he drank with -drivers of wedding-coaches, with the undertaker's men at funerals, -with poor folk relieved by the vicar, till his morning's occupation -was set forth in rubric on his countenance by noon. - -Mme. Cantinet saw no prospect but want in her old age, and yet she had -brought her husband twelve thousand francs, she said. The tale of her -woes related for the hundredth time suggested an idea to Dr. Poulain. -Once introduce her into the old bachelor's quarters, and it would be -easy by her means to establish Mme. Sauvage there as working -housekeeper. It was quite impossible to present Mme. Sauvage herself, -for the "nutcrackers" had grown suspicious of every one. Schmucke's -refusal to admit Mlle. Remonencq had sufficiently opened Fraisier's -eyes. Still, it seemed evident that Pons and Schmucke, being pious -souls, would take any one recommended by the Abbe, with blind -confidence. Mme. Cantinet should bring Mme. Sauvage with her, and to -put in Fraisier's servant was almost tantamount to installing Fraisier -himself. - -The Abbe Duplanty, coming downstairs, found the gateway blocked by the -Cibots' friends, all of them bent upon showing their interest in one -of the oldest and most respectable porters in the Marais. - -Dr. Poulain raised his hat, and took the Abbe aside. - -"I am just about to go to poor M. Pons," he said. "There is still a -chance of recovery; but it is a question of inducing him to undergo an -operation. The calculi are perceptible to the touch, they are setting -up an inflammatory condition which will end fatally, but perhaps it is -not too late to remove them. You should really use your influence to -persuade the patient to submit to surgical treatment; I will answer -for his life, provided that no untoward circumstance occurs during the -operation." - -"I will return as soon as I have taken the sacred ciborium back to the -church," said the Abbe Duplanty, "for M. Schmucke's condition claims -the support of religion." - -"I have just heard that he is alone," said Dr. Poulain. "The German, -good soul, had a little altercation this morning with Mme. Cibot, who -has acted as housekeeper to them both for the past ten years. They -have quarreled (for the moment only, no doubt), but under the -circumstances they must have some one in to help upstairs. It would be -a charity to look after him.--I say, Cantinet," continued the doctor, -beckoning to the beadle, "just go and ask your wife if she will nurse -M. Pons, and look after M. Schmucke, and take Mme. Cibot's place for a -day or two. . . . Even without the quarrel, Mme. Cibot would still -require a substitute. Mme. Cantinet is honest," added the doctor, -turning to M. Duplanty. - -"You could not make a better choice," said the good priest; "she is -intrusted with the letting of chairs in the church." - -A few minutes later, Dr. Poulain stood by Pons' pillow watching the -progress made by death, and Schmucke's vain efforts to persuade his -friend to consent to the operation. To all the poor German's -despairing entreaties Pons only replied by a shake of the head and -occasional impatient movements; till, after awhile, he summoned up all -his fast-failing strength to say, with a heartrending look: - -"Do let me die in peace!" - -Schmucke almost died of sorrow, but he took Pons' hand and softly -kissed it, and held it between his own, as if trying a second time to -give his own vitality to his friend. - -Just at this moment the bell rang, and Dr. Poulain, going to the door, -admitted the Abbe Duplanty. - -"Our poor patient is struggling in the grasp of death," he said. "All -will be over in a few hours. You will send a priest, no doubt, to -watch to-night. But it is time that Mme. Cantinet came, as well as a -woman to do the work, for M. Schmucke is quite unfit to think of -anything: I am afraid for his reason; and there are valuables here -which ought to be in the custody of honest persons." - -The Abbe Duplanty, a kindly, upright priest, guileless and -unsuspicious, was struck with the truth of Dr. Poulain's remarks. He -had, moreover, a certain belief in the doctor of the quarter. So on -the threshold of the death-chamber he stopped and beckoned to -Schmucke, but Schmucke could not bring himself to loosen the grasp of -the hand that grew tighter and tighter. Pons seemed to think that he -was slipping over the edge of a precipice and must catch at something -to save himself. But, as many know, the dying are haunted by an -hallucination that leads them to snatch at things about them, like men -eager to save their most precious possessions from a fire. Presently -Pons released Schmucke to clutch at the bed-clothes, dragging them and -huddling them about himself with a hasty, covetous movement -significant and painful to see. - -"What will you do, left alone with your dead friend?" asked M. l'Abbe -Duplanty when Schmucke came to the door. "You have not Mme. Cibot -now--" - -"Ein monster dat haf killed Bons!" - -"But you must have somebody with you," began Dr. Poulain. "Some one -must sit up with the body to-night." - -"I shall sit up; I shall say die prayers to Gott," the innocent German -answered. - -"But you must eat--and who is to cook for you now?" asked the doctor. - -"Grief haf taken afay mein abbetite," Schmucke said, simply. - -"And some one must give notice to the registrar," said Poulain, "and -lay out the body, and order the funeral; and the person who sits up -with the body and the priest will want meals. Can you do all this by -yourself? A man cannot die like a dog in the capital of the civilized -world." - -Schmucke opened wide eyes of dismay. A brief fit of madness seized -him. - -"But Bons shall not tie! . . ." he cried aloud. "I shall safe him!" - -"You cannot go without sleep much longer, and who will take your -place? Some one must look after M. Pons, and give him drink, and nurse -him--" - -"Ah! dat is drue." - -"Very well," said the Abbe, "I am thinking of sending your Mme. -Cantinet, a good and honest creature--" - -The practical details of the care of the dead bewildered Schmucke, -till he was fain to die with his friend. - -"He is a child," said the doctor, turning to the Abbe Duplanty. - -"Ein child," Schmucke repeated mechanically. - -"There, then," said the curate; "I will speak to Mme. Cantinet, and -send her to you." - -"Do not trouble yourself," said the doctor; "I am going home, and she -lives in the next house." - -The dying seem to struggle with Death as with an invisible assassin; -in the agony at the last, as the final thrust is made, the act of -dying seems to be a conflict, a hand-to-hand fight for life. Pons had -reached the supreme moment. At the sound of his groans and cries, the -three standing in the doorway hurried to the bedside. Then came the -last blow, smiting asunder the bonds between soul and body, striking -down to life's sources; and suddenly Pons regained for a few brief -moments the perfect calm that follows the struggle. He came to -himself, and with the serenity of death in his face he looked round -almost smilingly at them. - -"Ah, doctor, I have had a hard time of it; but you were right, I am -doing better. Thank you, my good Abbe; I was wondering what had become -of Schmucke--" - -"Schmucke has had nothing to eat since yesterday evening, and now it -is four o'clock! You have no one with you now and it would be wise to -send for Mme. Cibot." - -"She is capable of anything!" said Pons, without attempting to conceal -all his abhorrence at the sound of her name. "It is true, Schmucke -ought to have some trustworthy person." - -"M. Duplanty and I have been thinking about you both--" - -"Ah! thank you, I had not thought of that." - -"--And M. Duplanty suggests that you should have Mme. Cantinet--" - -"Oh! Mme. Cantinet who lets the chairs!" exclaimed Pons. "Yes, she is -an excellent creature." - -"She has no liking for Mme. Cibot," continued the doctor, "and she -would take good care of M. Schmucke--" - -"Send her to me, M. Duplanty . . . send her and her husband too. I -shall be easy. Nothing will be stolen here." - -Schmucke had taken Pons' hand again, and held it joyously in his own. -Pons was almost well again, he thought. - -"Let us go, Monsieur l'Abbe," said the doctor. "I will send Mme. -Cantinet round at once. I see how it is. She perhaps may not find M. -Pons alive." - - - -While the Abbe Duplanty was persuading Pons to engage Mme. Cantinet as -his nurse, Fraisier had sent for her. He had plied the beadle's wife -with sophistical reasoning and subtlety. It was difficult to resist -his corrupting influence. And as for Mme. Cantinet--a lean, sallow -woman, with large teeth and thin lips--her intelligence, as so often -happens with women of the people, had been blunted by a hard life, -till she had come to look upon the slenderest daily wage as -prosperity. She soon consented to take Mme. Sauvage with her as -general servant. - -Mme. Sauvage had had her instructions already. She had undertaken to -weave a web of iron wire about the two musicians, and to watch them as -a spider watches a fly caught in the toils; and her reward was to be a -tobacconist's license. Fraisier had found a convenient opportunity of -getting rid of his so-called foster-mother, while he posted her as a -detective and policeman to supervise Mme. Cantinet. As there was a -servant's bedroom and a little kitchen included in the apartment, La -Sauvage could sleep on a truckle-bed and cook for the German. Dr. -Poulain came with the two women just as Pons drew his last breath. -Schmucke was sitting beside his friend, all unconscious of the crisis, -holding the hand that slowly grew colder in his grasp. He signed to -Mme. Cantinet to be silent; but Mme. Sauvage's soldierly figure -surprised him so much that he started in spite of himself, a kind of -homage to which the virago was quite accustomed. - -"M. Duplanty answers for this lady," whispered Mme. Cantinet by way of -introduction. "She once was cook to a bishop; she is honesty itself; -she will do the cooking." - -"Oh! you may talk out loud," wheezed the stalwart dame. "The poor -gentleman is dead. . . . He has just gone." - -A shrill cry broke from Schmucke. He felt Pons' cold hand stiffening -in his, and sat staring into his friend's eyes; the look in them would -have driven him mad, if Mme. Sauvage, doubtless accustomed to scenes -of this sort, had not come to the bedside with a mirror which she held -over the lips of the dead. When she saw that there was no mist upon -the surface, she briskly snatched Schmucke's hand away. - -"Just take away your hand, sir; you may not be able to do it in a -little while. You do not know how the bones harden. A corpse grows -cold very quickly. If you do not lay out a body while it is warm, you -have to break the joints later on. . . ." - -And so it was this terrible woman who closed the poor dead musician's -eyes. - -With a business-like dexterity acquired in ten years of experience, -she stripped and straightened the body, laid the arms by the sides, -and covered the face with the bedclothes, exactly as a shopman wraps a -parcel. - -"A sheet will be wanted to lay him out.--Where is there a sheet?" she -demanded, turning on the terror-stricken Schmucke. - -He had watched the religious ritual with its deep reverence for the -creature made for such high destinies in heaven; and now he saw his -dead friend treated simply as a thing in this packing process--saw -with the sharp pain that dissolves the very elements of thought. - -"Do as you vill----" he answered mechanically. The innocent creature -for the first time in his life had seen a man die, and that man was -Pons, his only friend, the one human being who understood him and -loved him. - -"I will go and ask Mme. Cibot where the sheets are kept," said La -Sauvage. - -"A truckle-bed will be wanted for the person to sleep upon," Mme. -Cantinet came to tell Schmucke. - -Schmucke nodded and broke out into weeping. Mme. Cantinet left the -unhappy man in peace; but an hour later she came back to say: - -"Have you any money, sir, to pay for the things?" - -The look that Schmucke gave Mme. Cantinet would have disarmed the -fiercest hate; it was the white, blank, peaked face of death that he -turned upon her, as an explanation that met everything. - -"Dake it all and leaf me to mein prayers and tears," he said, and -knelt. - -Mme. Sauvage went to Fraisier with the news of Pons' death. Fraisier -took a cab and went to the Presidente. To-morrow she must give him the -power of attorney to enable him to act for the heirs. - -Another hour went by, and Mme. Cantinet came again to Schmucke. - -"I have been to Mme. Cibot, sir, who knows all about things here," she -said. "I asked her to tell me where everything is kept. But she almost -jawed me to death with her abuse. . . . Sir, do listen to me. . . ." - -Schmucke looked up at the woman, and she went on, innocent of any -barbarous intention, for women of her class are accustomed to take the -worst of moral suffering passively, as a matter of course. - -"We must have linen for the shroud, sir, we must have money to buy a -truckle-bed for the person to sleep upon, and some things for the -kitchen--plates, and dishes, and glasses, for a priest will be coming -to pass the night here, and the person says that there is absolutely -nothing in the kitchen." - -"And what is more, sir, I must have coal and firing if I am to get the -dinner ready," echoed La Sauvage, "and not a thing can I find. Not -that there is anything so very surprising in that, as La Cibot used to -do everything for you--" - -Schmucke lay at the feet of the dead; he heard nothing, knew nothing, -saw nothing. Mme. Cantinet pointed to him. "My dear woman, you would -not believe me," she said. "Whatever you say, he does not answer." - -"Very well, child," said La Sauvage; "now I will show you what to do -in a case of this kind." - -She looked round the room as a thief looks in search of possible -hiding-places for money; then she went straight to Pons' chest, opened -the first drawer, saw the bag in which Schmucke had put the rest of -the money after the sale of the pictures, and