“The other, too! When? when? God grant it be before I die!”
“She will come to thank you for a great service I am now here to ask of you.”
“Quick! quick! tell me what it is,” cried Schmucke. “What must I do? go to the devil?”
“Nothing more than write the words ‘Accepted for ten thousand francs,’ and sign your name on each of these papers,” she said, taking from her muff four notes prepared for her by Nathan.
“Hey! that’s soon done,” replied the German, with the docility of a lamb; “only I’m sure I don’t know where my pens and ink are—Get away from there, Meinherr Mirr!” he cried to the cat, which looked composedly at him. “That’s my cat,” he said, showing him to the countess. “That’s the poor animal that lives with poor Schmucke. Hasn’t he fine fur?”
“Yes,” said the countess.
“Will you have him?” he cried.
“How can you think of such a thing?” she answered. “Why, he’s your friend!”
The cat, who hid the inkstand behind him, divined that Schmucke wanted it, and jumped to the bed.
“He’s as mischievous as a monkey,” said Schmucke. “I call him Mirr in honor of our great Hoffman of Berlin, whom I knew well.”