“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.