held it up before him. -He nodded mechanically. - -"Here is money, child," said La Sauvage, turning to Mme. Cantinet. "I -will count it first and take enough to buy everything we want--wine, -provisions, wax-candles, all sorts of things, in fact, for there is -nothing in the house. . . . Just look in the drawers for a sheet to -bury him in. I certainly was told that the poor gentleman was simple, -but I don't know what he is; he is worse. He is like a new-born child; -we shall have to feed him with a funnel." - -The women went about their work, and Schmucke looked on precisely as -an idiot might have done. Broken down with sorrow, wholly absorbed, in -a half-cataleptic state, he could not take his eyes from the face that -seemed to fascinate him, Pons' face refined by the absolute repose of -Death. Schmucke hoped to die; everything was alike indifferent. If the -room had been on fire he would not have stirred. - -"There are twelve hundred and fifty francs here," La Sauvage told him. - -Schmucke shrugged his shoulders. - -But when La Sauvage came near to measure the body by laying the sheet -over it, before cutting out the shroud, a horrible struggle ensued -between her and the poor German. Schmucke was furious. He behaved like -a dog that watches by his dead master's body, and shows his teeth at -all who try to touch it. La Sauvage grew impatient. She grasped him, -set him in the armchair, and held him down with herculean strength. - -"Go on, child; sew him in his shroud," she said, turning to Mme. -Cantinet. - -As soon as this operation was completed, La Sauvage set Schmucke back -in his place at the foot of the bed. - -"Do you understand?" said she. "The poor dead man lying there must be -done up, there is no help for it." - -Schmucke began to cry. The women left him and took possession of the -kitchen, whither they brought all the necessaries in a very short -time. La Sauvage made out a preliminary statement accounting for three -hundred and sixty francs, and then proceeded to prepare a dinner for -four persons. And what a dinner! A fat goose (the cobbler's pheasant) -by way of a substantial roast, an omelette with preserves, a salad, -and the inevitable broth--the quantities of the ingredients for this -last being so excessive that the soup was more like a strong meat- -jelly. - -At nine o'clock the priest, sent by the curate to watch by the dead, -came in with Cantinet, who brought four tall wax candles and some -tapers. In the death-chamber Schmucke was lying with his arms about -the body of his friend, holding him in a tight clasp; nothing but the -authority of religion availed to separate him from his dead. Then the -priest settled himself comfortably in the easy-chair and read his -prayers while Schmucke, kneeling beside the couch, besought God to -work a miracle and unite him to Pons, so that they might be buried in -the same grave; and Mme. Cantinet went on her way to the Temple to buy -a pallet and complete bedding for Mme. Sauvage. The twelve hundred and -fifty francs were regarded as plunder. At eleven o'clock Mme. Cantinet -came in to ask if Schmucke would not eat a morsel, but with a gesture -he signified that he wished to be left in peace. - -"Your supper is ready, M. Pastelot," she said, addressing the priest, -and they went. - -Schmucke, left alone in the room, smiled to himself like a madman free -at last to gratify a desire like the longing of pregnancy. He flung -himself down beside Pons, and yet again he held his friend in a long, -close embrace. At midnight the priest came back and scolded him, and -Schmucke returned to his prayers. At daybreak the priest went, and at -seven o'clock in the morning the doctor came to see Schmucke, and -spoke kindly and tried hard to persuade him to eat, but the German -refused. - -"If you do not eat now you will feel very hungry when you come back," -the doctor told him, "for you must go to the mayor's office and take a -witness with you, so that the registrar may issue a certificate of -death." - -"/I/ must go!" cried Schmucke in frightened tones. - -"Who else? . . . You must go, for you were the one person who saw him -die." - -"Mein legs vill nicht carry me," pleaded Schmucke, imploring the -doctor to come to the rescue. - -"Take a cab," the hypocritical doctor blandly suggested. "I have given -notice already. Ask some one in the house to go with you. The two -women will look after the place while you are away." - -No one imagines how the requirements of the law jar upon a heartfelt -sorrow. The thought of it is enough to make one turn from civilization -and choose rather the customs of the savage. At nine o'clock that -morning Mme. Sauvage half-carried Schmucke downstairs, and from the -cab he was obliged to beg Remonencq to come with him to the registrar -as a second witness. Here in Paris, in this land of ours besotted with -Equality, the inequality of conditions is glaringly apparent -everywhere and in everything. The immutable tendency of things peeps -out even in the practical aspects of Death. In well-to-do families, a -relative, a friend, or a man of business spares the mourners these -painful details; but in this, as in the matter of taxation, the whole -burden falls heaviest upon the shoulders of the poor. - -"Ah! you have good reason to regret him," said Remonencq in answer to -the poor martyr's moan; "he was a very good, a very honest man, and he -has left a fine collection behind him. But being a foreigner, sir, do -you know that you are like to find yourself in a great predicament-- -for everybody says that M. Pons left everything to you?" - -Schmucke was not listening. He was sounding the dark depths of sorrow -that border upon madness. There is such a thing as tetanus of the -soul. - -"And you would do well to find some one--some man of business--to -advise you and act for you," pursued Remonencq. - -"Ein mann of pizness!" echoed Schmucke. - -"You will find that you will want some one to act for you. If I were -you, I should take an experienced man, somebody well known to you in -the quarter, a man you can trust. . . . I always go to Tabareau myself -for my bits of affairs--he is the bailiff. If you give his clerk power -to act for you, you need not trouble yourself any further." - -Remonencq and La Cibot, prompted by Fraisier, had agreed beforehand to -make a suggestion which stuck in Schmucke's memory; for there are -times in our lives when grief, as it were, congeals the mind by -arresting all its functions, and any chance impression made at such -moments is retained by a frost-bound memory. Schmucke heard his -companion with such a fixed, mindless stare, that Remonencq said no -more. - -"If he is always to be idiotic like this," thought Remonencq, "I might -easily buy the whole bag of tricks up yonder for a hundred thousand -francs; if it is really his. . . . Here we are at the mayor's office, -sir." - -Remonencq was obliged to take Schmucke out of the cab and to half- -carry him to the registrar's department, where a wedding-party was -assembled. Here they had to wait for their turn, for, by no very -uncommon chance, the clerk had five or six certificates to make out -that morning; and here it was appointed that poor Schmucke should -suffer excruciating anguish. - -"Monsieur is M. Schmucke?" remarked a person in a suit of black, -reducing Schmucke to stupefaction by the mention of his name. He -looked up with the same blank, unseeing eyes that he had turned upon -Remonencq, who now interposed. - -"What do you want with him?" he said. "Just leave him in peace; you -can plainly see that he is in trouble." - -"The gentleman has just lost his friend, and proposes, no doubt, to do -honor to his memory, being, as he is, the sole heir. The gentleman, no -doubt, will not haggle over it, he will buy a piece of ground outright -for a grave. And as M. Pons was such a lover of the arts, it would be -a great pity not to put Music, Painting, and Sculpture on his tomb-- -three handsome full-length figures, weeping--" - -Remonencq waved the speaker away, in Auvergnat fashion, but the man -replied with another gesture, which being interpreted means "Don't -spoil sport"; a piece of commercial free-masonry, as it were, which -the dealer understood. - -"I represent the firm of Sonet and Company, monumental stone-masons; -Sir Walter Scott would have dubbed me /Young Mortality/," continued -this person. "If you, sir, should decide to intrust your orders to us, -we would spare you the trouble of the journey to purchase the ground -necessary for the interment of a friend lost to the arts--" - -At this Remonencq nodded assent, and jogged Schmucke's elbow. - -"Every day we receive orders from families to arrange all -formalities," continued he of the black coat, thus encouraged by -Remonencq. "In the first moment of bereavement, the heir-at-law finds -it very difficult to attend to such matters, and we are accustomed to -perform these little services for our clients. Our charges, sir, are -on a fixed scale, so much per foot, freestone or marble. Family vaults -a specialty.--We undertake everything at the most moderate prices. Our -firm executed the magnificent monument erected to the fair Esther -Gobseck and Lucien de Rubempre, one of the finest ornaments of Pere- -Lachaise. We only employ the best workmen, and I must warn you, sir, -against small contractors--who turn out nothing but trash," he added, -seeing that another person in a black suit was coming up to say a word -for another firm of marble-workers. - -It is often said that "death is the end of a journey," but the aptness -of the simile is realized most fully in Paris. Any arrival, especially -of a person of condition, upon the "dark brink," is hailed in much the -same way as the traveler recently landed is hailed by hotel touts and -pestered with their recommendations. With the exception of a few -philosophically-minded persons, or here and there a family secure of -handing down a name to posterity, nobody thinks beforehand of the -practical aspects of death. Death always comes before he is expected; -and, from a sentiment easy to understand, the heirs usually act as if -the event were impossible. For which reason, almost every one that -loses father or mother, wife or child, is immediately beset by scouts -that profit by the confusion caused by grief to snare others. In -former days, agents for monuments used to live round about the famous -cemetery of Pere-Lachaise, and were gathered together in a single -thoroughfare, which should by rights have been called the Street of -Tombs; issuing thence, they fell upon the relatives of the dead as -they came from the cemetery, or even at the grave-side. But -competition and the spirit of speculation induced them to spread -themselves further and further afield, till descending into Paris -itself they reached the very precincts of the mayor's office. Indeed, -the stone-mason's agent has often been known to invade the house of -mourning with a design for the sepulchre in his hand. - -"I am in treaty with this gentleman," said the representative of the -firm of Sonet to another agent who came up. - -"Pons deceased! . . ." called the clerk at this moment. "Where are the -witnesses?" - -"This way, sir," said the stone-mason's agent, this time addressing -Remonencq. - -Schmucke stayed where he had been placed on the bench, an inert mass. -Remonencq begged the agent to help him, and together they pulled -Schmucke towards the balustrade, behind which the registrar shelters -himself from the mourning public. Remonencq, Schmucke's Providence, -was assisted by Dr. Poulain, who filled in the necessary information -as to Pons' age and birthplace; the German knew but one thing--that -Pons was his friend. So soon as the signatures were affixed, Remonencq -and the doctor (followed by the stone-mason's man), put Schmucke into -a cab, the desperate agent whisking in afterwards, bent upon taking a -definite order. - -La Sauvage, on the lookout in the gateway, half-carried Schmucke's -almost unconscious form upstairs. Remonencq and the agent went up with -her. - -"He will be ill!" exclaimed the agent, anxious to make an end of the -piece of business which, according to him, was in progress. - -"I should think he will!" returned Mme. Sauvage. "He has been crying -for twenty-four hours on end, and he would not take anything. There is -nothing like grief for giving one a sinking in the stomach." - -"My dear client," urged the representative of the firm of Sonet, "do -take some broth. You have so much to do; some one must go to the Hotel -de Ville to buy the ground in the cemetery on which you mean to erect -a monument to perpetuate the memory of the friend of the arts, and -bear record to your gratitude." - -"Why, there is no sense in this!" added Mme. Cantinet, coming in with -broth and bread. - -"If you are as weak as this, you ought to think of finding some one to -act for you," added Remonencq, "for you have a good deal on your -hands, my dear sir. There is the funeral to order. You would not have -your friend buried like a pauper!" - -"Come, come, my dear sir," put in La Sauvage, seizing a moment when -Schmucke laid his head back in the great chair to pour a spoonful of -soup into his mouth. She fed him as if he had been a child, and almost -in spite of himself. - -"Now, if you were wise, sir, since you are inclined to give yourself -up quietly to grief, you would find some one to act for you--" - -"As you are thinking of raising a magnificent monument to the memory -of your friend, sir, you have only to leave it all to me; I will -undertake--" - -"What is all this? What is all this?" asked La Sauvage. "Has M. -Schmucke ordered something? Who may you be?" - -"I represent the firm of Sonet, my dear madame, the biggest monumental -stone-masons in Paris," said the person in black, handing a business- -card to the stalwart Sauvage. - -"Very well, that will do. Some one will go with you when the time -comes; but you must not take advantage of the gentleman's condition -now. You can quite see that he is not himself----" - -The agent led her out upon the landing. - -"If you will undertake to get the order for us," he said -confidentially, "I am empowered to offer you forty francs." - -Mme. Sauvage grew placable. "Very well, let me have your address," -said she. - -Schmucke meantime being left to himself, and feeling the stronger for -the soup and bread that he had been forced to swallow, returned at -once to Pons' rooms, and to his prayers. He had lost himself in the -fathomless depths of sorrow, when a voice sounding in his ears drew -him back from the abyss of grief, and a young man in a suit of black -returned for the eleventh time to the charge, pulling the poor, -tortured victim's coatsleeve until he listened. - -"Sir!" said he. - -"Vat ees it now?" - -"Sir! we owe a supreme discovery to Dr. Gannal; we do not dispute his -fame; he has worked miracles of Egypt afresh; but there have been -improvements made upon his system. We have obtained surprising -results. So, if you would like to see your friend again, as he was -when he was alive--" - -"See him again!" cried Schmucke. "Shall he speak to me?" - -"Not exactly. Speech is the only thing wanting," continued the -embalmer's agent. "But he will remain as he is after embalming for all -eternity. The operation is over in a few seconds. Just an incision in -the carotid artery and an injection.