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The three covetous beings, thirsting for gold as devils thirst for the dew of heaven, looked simultaneously, as it chanced, at the owner of all this wealth. Some nightmare troubled Pons; he stirred, and suddenly, under the influence of those diabolical glances, he opened his eyes with a shrill cry. "Thieves!... There they are!... Help! Murder! Help!"
Pons' friend gave lessons on the pianoforte. They met and struck up an acquaintance in 1834, one prize day at a boarding-school; and so congenial were their ways of thinking and living, that Pons used to say that he had found his friend too late for his happiness.
Now, for my own part, I should have thought that you had had mistresses by the dozen dancers, actresses, and duchesses, for you went out so much. . . . When you went out, I used to say to Cibot, 'Look! there is M. Pons going a-gallivanting, on my word, I did, I was so sure that women ran after you.
"Ah! you will care even more than that for me," she said, meeting Pons' eyes. "You will love your kind old Cibot like a mother, will you not? A mother, that is it! I am your mother; you are both of you my children. . . . Ah, if I only knew them that caused you this sorrow, I would do that which would bring me into the police-courts, and even to prison; I would tear their eyes out!
Poulain knew the portress and her way of thinking perfectly well; he thought her capable of tormenting Pons, but he saw that she had neither motive enough nor wit enough for murder; and besides every time the doctor came and she gave her husband a draught, she took a spoonful herself.
Let us see now, has one of them come here to see you in twenty years? And would you leave your property to them? Do you know, they say that all these things here are worth something." "Why, yes," said Pons.
He listened to the reading of the documents, and towards half-past five the party went into the dining-room. The dinner was magnificent, as a city merchant's dinner can be, when he allows himself a respite from money-making. Graff of the Hotel du Rhin was acquainted with the first provision dealers in Paris; never had Pons nor Schmucke fared so sumptuously. The dishes were a rapture to think of!
Pons, poor honest soul, was for returning the present, and Gaudissart had a world of trouble to persuade him to keep it. "Ah!" said the manager afterwards, when he told his partner of the interview, "if we could only find actors up to that sample."
Cibot, you said you were a mother to me, and you bring dealers into the house, and my competitor and the Camusots, while I am asleep!... Get out, all of you! The unhappy man was beside himself with anger and fear; he rose from the bed and stood upright, a gaunt, wasted figure. "Take my arm, sir," said La Cibot, rushing to the rescue, lest Pons should fall.
With that he said something to La Cibot in a voice so low that the others could not catch it, and went down after the two dealers to the porter's room. "Have they gone, Mme. Cibot?" asked the unhappy Pons, when she came back again. "Gone?... who?" asked she. "Those men." "What men? There, now, you have seen men," said she.