"
"Sir--"
"Just mind your own business; you will never be anything if you meddle
in other people's affairs."
"Sir, I cannot eat bread if every mouthful of it is to stick in my
throat. . . . Monsieur Schmucke!--M. Schmucke!" he shouted aloud.
Schmucke came out at the sound of Topinard's voice. He had just
signed. He held the money in his hand.
"Thees ees for die liddle German maiden und for you," he said.
"Oh! my dear M. Schmucke, you have given away your wealth to inhuman
wretches, to people who are trying to take away your good name. I took
this paper to a good man, an attorney who knows this Fraisier, and he
says that you ought to punish such wickedness; you ought to let them
summon you and leave them to get out of it.--Read this," and
Schmucke's imprudent friend held out the summons delivered in the Cite
Bordin.
Standing in the notary's gateway, Schmucke read the document, saw the
imputations made against him, and, all ignorant as he was of the
amenities of the law, the blow was deadly. The little grain of sand
stopped his heart's beating. Topinard caught him in his arms, hailed a
passing cab, and put the poor German into it. He was suffering from
congestion of the brain; his eyes were dim, his head was throbbing,
but he had enough strength left to put the money into Topinard's
hands.
Schmucke rallied from the first attack, but he never recovered
consciousness, and refused to eat. Ten days afterwards he died without
a complaint; to the last he had not spoken a word.
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