--But it is high time; if you wait -one single quarter of an hour, sir, you will not have the sweet -satisfaction of preserving the body. . . ." - -"Go to der teufel! . . . Bons is ein spirit--und dat spirit is in -hefn." - -"That man has no gratitude in his composition," remarked the youthful -agent of one of the famous Gannal's rivals; "he will not embalm his -friend." - -The words were spoken under the archway, and addressed to La Cibot, -who had just submitted her beloved to the process. - -"What would you have, sir!" she said. "He is the heir, the universal -legatee. As soon as they get what they want, the dead are nothing to -them." - -An hour later, Schmucke saw Mme. Sauvage come into the room, followed -by another man in a suit of black, a workman, to all appearance. - -"Cantinet has been so obliging as to send this gentleman, sir," she -said; "he is coffin-maker to the parish." - -The coffin-maker made his bow with a sympathetic and compassionate -air, but none the less he had a business-like look, and seemed to know -that he was indispensable. He turned an expert's eye upon the dead. - -"How does the gentleman wish 'it' to be made? Deal, plain oak, or oak -lead-lined? Oak with a lead lining is the best style. The body is a -stock size,"--he felt for the feet, and proceeded to take the measure ---"one metre seventy!" he added. "You will be thinking of ordering the -funeral service at the church, sir, no doubt?" - -Schmucke looked at him as a dangerous madman might look before -striking a blow. La Sauvage put in a word. - -"You ought to find somebody to look after all these things," she said. - -"Yes----" the victim murmured at length. - -"Shall I fetch M. Tabareau?--for you will have a good deal on your -hands before long. M. Tabareau is the most honest man in the quarter, -you see." - -"Yes. Mennesir Dapareau! Somepody vas speaking of him chust now--" -said Schmucke, completely beaten. - -"Very well. You can be quiet, sir, and give yourself up to grief, when -you have seen your deputy." - -It was nearly two o'clock when M. Tabareau's head-clerk, a young man -who aimed at a bailiff's career, modestly presented himself. Youth has -wonderful privileges; no one is alarmed by youth. This young man -Villemot by name, sat down by Schmucke's side and waited his -opportunity to speak. His diffidence touched Schmucke very much. - -"I am M. Tabareau's head-clerk, sir," he said; "he sent me here to -take charge of your interests, and to superintend the funeral -arrangements. Is this your wish?" - -"You cannot safe my life, I haf not long to lif; but you vill leaf me -in beace!" - -"Oh! you shall not be disturbed," said Villemot. - -"Ver' goot. Vat must I do for dat?" - -"Sign this paper appointing M. Tabareau to act for you in all matters -relating to the settlement of the affairs of the deceased." - -"Goot! gif it to me," said Schmucke, anxious only to sign it at once. - -"No, I must read it over to you first." - -"Read it ofer." - -Schmucke paid not the slightest attention to the reading of the power -of attorney, but he set his name to it. The young clerk took -Schmucke's orders for the funeral, the interment, and the burial -service; undertaking that he should not be troubled again in any way, -nor asked for money. - -"I vould gif all dat I haf to be left in beace," said the unhappy man. -And once more he knelt beside the dead body of his friend. - -Fraisier had triumphed. Villemot and La Sauvage completed the circle -which he had traced about Pons' heir. - -There is no sorrow that sleep cannot overcome. Towards the end of the -day La Sauvage, coming in, found Schmucke stretched asleep at the bed- -foot. She carried him off, put him to bed, tucked him in maternally, -and till the morning Schmucke slept. - -When he awoke, or rather when the truce was over and he again became -conscious of his sorrows, Pons' coffin lay under the gateway in such a -state as a third-class funeral may claim, and Schmucke, seeking vainly -for his friend, wandered from room to room, across vast spaces, as it -seemed to him, empty of everything save hideous memories. La Sauvage -took him in hand, much as a nurse manages a child; she made him take -his breakfast before starting for the church; and while the poor -sufferer forced himself to eat, she discovered, with lamentations -worthy of Jeremiah, that he had not a black coat in his possession. La -Cibot took entire charge of his wardrobe; since Pons fell ill, his -apparel, like his dinner, had been reduced to the lowest terms--to a -couple of coats and two pairs of trousers. - -"And you are going just as you are to M. Pons' funeral? It is an -unheard-of thing; the whole quarter will cry shame upon us!" - -"Und how vill you dat I go?" - -"Why, in mourning--" - -"Mourning!" - -"It is the proper thing." - -"Der bropper ding! . . . Confound all dis stupid nonsense!" cried poor -Schmucke, driven to the last degree of exasperation which a childlike -soul can reach under stress of sorrow. - -"Why, the man is a monster of ingratitude!" said La Sauvage, turning -to a personage who just then appeared. At the sight of this -functionary Schmucke shuddered. The newcomer wore a splendid suit of -black, black knee-breeches, black silk stockings, a pair of white -cuffs, an extremely correct white muslin tie, and white gloves. A -silver chain with a coin attached ornamented his person. A typical -official, stamped with the official expression of decorous gloom, an -ebony wand in his hand by way of insignia of office, he stood waiting -with a three-cornered hat adorned with the tricolor cockade under his -arm. - -"I am the master of the ceremonies," this person remarked in a subdued -voice. - -Accustomed daily to superintend funerals, to move among families -plunged in one and the same kind of tribulation, real or feigned, this -man, like the rest of his fraternity, spoke in hushed and soothing -tones; he was decorous, polished, and formal, like an allegorical -stone figure of Death. - -Schmucke quivered through every nerve as if he were confronting his -executioner. - -"Is this gentleman the son, brother, or father of the deceased?" -inquired the official. - -"I am all dat and more pesides--I am his friend," said Schmucke -through a torrent of weeping. - -"Are you his heir?" - -"Heir? . . ." repeated Schmucke. "Noding matters to me more in dis -vorld," returning to his attitude of hopeless sorrow. - -"Where are the relatives, the friends?" asked the master of the -ceremonies. - -"All here!" exclaimed the German, indicating the pictures and -rarities. "Not von of dem haf efer gifn bain to mein boor Bons. . . . -Here ees everydings dot he lofed, after me." - -Schmucke had taken his seat again, and looked as vacant as before; he -dried his eyes mechanically. Villemot came up at that moment; he had -ordered the funeral, and the master of the ceremonies, recognizing -him, made an appeal to the newcomer. - -"Well, sir, it is time to start. The hearse is here; but I have not -often seen such a funeral as this. Where are the relatives and -friends?" - -"We have been pressed for time," replied Villemot. "This gentleman was -in such deep grief that he could think of nothing. And there is only -one relative." - -The master of the ceremonies looked compassionately at Schmucke; this -expert in sorrow knew real grief when he saw it. He went across to -him. - -"Come, take heart, my dear sir. Think of paying honor to your friend's -memory." - -"We forgot to send out cards; but I took care to send a special -message to M. le Presidente de Marville, the one relative that I -mentioned to you.--There are no friends.--M. Pons was conductor of an -orchestra at a theatre, but I do not think that any one will come.-- -This gentleman is the universal legatee, I believe." - -"Then he ought to be chief mourner," said the master of the -ceremonies.--"Have you a black coat?" he continued, noticing -Schmucke's costume. - -"I am all in plack insite!" poor Schmucke replied in heartrending -tones; "so plack it is dot I feel death in me. . . . Gott in hefn is -going to haf pity upon me; He vill send me to mein friend in der -grafe, und I dank Him for it--" - -He clasped his hands. - -"I have told our management before now that we ought to have a -wardrobe department and lend the proper mourning costumes on hire," -said the master of the ceremonies, addressing Villemot; "it is a want -that is more and more felt every day, and we have even now introduced -improvements. But as this gentleman is chief mourner, he ought to wear -a cloak, and this one that I have brought with me will cover him from -head to foot; no one need know that he is not in proper mourning -costume.--Will you be so kind as to rise?" - -Schmucke rose, but he tottered on his feet. - -"Support him," said the master of the ceremonies, turning to Villemot; -"you are his legal representative." - -Villemot held Schmucke's arm while the master of the ceremonies -invested Schmucke with the ample, dismal-looking garment worn by -heirs-at-law in the procession to and from the house and the church. -He tied the black silken cords under the chin, and Schmucke as heir -was in "full dress." - -"And now comes a great difficulty," continued the master of the -ceremonies; "we want four bearers for the pall. . . . If nobody comes -to the funeral, who is to fill the corners? It is half-past ten -already," he added, looking at his watch; "they are waiting for us at -the church." - -"Oh! here comes Fraisier!" Villemot exclaimed, very imprudently; but -there was no one to hear the tacit confession of complicity. - -"Who is this gentleman?" inquired the master of the ceremonies. - -"Oh! he comes on behalf of the family." - -"Whose family?" - -"The disinherited family. He is M. Camusot de Marville's -representative." - -"Good," said the master of the ceremonies, with a satisfied air. "We -shall have two pall-bearers at any rate--you and he." - -And, happy to find two of the places filled up, he took out some -wonderful white buckskin gloves, and politely presented Fraisier and -Villemot with a pair apiece. - -"If you gentlemen will be so good as to act as pall-bearers--" said -he. - -Fraisier, in black from head to foot, pretentiously dressed, with his -white tie and official air, was a sight to shudder at; he embodied a -hundred briefs. - -"Willingly, sir," said he. - -"If only two more persons will come, the four corners will be filled -up," said the master of the ceremonies. - -At that very moment the indefatigable representative of the firm of -Sonet came up, and, closely following him, the man who remembered Pons -and thought of paying him a last tribute of respect. This was a -supernumerary at the theatre, the man who put out the scores on the -music-stands for the orchestra. Pons had been wont to give him a five- -franc piece once a month, knowing that he had a wife and family. - -"Oh, Dobinard (Topinard)!" Schmucke cried out at the sight of him, -"/you/ love Bons!" - -"Why, I have come to ask news of M. Pons every morning, sir." - -"Efery morning! boor Dobinard!" and Schmucke squeezed the man's hand. - -"But they took me for a relation, no doubt, and did not like my visits -at all. I told them that I belonged to the theatre and came to inquire -after M. Pons; but it was no good. They saw through that dodge, they -said. I asked to see the poor dear man, but they never would let me -come upstairs." - -"Dat apominable Zipod!" said Schmucke, squeezing Topinard's horny hand -to his heart. - -"He was the best of men, that good M. Pons. Every month he use to give -me five francs. . . . He knew that I had three children and a wife. My -wife has gone to the church." - -"I shall difide mein pread mit you," cried Schmucke, in his joy at -finding at his side some one who loved Pons. - -"If this gentleman will take a corner of the pall, we shall have all -four filled up," said the master of the ceremonies. - -There had been no difficulty over persuading the agent for monuments. -He took a corner the more readily when he was shown the handsome pair -of gloves which, according to custom, was to be his property. - -"A quarter to eleven! We absolutely must go down. They are waiting for -us at the church." - -The six persons thus assembled went down the staircase. - -The cold-blooded lawyer remained a moment to speak to the two women on -the landing. "Stop here, and let nobody come in," he said, "especially -if you wish to remain in charge, Mme. Cantinet. Aha! two francs a day, -you know!" - -By a coincidence in nowise extraordinary in Paris, two hearses were -waiting at the door, and two coffins standing under the archway; -Cibot's funeral and the solitary state in which Pons was lying was -made even more striking in the street. Schmucke was the only mourner -that followed Pons' coffin; Schmucke, supported by one