“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.