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Updated: May 6, 2025
"He has managed," said Isidor Mirr, "to get safe out of Valenzia himself, and to save the best of his belongings, and get them loaded up upon mules. He has been expecting them all night, and has every reason to anticipate evil." Edgar marvelled at Don Rafaele's avarice, which seemed to render him oblivious of everything besides.
"Will you have him?" he cried. "How can you think of such a thing?" she answered. "Why, he's your friend!" The cat, who hid the inkstand behind him, divined that Schmucke wanted it, and jumped to the bed. "He's as mischievous as a monkey," said Schmucke. "I call him Mirr in honor of our great Hoffman of Berlin, whom I knew well."
"Hey! that's soon done," replied the German, with the docility of a lamb; "only I'm sure I don't know where my pens and ink are Get away from there, Meinherr Mirr!" he cried to the cat, which looked composedly at him. "That's my cat," he said, showing him to the countess. "That's the poor animal that lives with poor Schmucke. Hasn't he fine fur?" "Yes," said the countess.
"Great heavens, my child my poor, unfortunate child," Don Rafaele cried, and sank to the ground. "What is the matter here?" cried Edgar loudly. "Come on, come on, brethren, down into the glen, to avenge our comrades, and snatch the booty from the teeth of these pigs." "The good German is right," cried Isidor Mirr.
Behind this girl, for such, judging by her voice, was the shrouded form, Edgar deposited the little wounded man, took the mule by the bridle, and thus made his way back to the little Place d'Armes, where, as no more of the enemy was visible, Isidor Mirr and his men had again taken up their positions.
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