of the -undertaker's men, for he tottered at every step. From the Rue de -Normandie to the Rue d'Orleans and the Church of Saint-Francois the -two funerals went between a double row of curious onlookers for -everything (as was said before) makes a sensation in the quarter. -Every one remarked the splendor of the white funeral car, with a big -embroidered P suspended on a hatchment, and the one solitary mourner -behind it; while the cheap bier that came after it was followed by an -immense crowd. Happily, Schmucke was so bewildered by the throng of -idlers and the rows of heads in the windows, that he heard no remarks -and only saw the faces through a mist of tears. - -"Oh, it is the nutcracker!" said one, "the musician, you know--" - -"Who can the pall-bearers be?" - -"Pooh! play-actors." - -"I say, just look at poor old Cibot's funeral. There is one worker the -less. What a man! he could never get enough of work!" - -"He never went out." - -"He never kept Saint Monday." - -"How fond he was of his wife!" - -"Ah! There is an unhappy woman!" - -Remonencq walked behind his victim's coffin. People condoled with him -on the loss of his neighbor. - -The two funerals reached the church. Cantinet and the doorkeeper saw -that no beggars troubled Schmucke. Villemot had given his word that -Pons' heir should be left in peace; he watched over his client, and -gave the requisite sums; and Cibot's humble bier, escorted by sixty or -eighty persons, drew all the crowd after it to the cemetery. At the -church door Pons' funeral possession mustered four mourning-coaches, -one for the priest and three for the relations; but one only was -required, for the representative of the firm of Sonet departed during -mass to give notice to his principal that the funeral was on the way, -so that the design for the monument might be ready for the survivor at -the gates of the cemetery. A single coach sufficed for Fraisier, -Villemot, Schmucke, and Topinard; but the remaining two, instead of -returning to the undertaker, followed in the procession to Pere- -Lachaise--a useless procession, not unfrequently seen; there are -always too many coaches when the dead are unknown beyond their own -circle and there is no crowd at the funeral. Dear, indeed, the dead -must have been in their lifetime if relative or friend will go with -them so far as the cemetery in this Paris, where every one would fain -have twenty-five hours in the day. But with the coachmen it is -different; they lose their tips if they do not make the journey; so, -empty or full, the mourning coaches go to the church and cemetery and -return to the house for gratuities. A death is a sort of drinking- -fountain for an unimagined crowd of thirsty mortals. The attendants at -the church, the poor, the undertaker's men, the drivers and sextons, -are creatures like sponges that dip into a hearse and come out again -saturated. - -From the church door, where he was beset with a swarm of beggars -(promptly dispersed by the beadle), to Pere-Lachaise, poor Schmucke -went as criminals went in old times from the Palais de Justice to the -Place de Greve. It was his own funeral that he followed, clinging to -Topinard's hand, to the one living creature besides himself who felt a -pang of real regret for Pons' death. - -As for Topinard, greatly touched by the honor of the request to act as -pall-bearer, content to drive in a carriage, the possessor of a new -pair of gloves,--it began to dawn upon him that this was to be one of -the great days of his life. Schmucke was driven passively along the -road, as some unlucky calf is driven in a butcher's cart to the -slaughter-house. Fraisier and Villemot sat with their backs to the -horses. Now, as those know whose sad fortune it has been to accompany -many of their friends to their last resting-place, all hypocrisy -breaks down in the coach during the journey (often a very long one) -from the church to the eastern cemetery, to that one of the burying- -grounds of Paris in which all vanities, all kinds of display, are met, -so rich is it in sumptuous monuments. On these occasions those who -feel least begin to talk soonest, and in the end the saddest listen, -and their thoughts are diverted. - -"M. le President had already started for the Court." Fraisier told -Villemot, "and I did not think it necessary to tear him away from -business; he would have come too late, in any case. He is the next-of- -kin; but as he has been disinherited, and M. Schmucke gets everything, -I thought that if his legal representative were present it would be -enough." - -Topinard lent an ear to this. - -"Who was the queer customer that took the fourth corner?" continued -Fraisier. - -"He is an agent for a firm of monumental stone-masons. He would like -an order for a tomb, on which he proposes to put three sculptured -marble figures--Music, Painting, and Sculpture shedding tears over the -deceased." - -"It is an idea," said Fraisier; "the old gentleman certainly deserved -that much; but the monument would cost seven or eight hundred francs." - -"Oh! quite that!" - -"If M. Schmucke gives the order, it cannot affect the estate. You -might eat up a whole property with such expenses." - -"There would be a lawsuit, but you would gain it--" - -"Very well," said Fraisier, "then it will be his affair.--It would be -a nice practical joke to play upon the monument-makers," Fraisier -added in Villemot's ear; "for if the will is upset (and I can answer -for that), or if there is no will at all, who would pay them?" - -Villemot grinned like a monkey, and the pair began to talk -confidentially, lowering their voices; but the man from the theatre, -with his wits and senses sharpened in the world behind the scenes, -could guess at the nature of their discourse; in spite of the rumbling -of the carriage and other hindrances, he began to understand that -these representatives of justice were scheming to plunge poor Schmucke -into difficulties; and when at last he heard the ominous word -"Clichy," the honest and loyal servitor of the stage made up his mind -to watch over Pons' friend. - -At the cemetery, where three square yards of ground had been purchased -through the good offices of the firm of Sonet (Villemot having -announced Schmucke's intention of erecting a magnificent monument), -the master of ceremonies led Schmucke through a curious crowd to the -grave into which Pons' coffin was about to be lowered; but here, at -the sight of the square hole, the four men waiting with ropes to lower -the bier, and the clergy saying the last prayer for the dead at the -grave-side, something clutched tightly at the German's heart. He -fainted away. - -Sonet's agent and M. Sonet himself came to help Topinard to carry poor -Schmucke into the marble-works hard by, where Mme. Sonet and Mme. -Vitelot (Sonet's partner's wife) were eagerly prodigal of efforts to -revive him. Topinard stayed. He had seen Fraisier in conversation with -Sonet's agent, and Fraisier, in his opinion, had gallows-bird written -on his face. - -An hour later, towards half-past two o'clock, the poor, innocent -German came to himself. Schmucke thought that he had been dreaming for -the past two days; if he could only wake, he should find Pons still -alive. So many wet towels had been laid on his forehead, he had been -made to inhale salts and vinegar to such an extent, that he opened his -eyes at last. Mme. Sonet make him take some meat-soup, for they had -put the pot on the fire at the marble-works. - -"Our clients do not often take things to heart like this; still, it -happens once in a year or two--" - -At last Schmucke talked of returning to the Rue de Normandie, and at -this Sonet began at once. - -"Here is the design, sir," he said; "Vitelot drew it expressly for -you, and sat up last night to do it. . . . And he has been happily -inspired, it will look fine--" - -"One of the finest in Pere-Lachaise!" said the little Mme. Sonet. "But -you really ought to honor the memory of a friend who left you all his -fortune." - -The design, supposed to have been drawn on purpose, had, as a matter -of fact, been prepared for de Marsay, the famous cabinet minister. His -widow, however, had given the commission to Stidmann; people were -disgusted with the tawdriness of the project, and it was refused. The -three figures at that period represented the three days of July which -brought the eminent minister to power. Subsequently, Sonet and Vitelot -had turned the Three Glorious Days--"/les trois glorieuses/"--into the -Army, Finance, and the Family, and sent in the design for the -sepulchre of the late lamented Charles Keller; and here again Stidmann -took the commission. In the eleven years that followed, the sketch had -been modified to suit all kinds of requirements, and now in Vitelot's -fresh tracing they reappeared as Music, Sculpture, and Painting. - -"It is a mere trifle when you think of the details and cost of setting -it up; for it will take six months," said Vitelot. "Here is the -estimate and the order-form--seven thousand francs, sketch in plaster -not included." - -"If M. Schmucke would like marble," put in Sonet (marble being his -special department), "it would cost twelve thousand francs, and -monsieur would immortalize himself as well as his friend." - -Topinard turned to Vitelot. - -"I have just heard that they are going to dispute the will," he -whispered, "and the relatives are likely to come by their property. Go -and speak to M. Camusot, for this poor, harmless creature has not a -farthing." - -"This is the kind of customer that you always bring us," said Mme. -Vitelot, beginning a quarrel with the agent. - -Topinard led Schmucke away, and they returned home on foot to the Rue -de Normandie, for the mourning-coaches had been sent back. - -"Do not leaf me," Schmucke said, when Topinard had seen him safe into -Mme. Sauvage's hands, and wanted to go. - -"It is four o'clock, dear M. Schmucke. I must go home to dinner. My -wife is a box-opener--she will not know what has become of me. The -theatre opens at a quarter to six, you know." - -"Yes, I know . . . but remember dat I am alone in die earth, dat I haf -no friend. You dat haf shed a tear for Bons enliden me; I am in teep -tarkness, und Bons said dat I vas in der midst of shcoundrels." - -"I have seen that plainly already; I have just prevented them from -sending you to Clichy." - -"/Gligy!/" repeated Schmucke; "I do not understand." - -"Poor man! Well, never mind, I will come to you. Good-bye." - -"Goot-bye; komm again soon," said Schmucke, dropping half-dead with -weariness. - -"Good-bye, mosieu," said Mme. Sauvage, and there was something in her -tone that struck Topinard. - -"Oh, come, what is the matter now?" he asked, banteringly. "You are -attitudinizing like a traitor in a melodrama." - -"Traitor yourself! Why have you come meddling here? Do you want to -have a hand in the master's affairs, and swindle him, eh?" - -"Swindle him! . . . Your very humble servant!" Topinard answered with -superb disdain. "I am only a poor super at a theatre, but I am -something of an artist, and you may as well know that I never asked -anything of anybody yet! Who asked anything of you? Who owes you -anything? eh, old lady!" - -"You are employed at a theatre, and your name is--?" - -"Topinard, at your service." - -"Kind regards to all at home," said La Sauvage, "and my compliments to -your missus, if you are married, mister. . . . That was all I wanted -to know." - -"Why, what is the matter, dear?" asked Mme. Cantinet, coming out. - -"This, child--stop here and look after the dinner while I run round to -speak to monsieur." - -"He is down below, talking with poor Mme. Cibot, that is crying her -eyes out," said Mme. Cantinet. - -La Sauvage dashed down in such headlong haste that the stairs trembled -beneath her tread. - -"Monsieur!" she called, and drew him aside a few paces to point out -Topinard. - -Topinard was just going away, proud at heart to have made some return -already to the man who had done him so many kindnesses. He had saved -Pons' friend from a trap, by a stratagem from that world behind the -scenes in which every one has more or less ready wit. And within -himself he vowed to protect a musician in his orchestra from future -snares set for his simple sincerity. - -"Do you see that little wretch?" said La Sauvage. "He is a kind of -honest man that has a mind to poke his nose into M. Schmucke's -affairs." - -"Who is he?" asked Fraisier. - -"Oh! he is a nobody." - -"In business there is no such thing as a nobody." - -"Oh, he is employed at the theatre," said she; "his name is Topinard." - -"Good, Mme. Sauvage! Go on like this, and you shall have your -tobacconist's shop." - -And Fraisier resumed his conversation with Mme. Cibot. - -"So I say, my dear client, that you have not played openly and above- -board with me, and that one is not bound in any way to a partner who -cheats." - -"And how have I cheated you?" asked La Cibot, hands on hips. "Do you -think that you will frighten me with your sour looks and your frosty -airs? You look about for bad reasons for breaking your promises, and -you call yourself an honest man! Do you know what you are? You are a -blackguard! Yes! yes! scratch your arm; but just pocket that--" - -"No words, and keep your temper, dearie. Listen to me. You have been -feathering your nest. . . . I found this catalogue this morning while -we were getting ready for the funeral; it is all in M. Pons' -handwriting, and made out in duplicate. And as it chanced, my eyes -fell on this--" - -And opening the catalogue, he read: - - "No. 7. /Magnificent portrait painted on marble, by Sebastian del - Piombo, in 1546. Sold by a family who had it removed from Terni - Cathedral. The picture, which represents a Knight-Templar kneeling - in prayer, used to hang above a tomb of the Rossi family with a - companion portrait of a Bishop, afterwards purchased by an - Englishman. The portrait might be attributed to Raphael, but for - the date. This example is, to my mind, superior to the portrait of - Baccio Bandinelli in the Musee; the latter is a little hard, while - the Templar, being painted upon 'lavagna,' or slate, has preserved - its freshness of coloring./" - -"When I come to look for No. 7," continued Fraisier, "I find a -portrait of a lady, signed 'Chardin,' without a number on it! I went -through the pictures with the catalogue while the master of ceremonies -was making up the number of pall-bearers, and found that eight of -those indicated as works of capital importance by M. Pons had -disappeared, and eight paintings of no special merit, and without -numbers, were there instead. . . . And finally, one was missing -altogether, a little panel-painting by Metzu, described in the -catalogue as a masterpiece." - -"And was /I/ in charge of the pictures?" demanded La Cibot. - -"No; but you were in a position of trust. You were M. Pons' -housekeeper, you looked after his affairs, and he has been robbed--" - -"Robbed! Let me tell you this, sir: M. Schmucke sold the pictures, by -M. Pons' orders, to meet expenses." - -"And to whom?" - -"To Messrs. Elie Magus and Remonencq." - -"For how much?" - -"I am sure I do not remember." - -"Look here, my dear madame; you have been feathering your nest, and -very snugly. I shall keep an eye upon you; I have you safe. Help me, I -will say nothing! In any case, you know that since you deemed it -expedient to plunder M. le President Camusot, you ought not to expect -anything from /him/." - -"I was sure that this would all end in smoke, for me," said La Cibot, -mollified by the words "I will say nothing." - -Remonencq chimed in at this point. - -"Here are you finding fault with Mme. Cibot; that is not right!" he -said. "The pictures were sold by private treaty between M. Pons, M. -Magus, and me. We waited for three days before we came to terms with -the deceased; he slept on his pictures. We took receipts in proper -form; and if we gave Madame Cibot a few forty-franc pieces, it is the -custom of the trade--we always do so in private houses when we -conclude a bargain. Ah! my dear sir, if you think to cheat a -defenceless woman, you will not make a good bargain! Do you -understand, master lawyer?--M. Magus rules the market, and if you do -not come down off the high horse, if you do not keep your word to Mme. -Cibot, I shall wait till the collection is sold, and you shall see -what you will lose if you have M. Magus and me against you; we can get -the dealers in a ring. Instead of realizing seven or eight hundred -thousand francs, you will not so much as make two hundred thousand." - -"Good, good, we shall see. We are not going to sell; or if we do, it -will be in London." - -"We know London," said Remonencq. "M. Magus is as powerful there as at -Paris." - -"Good-day, madame; I shall sift these matters to the bottom," said -Fraisier--"unless you continue to do as I tell you" he added. - -"You little pickpocket!--" - -"Take care! I shall be a justice of the peace before long." And with -threats understood to the full upon either side, they separated. - -"Thank you, Remonencq!" said La Cibot; "it is very pleasant to a poor -widow to find a champion." - - - -Towards ten o'clock that evening, Gaudissart sent for Topinard. The -manager was standing with his back to the fire, in a Napoleonic -attitude--a trick which he had learned since be began to command his -army of actors, dancers, /figurants/, musicians, and stage carpenters. -He grasped his left-hand brace with his right hand, always thrust into -his waistcoat; he head was flung far back, his eyes gazed out into -space. - -"Ah! I say, Topinard, have you independent means?" - -"No, sir." - -"Are you on the lookout to better yourself somewhere else?" - -"No, sir--" said Topinard, with a ghastly countenance. - -"Why, hang it all, your wife takes the first row of boxes out of -respect to my predecessor, who came to grief; I gave you the job of -cleaning the lamps in the wings in the daytime, and you put out the -scores. And that is not all, either. You get twenty sous for acting -monsters and managing devils when a hell is required. There is not a -super that does not covet your post, and there are those that are -jealous of you, my friend; you have enemies in the theatre." - -"Enemies!" repeated Topinard. - -"And you have three children; the oldest takes children's parts at -fifty centimes--" - -"Sir!--" - -"You want to meddle in other people's business, and put your finger -into a will case.--Why, you wretched man, you would be crushed like an -egg-shell! My patron is His Excellency, Monseigneur le Comte Popinot, -a clever man and a man of high character, whom the King in his wisdom -has summoned back to the privy council. This statesman, this great -politician, has married his eldest son to a daughter of M. le -President de Marville, one of the foremost men among the high courts -of justice; one of the leading lights of the law-courts. Do you know -the law-courts? Very good. Well, he is cousin and heir to M. Pons, to -our old conductor whose funeral you attended this morning. I do not -blame you for going to pay the last respects to him, poor man. . . . -But if you meddle in M. Schmucke's affairs, you will lose your place. -I wish very well to M. Schmucke, but he is in a delicate position with -regard to the heirs--and as the German is almost nothing to me, and -the President and Count Popinot are a great deal, I recommend you to -leave the worthy German to get out of his difficulties by himself. -There is a special Providence that watches over Germans, and the part -of deputy guardian-angel would not suit you at all. Do you see? Stay -as you are--you cannot do better." - -"Very good, monsieur le directeur," said Topinard, much distressed. -And in this way Schmucke lost the protector sent to him by fate, the -one creature that shed a tear for Pons, the poor super for whose -return he looked on the morrow. - -Next morning poor Schmucke awoke to a sense of his great and heavy -loss. He looked round the empty rooms. Yesterday and the day before -yesterday the preparations for the funeral had made a stir and bustle -which distracted his eyes; but the silence which follows the day, when -the friend, father, son, or loved wife has been laid in the grave--the -dull, cold silence of the morrow is terrible, is glacial. Some -irresistible force drew him to Pons' chamber, but the sight of it was -more than the poor man could bear; he shrank away and sat down in the -dining-room, where Mme. Sauvage was busy making breakfast ready. - -Schmucke drew his chair to the table, but he could eat nothing. A -sudden, somewhat sharp ringing of the door-bell rang through the -house, and Mme. Cantinet and Mme. Sauvage allowed three black-coated -personages to pass. First came Vitel, the justice of the peace, with -his highly respectable clerk; third was Fraisier, neither sweeter nor -milder for the disappointing discovery of a valid will canceling the -formidable instrument so audaciously stolen by him. - -"We have come to affix seals on the property," the justice of the -peace said gently, addressing Schmucke. But the remark was Greek to -Schmucke; he gazed in dismay at his three visitors. - -"We have come at the request of M. Fraisier, legal representative of -M. Camusot de Marville, heir of the late Pons--" added the clerk. - -"The collection is here in this great room, and in the bedroom of the -deceased," remarked Fraisier. - -"Very well, let us go into the next room.--Pardon us, sir; do not let -us interrupt with your breakfast." - -The invasion struck an icy chill of terror into poor Schmucke. -Fraisier's venomous glances seemed to possess some magnetic influence -over his victims, like the power of a spider over a fly. - -"M. Schmucke understood how to turn a will, made in the presence of a -notary, to his own advantage," he said, "and he surely must have -expected some opposition from the family. A family does not allow -itself to be plundered by a stranger without some protest; and we -shall see, sir, which carries the day--fraud and corruption or the -rightful heirs. . . . We have a right as next of kin to affix seals, -and seals shall be affixed. I mean to see that the precaution is taken -with the utmost strictness." - -"Ach, mein Gott! how haf I offended against Hefn?" cried the innocent -Schmucke. - -"There is a good deal of talk about you in the house," said La -Sauvage. "While you were asleep, a little whipper-snapper in a black -suit came here, a puppy that said he was M. Hannequin's head-clerk, -and must see you at all costs; but as you were asleep and tired out -with the funeral yesterday, I told him that M. Villemot, Tabareau's -head-clerk, was acting for you, and if it was a matter of business, I -said, he might speak to M. Villemot. 'Ah, so much the better!' the -youngster said. 'I shall come to an understanding with him. We will -deposit the will at the Tribunal, after showing it to the President.' -So at that, I told him to ask M. Villemot to come here as soon as he -could.--Be easy, my dear sir, there are those that will take care of -you. They shall not shear the fleece off your back. You will have some -one that has beak and claws. M. Villemot will give them a piece of his -mind. I have put myself in a passion once already with that abominable -hussy, La Cibot, a porter's wife that sets up to judge her lodgers, -forsooth, and insists that you have filched the money from the heirs; -you locked M. Pons up, she says, and worked upon him till he was -stark, staring mad. She got as good as she gave, though, the wretched -woman. 'You are a thief and a bad lot,' I told her; 'you will get into -the police-courts for all the things that you have stolen from the -gentlemen,' and she shut up." - -The clerk came out to speak to Schmucke. - -"Would you wish to be present, sir, when the seals are affixed in the -next room?" - -"Go on, go on," said Schmucke; "I shall pe allowed to die in beace, I -bresume?" - -"Oh, under any circumstances a man has a right to die," the clerk -answered, laughing; "most of our business relates to wills. But, in my -experience, the universal legatee very seldom follows the testator to -the tomb." - -"I am going," said Schmucke. Blow after blow had given him an -intolerable pain at the heart. - -"Oh! here comes M. Villemot!" exclaimed La Sauvage. - -"Mennesir Fillemod," said poor Schmucke, "rebresent me." - -"I hurried here at once," said Villemot. "I have come to tell you that -the will is completely in order; it will certainly be confirmed by the -court, and you will be put in possession. You will have a fine -fortune." - -"/I?/ Ein fein vordune?" cried Schmucke, despairingly. That he of all -men should be suspected of caring for the money! - -"And meantime what is the justice of the peace doing here with his wax -candles and his bits of tape?" asked La Sauvage. - -"Oh, he is affixing seals. . . . Come, M. Schmucke, you have a right -to be present." - -"No--go in yourself." - -"But where is the use of the seals if M. Schmucke is in his own house -and everything belongs to him?" asked La Sauvage, doing justice in -feminine fashion, and interpreting the Code according to their fancy, -like one and all of her sex. - -"M. Schmucke is not in possession, madame; he is in M. Pons' house. -Everything will be his, no doubt; but the legatee cannot take -possession without an authorization--an order from the Tribunal. And -if the next-of-kin set aside by the testator should dispute the order, -a lawsuit is the result. And as nobody knows what may happen, -everything is sealed up, and the notaries representing either side -proceed to draw up an inventory during the delay prescribed by the -law. . . . And there you are!" - -Schmucke, hearing such talk for the first time in his life, was -completely bewildered by it; his head sank down upon the back of his -chair--he could not support it, it had grown so heavy. - -Villemot meanwhile went off to chat with the justice of the peace and -his clerk, assisting with professional coolness to affix the seals--a -ceremony which always involves some buffoonery and plentiful comments -on the objects thus secured, unless, indeed, one of the family happens -to be present. At length the party sealed up the chamber and returned -to the dining-room, whither the clerk betook himself. Schmucke watched -the mechanical operation which consists in setting the justice's seal -at either end of a bit of tape stretched across the opening of a -folding-door; or, in the case of a cupboard or ordinary door, from -edge to edge above the door-handle. - -"Now for this room," said Fraisier, pointing to Schmucke's bedroom, -which opened into the dining-room. - -"But that is M. Schmucke's own room," remonstrated La Sauvage, -springing in front of the door. - -"We found the lease among the papers," Fraisier said ruthlessly; -"there was no mention of M. Schmucke in it; it is taken out in M. -Pons' name only. The whole place, and every room in it, is a part of -the estate. And besides"--flinging open the door--"look here, monsieur -le juge de la paix, it is full of pictures." - -"So it is," answered the justice of the peace, and Fraisier thereupon -gained his point. - -"Wait a bit, gentlemen," said Villemot. "Do you know that you are -turning the universal legatee out of doors, and as yet his right has -not been called in question?" - -"Yes, it has," said Fraisier; "we are opposing the transfer of the -property." - -"And upon what grounds?" - -"You shall know that by and by, my boy," Fraisier replied, -banteringly. "At this moment, if the legatee withdraws everything that -he declares to be his, we shall raise no objections, but the room -itself will be sealed. And M. Schmucke may lodge where he pleases." - -"No," said Villemot; "M. Schmucke is going to stay in his room." - -"And how?" - -"I shall demand an immediate special inquiry," continued Villemot, -"and prove that we pay half the rent. You shall not turn us out. Take -away the pictures, decide on the ownership of the various articles, -but here my client stops--'my boy.' " - -"I shall go out!" the old musician suddenly said. He had recovered -energy during the odious dispute. - -"You had better," said Fraisier. "Your course will save expense to -you, for your contention would not be made good. The lease is -evidence--" - -"The lease! the lease!" cried Villemot, "it is a question of good -faith--" - -"That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling witnesses.