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"Ah! what an illness! I am not the same man, I can feel it," said Pons. "My dear Schmucke, if only you did not suffer through me!" "Scold me," Schmucke answered, "und leaf Montame Zipod in beace." As for Mme. Cibot, she soon recovered in Dr. Poulain's hands; and her restoration, bordering on the miraculous, shed additional lustre on her name and fame in the Marais.
"Montemoiselle," he answered, with the sublime smile of those who think no evil, "ve haf Montame Zipod, ein dreasure, montemoiselle, ein bearl! Bons is nursed like ein brince." So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was mistress of the house and ruled the invalid.
"Montemoiselle," he answered, with the sublime smile of those who think no evil, "ve haf Montame Zipod, ein dreasure, montemoiselle, ein bearl! Bons is nursed like ein brince." So while Schmucke trotted about the streets, La Cibot was mistress of the house and ruled the invalid.
"Take crate care of him, dear Montame Zipod," answered Schmucke, and he tried to take the portress' hand. "Oh! look here now, again." "Chust listen to me. You shall haf all dot I haf, gif ve safe him." "Very well; I will go round to the chemist's to get the things that are wanted; this illness is going to cost a lot, you see, sir, and what will you do?"
It may readily be conceived that Schmucke listened to this reckoning with amazement, for he knew about as much of business as a cat knows of music. "Montame Zipod," he expostulated, "Bons haf lost his head. Bardon him, and nurse him as before, und pe our profidence; I peg it of you on mine knees," and he knelt before La Cibot and kissed the tormentor's hands.
"He is not doing fery vell, tear Montame Zipod, not fery vell," said poor Schmucke, brushing away the tears from his eyes. "Pooh! you make too much of it, my dear M. Schmucke; we must take things as we find them; Cibot might be at death's door, and I should not take it to heart as you do. Come! the cherub has a good constitution.
I am so tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis morning I am all knocked up." "My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday, and he will have no strength left.... One can't help it; it is God's will." "You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der Zipod die, ve shall lif togedder," said the cunning Schmucke.
"Montame Zipod, you irritate him!" cried Schmucke, seeing that Pons was writhing under the bedclothes. "You hold your tongue too! You are a pair of old libertines. If you were ugly, it don't make no difference; there was never so ugly a saucepan-lid but it found a pot to match, as the saying is.
"What shall we do without her?" they said, as they looked at each other; but Pons was so plainly the worse for his escapade, that Schmucke did not dare to scold him. "Gonfounded pric-a-prac! I would sooner purn dem dan loose mein friend!" he cried, when Pons told him of the cause of the accident. "To suspect Montame Zipod, dot lend us her safings! It is not goot; but it is der illness "
"He nearly died chust now," said Schmucke, with deep sorrow in his voice. "M. Trognon lives near by in the Rue Saint-Louis," said M. Jolivard, "he is the notary of the quarter." "Would you like me to go for him?" asked Remonencq. "I should pe fery glad," said Schmucke; "for gif Montame Zipod cannot pe mit mine vriend, I shall not vish to leaf him in der shtate he is in " "Mme.
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