“Hush! Gertrude, I am dying.... Brandy! I must talk to you! Silence!” Johann tottered to a lounge and dropped on his side.
The woman, still trembling with fright and terror, poured into her palm some of the pungent liquid with which she had been bathing her temples, and held it under his nose. It revived him. And in a few broken sentences he made known to her what had happened.
“Gertrude, I am lost!” He breathed with difficulty. “I have lived like a rascal, and I die like one. But I have always loved you; I have always been true to you; I have never beaten nor robbed you.” His eyes closed.
“O God,” she cried, “what shall I do? Johann, you must not die! We will leave the country together. Johann, you do not speak! Johann!” She kissed him, pressed him in her arms, regardless of the stains which these frantic fondlings gathered from his breast. “Johann!”
“Rich,” he said dreamily; “rich... and to die like a dog!”
She left him and rushed to the sideboard, poured out a tumbler of brandy, and returned to his side. She raised his head, but he swallowed with effort.
“In the lungs,” he said. “God! how it burns! Rich; we are rich, Gertrude; a hundred thousand crowns.... And I am dying!... What a failure! Curse them all; they never offered to lend a hand unless it led toward hell! Gertrude... I must tell you. Here; here, put your hand in this pocket; yes. Draw them out... A hundred thousand crowns!”
The woman shuddered. Her hand and what it held were wet with blood.
“Hide them!” And Johann fainted away for the second time. When he came to his senses, several minutes had passed. Quickly, with what remaining strength he had, he unfolded his plan.
And her one idea was to save him. She drenched her handkerchief with the ammonia, and bade him hold it to his nose, while she fetched a basin of water and a sponge. Tenderly she drew back his coat and washed the blood from his throat and lips, and moistened his hair.