-- -Do you mean to plunge into experts' fees and verifications, and orders -to show cause why judgment should not be given, and law proceedings -generally?" - -"No, no!" cried Schmucke in dismay. "I shall turn out; I am used to -it--" - -In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic, so -greatly had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair of -boots, a couple of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen bandana -handkerchiefs, four waistcoats, a superb pipe given to him by Pons, -with an embroidered tobacco-pouch--these were all his belongings. -Overwrought by a fever of indignation, he went into his room and piled -his clothes upon a chair. - -"All dese are mine," he said, with simplicity worthy of Cincinnatus. -"Der biano is also mine." - -Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. "Madame, get help," he said; "take that -piano out and put it on the landing." - -"You are too rough into the bargain," said Villemot, addressing -Fraisier. "The justice of the peace gives orders here; he is supreme." - -"There are valuables in the room," put in the clerk. - -"And besides," added the justice of the peace, "M. Schmucke is going -out of his own free will." - -"Did any one ever see such a client!" Villemot cried indignantly, -turning upon Schmucke. "You are as limp as a rag--" - -"Vat dos it matter vere von dies?" Schmucke said as he went out. "Dese -men haf tiger faces. . . . I shall send somebody to vetch mein bits of -dings." - -"Where are you going, sir?" - -"Vere it shall blease Gott," returned Pons' universal legatee with -supreme indifference. - -"Send me word," said Villemot. - -Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. "Go after him," he whispered. - -Mme. Cantinet was left in charge, with a provision of fifty francs -paid out of the money that they found. The justice of the peace looked -out; there Schmucke stood in the courtyard looking up at the windows -for the last time. - -"You have found a man of butter," remarked the justice. - -"Yes," said Fraisier, "yes. The thing is as good as done. You need not -hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will be head- -surgeon at the Quinze-Vingts." (The Asylum founded by St. Louis for -three hundred blind people.) - -"We shall see.--Good-day, M. Fraisier," said the justice of the peace -with a friendly air. - -"There is a man with a head on his shoulders," remarked the justice's -clerk. "The dog will go a long way." - -By this time it was eleven o'clock. The old German went like an -automaton down the road along which Pons and he had so often walked -together. Wherever he went he saw Pons, he almost thought that Pons -was by his side; and so he reached the theatre just as his friend -Topinard was coming out of it after a morning spent in cleaning the -lamps and meditating on the manager's tyranny. - -"Oh, shoost der ding for me!" cried Schmucke, stopping his -acquaintance. "Dopinart! you haf a lodging someveres, eh?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"A home off your own?" - -"Yes, sir." - -"Are you villing to take me for ein poarder? Oh! I shall pay ver' -vell; I haf nine hundert vrancs of inkomm, und--I haf not ver' long -ter lif. . . . I shall gif no drouble vatefer. . . . I can eat -onydings--I only vant to shmoke mein bipe. Und--you are der only von -dat haf shed a tear for Bons, mit me; und so, I lof you." - -"I should be very glad, sir; but, to begin with, M. Gaudissart has -given me a proper wigging--" - -"/Vigging?/" - -"That is one way of saying that he combed my hair for me." - -"/Combed your hair?/" - -"He gave me a scolding for meddling in your affairs. . . . So we must -be very careful if you come to me. But I doubt whether you will stay -when you have seen the place; you do not know how we poor devils -live." - -"I should rader der boor home of a goot-hearted mann dot haf mourned -Bons, dan der Duileries mit men dot haf ein tiger face. . . . I haf -chust left tigers in Bons' house; dey vill eat up everydings--" - -"Come with me, sir, and you shall see. But--well, anyhow, there is a -garret. Let us see what Mme. Topinard says." - -Schmucke followed like a sheep, while Topinard led the way into one of -the squalid districts which might be called the cancers of Paris--a -spot known as the Cite Bordin. It is a slum out of the Rue de Bondy, a -double row of houses run up by the speculative builder, under the -shadow of the huge mass of the Porte Saint-Martin theatre. The -pavement at the higher end lies below the level of the Rue de Bondy; -at the lower it falls away towards the Rue des Mathurins du Temple. -Follow its course and you find that it terminates in another slum -running at right angles to the first--the Cite Bordin is, in fact, a -T-shaped blind alley. Its two streets thus arranged contain some -thirty houses, six or seven stories high; and every story, and every -room in every story, is a workshop and a warehouse for goods of every -sort and description, for this wart upon the face of Paris is a -miniature Faubourg Saint-Antoine. Cabinet-work and brasswork, -theatrical costumes, blown glass, painted porcelain--all the various -fancy goods known as /l'article Paris/ are made here. Dirty and -productive like commerce, always full of traffic--foot-passengers, -vans, and drays--the Cite Bourdin is an unsavory-looking neighborhood, -with a seething population in keeping with the squalid surroundings. -It is a not unintelligent artisan population, though the whole power -of the intellect is absorbed by the day's manual labor. Topinard, like -every other inhabitant of the Cite Bourdin, lived in it for the sake -of comparatively low rent, the cause of its existence and prosperity. -His sixth floor lodging, in the second house to the left, looked out -upon the belt of green garden, still in existence, at the back of -three or four large mansions in the Rue de Bondy. - -Topinard's apartment consisted of a kitchen and two bedrooms. The -first was a nursery with two little deal bedsteads and a cradle in it, -the second was the bedroom, and the kitchen did duty as a dining-room. -Above, reached by a short ladder, known among builders as a "trap- -ladder," there was a kind of garret, six feet high, with a sash-window -let into the roof. This room, given as a servants' bedroom, raised the -Topinards' establishment from mere "rooms" to the dignity of a -tenement, and the rent to a corresponding sum of four hundred francs. -An arched lobby, lighted from the kitchen by a small round window, did -duty as an ante-chamber, and filled the space between the bedroom, the -kitchen, and house doors--three doors in all. The rooms were paved -with bricks, and hung with a hideous wall-paper at threepence apiece; -the chimneypieces that adorned them were of the kind called -/capucines/--a shelf set on a couple of brackets painted to resemble -wood. Here in these three rooms dwelt five human beings, three of them -children. Any one, therefore, can imagine how the walls were covered -with scores and scratches so far as an infant arm can reach. - -Rich people can scarcely realize the extreme simplicity of a poor -man's kitchen. A Dutch oven, a kettle, a gridiron, a saucepan, two or -three dumpy cooking-pots, and a frying-pan--that was all. All the -crockery in the place, white and brown earthenware together, was not -worth more than twelve francs. Dinner was served on the kitchen table, -which, with a couple of chairs and a couple of stools, completed the -furniture. The stock of fuel was kept under the stove with a funnel- -shaped chimney, and in a corner stood the wash-tub in which the family -linen lay, often steeping over-night in soapsuds. The nursery ceiling -was covered with clothes-lines, the walls were variegated with -theatrical placards and wood-cuts from newspapers or advertisements. -Evidently the eldest boy, the owner of the school-books stacked in a -corner, was left in charge while his parents were absent at the -theatre. In many a French workingman's family, so soon as a child -reaches the age of six or seven, it plays the part of mother to -younger sisters and brothers. - -From this bare outline, it may be imagined that the Topinards, to use -the hackneyed formula, were "poor but honest." Topinard himself was -verging on forty; Mme. Topinard, once leader of a chorus--mistress, -too, it was said, of Gaudissart's predecessor, was certainly thirty -years old. Lolotte had been a fine woman in her day; but the -misfortunes of the previous management had told upon her to such an -extent, that it had seemed to her to be both advisable and necessary -to contract a stage-marriage with Topinard. She did not doubt but -that, as soon as they could muster the sum of a hundred and fifty -francs, her Topinard would perform his vows agreeably to the civil -law, were it only to legitimize the three children, whom he worshiped. -Meantime, Mme. Topinard sewed for the theatre wardrobe in the morning; -and with prodigious effort, the brave couple made nine hundred francs -per annum between them. - -"One more flight!" Topinard had twice repeated since they reached the -third floor. Schmucke, engulfed in his sorrow, did not so much as know -whether he was going up or coming down. - -In another minute Topinard had opened the door; but before he appeared -in his white workman's blouse Mme. Topinard's voice rang from the -kitchen: - -"There, there! children, be quiet! here comes papa!" - -But the children, no doubt, did as they pleased with papa, for the -oldest member of the family, sitting astride a broomstick, continued -to command a charge of cavalry (a reminiscence of the Cirque- -Olympique), the second blew a tin trumpet, while the third did its -best to keep up with the main body of the army. Their mother was at -work on a theatrical costume. - -"Be quiet! or I shall slap you!" shouted Topinard in a formidable -voice; then in an aside for Schmucke's benefit--"Always have to say -that!--Here, little one," he continued, addressing his Lolotte, "this -is M. Schmucke, poor M. Pons' friend. He does not know where to go, -and he would like to live with us. I told him that we were not very -spick-and-span up here, that we lived on the sixth floor, and had only -the garret to offer him; but it was no use, he would come--" - -Schmucke had taken the chair which the woman brought him, and the -children, stricken with sudden shyness, had gathered together to give -the stranger that mute, earnest, so soon-finished scrutiny -characteristic of childhood. For a child, like a dog, is wont to judge -by instinct rather than reason. Schmucke looked up; his eyes rested on -that charming little picture; he saw the performer on the tin trumpet, -a little five-year-old maiden with wonderful golden hair. - -"She looks like ein liddle German girl," said Schmucke, holding out -his arms to the child. - -"Monsieur will not be very comfortable here," said Mme. Topinard. "I -would propose that he should have our room at once, but I am obliged -to have the children near me." - -She opened the door as she spoke, and bade Schmucke come in. Such -splendor as their abode possessed was all concentrated here. Blue -cotton curtains with a white fringe hung from the mahogany bedstead, -and adorned the window; the chest of drawers, bureau, and chairs, -though all made of mahogany, were neatly kept. The clock and -candlesticks on the chimneypiece were evidently the gift of the -bankrupt manager, whose portrait, a truly frightful performance of -Pierre Grassou's, looked down upon the chest of drawers. The children -tried to peep in at the forbidden glories. - -"Monsieur might be comfortable in here," said their mother. - -"No, no," Schmucke replied. "Eh! I haf not ver' long to lif, I only -vant a corner to die in." - -The door was closed, and the three went up to the garret. "Dis is der -ding for me," Schmucke cried at once. "Pefore I lifd mid Bons, I vas -nefer better lodged." - -"Very well. A truckle-bed, a couple of mattresses, a bolster, a -pillow, a couple of chairs, and a table--that is all that you need to -buy. That will not ruin you--it may cost a hundred and fifty francs, -with the crockeryware and strip of carpet for the bedside." - -Everything was settled--save the money, which was not forthcoming. -Schmucke saw that his new friends were very poor, and recollecting -that the theatre was only a few steps away, it naturally occurred to -him to apply to the manager for his salary. He went at once, and found -Gaudissart in his office. Gaudissart received him in the somewhat -stiffly polite manner which he reserved for professionals. Schmucke's -demand for a month's salary took him by surprise, but on inquiry he -found that it was due. - -"Oh, confound it, my good man, a German can always count, even if he -has tears in his eyes. . . . I thought that you would have taken the -thousand francs that I sent you into account, as a final year's -salary, and that we were quits." - -"We haf receifed nodings," said Schmucke; "und gif I komm to you, it -ees because I am in der shtreet, und haf not ein benny. How did you -send us der bonus?" - -"By your portress." - -"By Montame Zipod!" exclaimed Schmucke. "She killed Bons, she robbed -him, she sold him--she tried to purn his vill--she is a pad creature, -a monster!" - -"But, my good man, how come you to be out in the street without a roof -over your head or a penny in your pocket, when you are the sole heir? -That does not necessarily follow, as the saying is." - -"They haf put me out at der door. I am a voreigner, I know nodings of -die laws." - -"Poor man!" thought Gaudissart, foreseeing the probable end of the -unequal contest.