“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—”