“Well, if you have got ten florins, that is abundant pay for your treachery,” said the two men. “It is Judas-money. To betray your benefactor, who has just made you a generous present; forsooth, only a German could do that.”
They turned their backs contemptuously on the beggar, and walked across the street toward Palm’s house.
There was nobody in the hall, and the two men entered the store without being hindered. Without replying to the book-keeper and second clerk, who came to meet them for the purpose of receiving their orders, they put off their cloaks.
“French gens d’armes,” muttered the book-keeper, turning pale, and he advanced a few steps toward the door of the sitting-room. One of the gens d’armes kept him back.
“Both of you will stay here,” he said, imperiously, “we are going to enter that room. Utter the faintest sound, the slightest warning, and we shall arrest both of you. Be silent, therefore, and let us do our duty.”
The two clerks dared not stir, and saw with silent dismay that the two gens d’armes approached the door of the sitting-room and hastily opened it.
Then they heard a few imperious words, followed by a loud cry of despair.
“Oh, the poor woman!” muttered the book-keeper, with quivering lips, but without moving from the spot.
The door of the sitting-room, which the gens d’armes had closed, opened again, and the two policemen stepped into the store; they led Palm into it. Each of them had seized one of his arms.
Palm looked pale, and his brow was clouded, but nevertheless he walked forward like a man who is determined not to be crushed by his misfortunes, but to bear them as manfully as possible. When he arrived in the middle of the store, near the table where his two clerks were standing, he stopped.