"Yes," said Fraisier, "yes. The thing is as good as done. You need not hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will be head-surgeon at the Quinze-Vingts." (The Asylum founded by St. Louis for three hundred blind people.)
"We shall see.—Good-day, M. Fraisier," said the justice of the peace with a friendly air.
"There is a man with a head on his shoulders," remarked the justice's clerk. "The dog will go a long way."
By this time it was eleven o'clock. The old German went like an automaton down the road along which Pons and he had so often walked together. Wherever he went he saw Pons, he almost thought that Pons was by his side; and so he reached the theatre just as his friend Topinard was coming out of it after a morning spent in cleaning the lamps and meditating on the manager's tyranny.
"Oh, shoost der ding for me!" cried Schmucke, stopping his acquaintance. "Dopinart! you haf a lodging someveres, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"A home off your own?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you villing to take me for ein poarder? Oh! I shall pay ver' vell; I haf nine hundert vrancs of inkomm, und—I haf not ver' long ter lif. . . . I shall gif no drouble vatefer. . . . I can eat onydings—I only vant to shmoke mein bipe. Und—you are der only von dat haf shed a tear for Bons, mit me; und so, I lof you."
"I should be very glad, sir; but, to begin with, M. Gaudissart has given me a proper wigging—"