--"Listen," he began, "do you know what you ought to -do in this business?" - -"I haf ein mann of pizness!" - -"Very good, come to terms at once with the next-of-kin; make them pay -you a lump sum of money down and an annuity, and you can live in -peace--" - -"I ask noding more." - -"Very well. Let me arrange it for you," said Gaudissart. Fraisier had -told him the whole story only yesterday, and he thought that he saw -his way to making interest out of the case with the young Vicomtesse -Popinot and her mother. He would finish a dirty piece of work, and -some day he would be a privy councillor, at least; or so he told -himself. - -"I gif you full powers." - -"Well. Let me see. Now, to begin with," said Gaudissart, Napoleon of -the boulevard theatres, "to begin with, here are a hundred crowns--" -(he took fifteen louis from his purse and handed them to Schmucke). - -"That is yours, on account of six months' salary. If you leave the -theatre, you can repay me the money. Now for your budget. What are -your yearly expenses? How much do you want to be comfortable? Come, -now, scheme out a life for a Sardanapalus--" - -"I only need two suits of clothes, von for der vinter, von for der -sommer." - -"Three hundred francs," said Gaudissart. - -"Shoes. Vour bairs." - -"Sixty francs." - -"Shtockings--" - -"A dozen pairs--thirty-six francs." - -"Half a tozzen shirts." - -"Six calico shirts, twenty-four francs; as many linen shirts, forty- -eight francs; let us say seventy-two. That makes four hundred and -sixty-eight francs altogether.--Say five hundred, including cravats -and pocket-handkerchiefs; a hundred francs for the laundress--six -hundred. And now, how much for your board--three francs a day?" - -"No, it ees too much." - -"After all, you want hats; that brings it to fifteen hundred. Five -hundred more for rent; that makes two thousand. If I can get two -thousand francs per annum for you, are you willing? . . . Good -securities." - -"Und mein tobacco." - -"Two thousand four hundred, then. . . . Oh! Papa Schmucke, do you call -that tobacco? Very well, the tobacco shall be given in.--So that is -two thousand four hundred francs per annum." - -"Dat ees not all! I should like som monny." - -"Pin-money!--Just so. Oh, these Germans! And calls himself an -innocent, the old Robert Macaire!" thought Gaudissart. Aloud he said, -"How much do you want? But this must be the last." - -"It ees to bay a zacred debt." - -"A debt!" said Gaudissart to himself. What a shark it is! He is worse -than an eldest son. He will invent a bill or two next! We must cut -this short. This Fraisier cannot take large views.--What debt is this, -my good man? Speak out." - -"Dere vas but von mann dot haf mourned Bons mit me. . . . He haf a -tear liddle girl mit wunderschones haar; it vas as if I saw mein boor -Deutschland dot I should nefer haf left. . . . Baris is no blace for -die Germans; dey laugh at dem" (with a little nod as he spoke, and the -air of a man who knows something of life in this world below). - -"He is off his head," Gaudissart said to himself. And a sudden pang of -pity for this poor innocent before him brought a tear to the manager's -eyes. - -"Ah! you understand, mennesir le directeur! Ver' goot. Dat mann mit -die liddle taughter is Dobinard, vat tidies der orchestra and lights -die lamps. Bons vas fery fond of him, und helped him. He vas der only -von dat accombanied mein only friend to die church und to die grafe. . -. . I vant dree tausend vrancs for him, und dree tausend for die -liddle von--" - -"Poor fellow!" said Gaudissart to himself. - -Rough, self-made man though he was, he felt touched by this nobleness -of nature, by a gratitude for a mere trifle, as the world views it; -though for the eyes of this divine innocence the trifle, like -Bossuet's cup of water, was worth more than the victories of great -captains. Beneath all Gaudissart's vanity, beneath the fierce desire -to succeed in life at all costs, to rise to the social level of his -old friend Popinot, there lay a warm heart and a kindly nature. -Wherefore he canceled his too hasty judgments and went over to -Schmucke's side. - -"You shall have it all! But I will do better still, my dear Schmucke. -Topinard is a good sort--" - -"Yes. I haf chust peen to see him in his boor home, vere he ees happy -mit his children--" - -"I will give him the cashier's place. Old Baudrand is going to leave." - -"Ah! Gott pless you!" cried Schmucke. - -"Very well, my good, kind fellow, meet me at Berthier's office about -four o'clock this afternoon. Everything shall be ready, and you shall -be secured from want for the rest of your days. You shall draw your -six thousand francs, and you shall have the same salary with Garangeot -that you used to have with Pons." - -"No," Schmucke answered. "I shall not lif. . . . I haf no heart for -anydings; I feel that I am attacked--" - -"Poor lamb!" Gaudissart muttered to himself as the German took his -leave. "But, after all, one lives on mutton; and, as the sublime -Beranger says, 'Poor sheep! you were made to be shorn,' " and he -hummed the political squib by way of giving vent to his feelings. Then -he rang for the office-boy. - -"Call my carriage," he said. - -"Rue de Hanovre," he told the coachman. - -The man of ambitions by this time had reappeared; he saw the way to -the Council of State lying straight before him. - - - -And Schmucke? He was busy buying flowers and cakes for Topinard's -children, and went home almost joyously. - -"I am gifing die bresents . . ." he said, and he smiled. It was the -first smile for three months, but any one who had seen Schmucke's face -would have shuddered to see it there. - -"But dere is ein condition--" - -"It is too kind of you, sir," said the mother. - -"De liddle girl shall gif me a kiss and put die flowers in her hair, -like die liddle German maidens--" - -"Olga, child, do just as the gentleman wishes," said the mother, -assuming an air of discipline. - -"Do not scold mein liddle German girl," implored Schmucke. It seemed -to him that the little one was his dear Germany. Topinard came in. - -"Three porters are bringing up the whole bag of tricks," he said. - -"Oh! Here are two hundred vrancs to bay for eferydings . . ." said -Schmucke. "But, mein friend, your Montame Dobinard is ver' nice; you -shall marry her, is it not so? I shall gif you tausend crowns, and die -liddle vone shall haf tausend crowns for her toury, and you shall -infest it in her name. . . . Und you are not to pe ein zuper any more ---you are to pe de cashier at de teatre--" - -"/I/?--instead of old Baudrand?" - -"Yes." - -"Who told you so?" - -"Mennesir Gautissart!" - -"Oh! it is enough to send one wild with joy! . . . Eh! I say, Rosalie, -what a rumpus there will be at the theatre! But it is not possible--" - -"Our benefactor must not live in a garret--" - -"Pshaw! for die few tays dat I haf to lif it ees fery komfortable," -said Schmucke. "Goot-pye; I am going to der zemetery, to see vat dey -haf don mit Bons, und to order som flowers for his grafe." - - - -Mme. Camusot de Marville was consumed by the liveliest apprehensions. -At a council held with Fraisier, Berthier, and Godeschal, the two -last-named authorities gave it as their opinion that it was hopeless -to dispute a will drawn up by two notaries in the presence of two -witnesses, so precisely was the instrument worded by Leopold -Hannequin. Honest Godeschal said that even if Schmucke's own legal -adviser should succeed in deceiving him, he would find out the truth -at last, if it were only from some officious barrister, the gentlemen -of the robe being wont to perform such acts of generosity and -disinterestedness by way of self-advertisement. And the two officials -took their leave of the Presidente with a parting caution against -Fraisier, concerning whom they had naturally made inquiries. - -At that very moment Fraisier, straight from the affixing of the seals -in the Rue de Normandie, was waiting for an interview with Mme. de -Marville. Berthier and Godeschal had suggested that he should be shown -into the study; the whole affair was too dirty for the President to -look into (to use their own expression), and they wished to give Mme. -de Marville their opinion in Fraisier's absence. - -"Well, madame, where are these gentlemen?" asked Fraisier, admitted to -audience. - -"They are gone. They advise me to give up," said Mme. de Marville. - -"Give up!" repeated Fraisier, suppressed fury in his voice. "Give up! -. . . Listen to this, madame:-- - - " 'At the request of' . . . and so forth (I will omit the - formalities) . . . 'Whereas there has been deposited in the hands - of M. le President of the Court of First Instance, a will drawn up - by Maitres Leopold Hannequin and Alexandre Crottat, notaries of - Paris, and in the presence of two witnesses, the Sieurs Brunner - and Schwab, aliens domiciled at Paris, and by the said will the - Sieur Pons, deceased, has bequeathed his property to one Sieur - Schmucke, a German, to the prejudice of his natural heirs: - - " 'Whereas the applicant undertakes to prove that the said will - was obtained under undue influence and by unlawful means; and - persons of credit are prepared to show that it was the testator's - intention to leave his fortune to Mlle. Cecile, daughter of the - aforesaid Sieur de Marville, and the applicant can show that the - said will was extorted from the testator's weakness, he being - unaccountable for his actions at the time: - - " 'Whereas as the Sieur Schmucke, to obtain a will in his favor, - sequestrated the testator, and prevented the family from - approaching the deceased during his last illness; and his - subsequent notorious ingratitude was of a nature to scandalize the - house and residents in the quarter who chanced to witness it when - attending the funeral of the porter at the testator's place of - abode: - - " 'Whereas as still more serious charges, of which applicant is - collecting proofs, will be formally made before their worships the - judges: - - " 'I, the undersigned Registrar of the Court, etc., etc., on - behalf of the aforesaid, etc., have summoned the Sieur Schmucke, - pleading, etc., to appear before their worships the judges of the - first chamber of the Tribunal, and to be present when application - is made that the will received by Maitres Hannequin and Crottat, - being evidently obtained by undue influence, shall be regarded as - null and void in law; and I, the undersigned, on behalf of the - aforesaid, etc., have likewise given notice of protest, should the - Sieur Schmucke as universal legatee make application for an order - to be put into possession of the estate, seeing that the applicant - opposes such order, and makes objection by his application bearing - date of to-day, of which a copy has been duly deposited with the - Sieur Schmucke, costs being charged to . . . etc., etc.' - -"I know the man, Mme. le Presidente. He will come to terms as soon as -he reads this little love-letter. He will take our terms. Are you -going to give the thousand crowns per annum?" - -"Certainly. I only wish I were paying the first installment now." - -"It will be done in three days. The summons will come down upon him -while he is stupefied with grief, for the poor soul regrets Pons and -is taking the death to heart." - -"Can the application be withdrawn?" inquired the lady. - -"Certainly, madame. You can withdraw it at any time." - -"Very well, monsieur, let it be so . . . go on! Yes, the purchase of -land that you have arranged for me is worth the trouble; and, besides, -I have managed Vitel's business--he is to retire, and you must pay -Vitel's sixty thousand francs out of Pons' property. So, you see, you -must succeed." - -"Have you Vitel's resignation?" - -"Yes, monsieur. M. Vitel has put himself in M. de Marville's hands." - -"Very good, madame. I have already saved you sixty thousand francs -which I expected to give to that vile creature Mme. Cibot. But I still -require the tobacconist's license for the woman Sauvage, and an -appointment to the vacant place of head-physician at the Quinze-Vingts -for my friend Poulain." - -"Agreed--it is all arranged." - -"Very well. There is no more to be said. Every one is for you in this -business, even Gaudissart, the manager of the theatre. I went to look -him up yesterday, and he undertook to crush the workman who seemed -likely to give us trouble." - -"Oh, I know M. Gaudissart is devoted to the Popinots." - -Fraisier went out. Unluckily, he missed Gaudissart, and the fatal -summons was served forthwith. - -If all covetous minds will sympathize with the Presidente, all honest -folk will turn in abhorrence from her joy when Gaudissart came twenty -minutes later to report his conversation with poor Schmucke. She gave -her full approval; she was obliged beyond all expression for the -thoughtful way in which the manager relieved her of any remaining -scruples by observations which seemed to her to be very sensible and -just. - -"I thought as I came, Mme. la Presidente, that the poor devil would -not know what to do with the money. 