The man was Mr. Levi, a furrier, who died recently in this city. Many of the Call readers will remember his short, heavy figure as he used to walk the streets with furs thrown over his shoulder, looking for customers.
Bernhardt at once made a place at the table and began opening champagne for her guest. She introduced him as an old friend from Paris and explained that when she was a child and her family was in straits Mr. Levi had cared for them all one winter and kept them from absolute want.
Every few moments she would jump up, clasp him about the neck and kiss him again and again. There was no acting about these embraces, she was glad to see him, and she wanted no misunderstanding on that score.
Presently she asked him why he did not go back to Paris and see his relatives. He answered, sadly, that he was not able.
“Oh, that is easily remedied,” she said, and a moment later she had written out a check for fifteen hundred dollars and thrown it across the table to him.
He picked it up, and when he saw the amount he broke down completely. With the tears streaming down his cheeks he said:
“Sarah, I didn’t come here for charity, but just to see you a few moments.”
He handed the check back across the table.
“Oh, not enough? I make it bigger.”
She wrote another check for two thousand dollars and threw it over to him. He looked at the second check and merely said: