ad all that I wanted so much and
could not have, and yet they were not happy.... Then at the end of
my life, God put untold comfort in my way, when He gave me such a
friend.... And one thing I have not to reproach myself with--that I have
not known your worth nor appreciated you, my good Schmucke.... I have
loved you with my whole heart, with all the strength of love that is in
me.... Do not cry, Schmucke; I shall say no more if you cry and it is so
sweet to me to talk of ourselves to you.... If I had listened to you,
I should not be dying. I should have left the world and broken off my
habits, and then I should not have been wounded to death. And now, I
want to think of no one but you at the last--"

"You are missdaken--"

"Do not contradict me--listen, dear friend.... You are as guileless
and simple as a six-year-old child that has never left its mother; one
honors you for it--it seems to me that God Himself must watch over such
as you. But men are so wicked, that I ought to warn you beforehand...
and then you will lose your generous trust, your saint-like belief in
others, the bloom of a purity of soul that only belongs to genius or
to hearts like yours.... In a little while you will see Mme. Cibot, who
left the door ajar and watched us closely while M. Trognon was here--in
a little while you will see her come for the will, as she believes it to
be.... I expect the worthless creature will do her business this morning
when she thinks you are asleep. Now, mind what I say, and carry out my
instructions to the letter.... Are you listening?" asked the dying man.

But Schmucke was overcome with grief, his heart was throbbing painfully,
his head fell back on the chair, he seemed to have lost consciousness.

"Yes," he answered, "I can hear, but it is as if you vere doo huntert
baces afay from me.... It seem to me dat I am going town into der grafe
mit you," said Schmucke, crushed with pain.

He went over to the bed, took one of Pons' hands in both his own, and
within himself put up a fervent prayer.

"What is that that you are mumbling in German?"

"I asked Gott dat He vould take us poth togedders to Himself!" Schmucke
answered simply when he had finished his prayer.

Pons bent over--it was a great effort, for he was suffering intolerable
pain; but he managed to reach Schmucke, and kissed him on the forehead,
pouring out his soul, as it were, in benediction upon a nature that
recalled the lamb that lies at the foot o