'Tis a patriarchally simple -nature. He is a child, he is a German, he ought to be stuffed and put -in a glass case like a waxen image. Which is to say that, in my -opinion, he is quite puzzled enough already with his income of two -thousand five hundred francs, and here you are provoking him into -extravagance--" - -"It is very generous of him to wish to enrich the poor fellow who -regrets the loss of our cousin," pronounced the Presidente. "For my -own part, I am sorry for the little squabble that estranged M. Pons -and me. If he had come back again, all would have been forgiven. If -you only knew how my husband misses him! M. de Marville received no -notice of the death, and was in despair; family claims are sacred for -him, he would have gone to the service and the interment, and I myself -would have been at the mass--" - -"Very well, fair lady," said Gaudissart. "Be so good as to have the -documents drawn up, and at four o'clock I will bring this German to -you. Please remember me to your charming daughter the Vicomtesse, and -ask her to tell my illustrious friend the great statesman, her good -and excellent father-in-law, how deeply I am devoted to him and his, -and ask him to continue his valued favors. I owe my life to his uncle -the judge, and my success in life to him; and I should wish to be -bound to both you and your daughter by the high esteem which links us -with persons of rank and influence. I wish to leave the theatre and -become a serious person." - -"As you are already, monsieur!" said the Presidente. - -"Adorable!" returned Gaudissart, kissing the lady's shriveled fingers. - -At four o'clock that afternoon several people were gathered together -at Berthier's office; Fraisier, arch-concocter of the whole scheme, -Tabareau, appearing on behalf of Schmucke, and Schmucke himself. -Gaudissart had come with him. Fraisier had been careful to spread out -the money on Berthier's desk, and so dazzled was Schmucke by the sight -of the six thousand-franc bank-notes for which he had asked, and six -hundred francs for the first quarter's allowance, that he paid no heed -whatsoever to the reading of the document. Poor man, he was scarcely -in full possession of his faculties, shaken as they had already been -by so many shocks. Gaudissart had snatched him up on his return from -the cemetery, where he had been talking with Pons, promising to join -him soon--very soon. So Schmucke did not listen to the preamble in -which it was set forth that Maitre Tabareau, bailiff, was acting as -his proxy, and that the Presidente, in the interests of her daughter, -was taking legal proceedings against him. Altogether, in that preamble -the German played a sorry part, but he put his name to the document, -and thereby admitted the truth of Fraisier's abominable allegations; -and so joyous was he over receiving the money for the Topinards, so -glad to bestow wealth according to his little ideas upon the one -creature who loved Pons, that he heard not a word of lawsuit nor -compromise. - -But in the middle of the reading a clerk came into the private office -to speak to his employer. "There is a man here, sir, who wishes to -speak to M. Schmucke," said he. - -The notary looked at Fraisier, and, taking his cue from him, shrugged -his shoulders. - -"Never disturb us when we are signing documents. Just ask his name--is -it a man or a gentleman? Is he a creditor?" - -The clerk went and returned. "He insists that he must speak to M. -Schmucke." - -"His name?" - -"His name is Topinard, he says." - -"I will go out to him. Sign without disturbing yourself," said -Gaudissart, addressing Schmucke. "Make an end of it; I will find out -what he wants with us." - -Gaudissart understood Fraisier; both scented danger. - -"Why are you here?" Gaudissart began. "So you have no mind to be -cashier at the theatre? Discretion is a cashier's first -recommendation." - -"Sir--" - -"Just mind your own business; you will never be anything if you meddle -in other people's affairs." - -"Sir, I cannot eat bread if every mouthful of it is to stick in my -throat. . . . Monsieur Schmucke!--M. Schmucke!" he shouted aloud. - -Schmucke came out at the sound of Topinard's voice. He had just -signed. He held the money in his hand. - -"Thees ees for die liddle German maiden und for you," he said. - -"Oh! my dear M. Schmucke, you have given away your wealth to inhuman -wretches, to people who are trying to take away your good name. I took -this paper to a good man, an attorney who knows this Fraisier, and he -says that you ought to punish such wickedness; you ought to let them -summon you and leave them to get out of it.--Read this," and -Schmucke's imprudent friend held out the summons delivered in the Cite -Bordin. - -Standing in the notary's gateway, Schmucke read the document, saw the -imputations made against him, and, all ignorant as he was of the -amenities of the law, the blow was deadly. The little grain of sand -stopped his heart's beating. Topinard caught him in his arms, hailed a -passing cab, and put the poor German into it. He was suffering from -congestion of the brain; his eyes were dim, his head was throbbing, -but he had enough strength left to put the money into Topinard's -hands. - -Schmucke rallied from the first attack, but he never recovered -consciousness, and refused to eat. Ten days afterwards he died without -a complaint; to the last he had not spoken a word. Mme. Topinard -nursed him, and Topinard laid him by Pons' side. It was an obscure -funeral; Topinard was the only mourner who followed the son of Germany -to his last resting-place. - - - -Fraisier, now a justice of the peace, is very intimate with the -President's family, and much valued by the Presidente. She could not -think of allowing him to marry "that girl of Tabareau's," and promised -infinitely better things for the clever man to whom she considers she -owes not merely the pasture-land and the English cottage at Marville, -but also the President's seat in the Chamber of Deputies, for M. le -President was returned at the general election in 1846. - -Every one, no doubt, wishes to know what became of the heroine of a -story only too veracious in its details; a chronicle which, taken with -its twin sister the preceding volume, /La Cousine Bette/, proves that -Character is a great social force. You, O amateurs, connoisseurs, and -dealers, will guess at once that Pons' collection is now in question. -Wherefore it will suffice if we are present during a conversation that -took place only a few days ago in Count Popinot's house. He was -showing his splendid collection to some visitors. - -"M. le Comte, you possess treasures indeed," remarked a distinguished -foreigner. - -"Oh! as to pictures, nobody can hope to rival an obscure collector, -one Elie Magus, a Jew, an old monomaniac, the prince of picture- -lovers," the Count replied modestly. "And when I say nobody, I do not -speak of Paris only, but of all Europe. When the old Croesus dies, -France ought to spare seven or eight millions of francs to buy the -gallery. For curiosities, my collection is good enough to be talked -about--" - -"But how, busy as you are, and with a fortune so honestly earned in -the first instance in business--" - -"In the drug business," broke in Popinot; "you ask how I can continue -to interest myself in things that are a drug in the market--" - -"No," returned the foreign visitor, "no, but how do you find time to -collect? The curiosities do not come to find you." - -"My father-in-law owned the nucleus of the collection," said the young -Vicomtess; "he loved the arts and beautiful work, but most of his -treasures came to him through me." - -"Through you, madame?--So young! and yet have you such vices as this?" -asked a Russian prince. - -Russians are by nature imitative; imitative indeed to such an extent -that the diseases of civilization break out among them in epidemics. -The bric-a-brac mania had appeared in an acute form in St. Petersburg, -and the Russians caused such a rise of prices in the "art line," as -Remonencq would say, that collection became impossible. The prince who -spoke had come to Paris solely to buy bric-a-brac. - -"The treasures came to me, prince, on the death of a cousin. He was -very fond of me," added the Vicomtesse Popinot, "and he had spent some -forty odd years since 1805 in picking up these masterpieces -everywhere, but more especially in Italy--" - -"And what was his name?" inquired the English lord. - -"Pons," said President Camusot. - -"A charming man he was," piped the Presidente in her thin, flute -tones, "very clever, very eccentric, and yet very good-hearted. This -fan that you admire once belonged to Mme. de Pompadour; he gave it to -me one morning with a pretty speech which you must permit me not to -repeat," and she glanced at her daughter. - -"Mme. la Vicomtesse, tell us the pretty speech," begged the Russian -prince. - -"The speech was as pretty as the fan," returned the Vicomtesse, who -brought out the stereotyped remark on all occasions. "He told my -mother that it was quite time that it should pass from the hands of -vice into those of virtue." - -The English lord looked at Mme. Camusot de Marville with an air of -doubt not a little gratifying to so withered a woman. - -"He used to dine at our house two or three times a week," she said; -"he was so fond of us! We could appreciate him, and artists like the -society of those who relish their wit. My husband was, besides, his -one surviving relative. So when, quite unexpectedly, M. de Marville -came into the property, M. le Comte preferred to take over the whole -collection to save it from a sale by auction; and we ourselves much -preferred to dispose of it in that way, for it would have been so -painful to us to see the beautiful things, in which our dear cousin -was so much interested, all scattered abroad. Elie Magus valued them, -and in that way I became possessed of the cottage that your uncle -built, and I hope you will do us the honor of coming to see us there." - - - -Gaudissart's theatre passed into other hands a year ago, but M. -Topinard is still the cashier. M. Topinard, however, has grown gloomy -and misanthropic; he says little. People think that he has something -on his conscience. Wags at the theatre suggest that his gloom dates -from his marriage with Lolotte. Honest Topinard starts whenever he -hears Fraisier's name mentioned. Some people may think it strange that -the one nature worthy of Pons and Schmucke should be found on the -third floor beneath the stage of a boulevard theatre. - -Mme. Remonencq, much impressed with Mme. Fontaine's prediction, -declines to retire to the country. She is still living in her splendid -shop on the Boulevard de la Madeleine, but she is a widow now for the -second time. Remonencq, in fact, by the terms of the marriage -contract, settled the property upon the survivor, and left a little -glass of vitriol about for his wife to drink by mistake; but his wife, -with the very best intentions, put the glass elsewhere, and Remonencq -swallowed the draught himself. The rascal's appropriate end vindicates -Providence, as well as the chronicler of manners, who is sometimes -accused of neglect on this head, perhaps because Providence has been -so overworked by playwrights of late. - -Pardon the transcriber's errors. - - - - -ADDENDUM - -The following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy. - -Baudoyer, Isidore - The Government Clerks - The Middle Classes - -Berthier (Parisian notary) - Cousin Betty - -Berthier, Madame - The Muse of the Department - -Bixiou, Jean-Jacques - The Purse - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Government Clerks - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - The Firm of Nucingen - The Muse of the Department - Cousin Betty - The Member for Arcis - Beatrix - A Man of Business - Gaudissart II. - The Unconscious Humorists - -Braulard - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - Cousin Betty - -Brisetout, Heloise - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - -Camusot - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Muse of the Department - Cesar Birotteau - At the Sign of the Cat and Racket - -Camusot de Marville - Jealousies of a Country Town - The Commission in Lunacy - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Camusot de Marville, Madame - The Vendetta - Cesar Birotteau - Jealousies of a Country Town - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Cardot (Parisian notary) - The Muse of the Department - A Man of Business - Jealousies of a Country Town - Pierre Grassou - The Middle Classes - -Chanor - Cousin Betty - -Crevel, Celestin - Cesar Birotteau - Cousin Betty - -Crottat, Alexandre - Cesar Birotteau - Colonel Chabert - A Start in Life - A Woman of Thirty - -Desplein - The Atheist's Mass - Lost Illusions - The Thirteen - The Government Clerks - Pierrette - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - Modeste Mignon - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - Honorine - -Florent - Cousin Betty - -Fontaine, Madame - The Unconscious Humorists - -Gaudissart, Felix - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - Cesar Birotteau - Honorine - Gaudissart the Great - -Godeschal, Francois-Claude-Marie - Colonel Chabert - A Bachelor's Establishment - A Start in Life - The Commission in Lunacy - The Middle Classes - -Godeschal, Marie - A Bachelor's Establishment - A Start in Life - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Gouraud, General, Baron - Pierrette - -Graff, Wolfgang - Cousin Betty - -Granville, Vicomte de (later Comte) - The Gondreville Mystery - Honorine - A Second Home - Farewell (Adieu) - Cesar Birotteau - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - A Daughter of Eve - -Grassou, Pierre - Pierre Grassou - A Bachelor's Establishment - Cousin Betty - The Middle Classes - -Hannequin, Leopold - Albert Savarus - Beatrix - Cousin Betty - -Haudry (doctor) - Cesar Birotteau - The Thirteen - A Bachelor's Establishment - The Seamy Side of History - -Lebrun (physician) - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Louchard - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Magus, Elie - The Vendetta - A Marriage Settlement - A Bachelor's Establishment - Pierre Grassou - -Matifat (wealthy druggist) - Cesar Birotteau - A Bachelor's Establishment - Lost Illusions - A Distinguished Provincial at Paris - The Firm of Nucingen - -Minard, Prudence - The Middle Classes - -Pillerault, Claude-Joseph - Cesar Birotteau - -Popinot, Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - Gaudissart the Great - Cousin Betty - -Popinot, Madame Anselme - Cesar Birotteau - A Prince of Bohemia - Cousin Betty - -Popinot, Vicomte - Cousin Betty - -Rivet, Achille - Cousin Betty - -Schmucke, Wilhelm - A Daughter of Eve - Ursule Mirouet - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - -Stevens, Dinah - A Marriage Settlement - -Stidmann - Modeste Mignon - Beatrix - The Member for Arcis - Cousin Betty - The Unconscious Humorists - -Thouvenin - Cesar Birotteau - -Vinet - Pierrette - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - -Vinet, Olivier - The Member for Arcis - The Middle Classes - -Vivet, Madeleine - Scenes from a Courtesan's Life - - - - - -End of The Project Gutenberg Etext of Cousin Pons, by Honore de Balzac - |