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Updated: June 15, 2025
"I have not the slightest appetite left. Oh! the world, the world!" he groaned, squeezing Schmucke's hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside, and doubtless the sick man was talking of the causes of his illness.
The statesman, driven by family considerations to crush Pons, did not so much as see the physical weakness of his redoubtable enemy. "Vat is it, mine boor friend?" exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how white Pons had grown. "It is a fresh stab in the heart," Pons replied, leaning heavily on Schmucke's arm.
He lay, ghastly and wan, like a consumptive patient after a wrestling bout with the Destroyer. "In M. Schmucke's interests, you see, you would do well to send for M. Trognon; he is the notary of the quarter and a very good man," said La Cibot, seeing that her victim was completely exhausted. "You are always talking about this Trognon "
Fraisier knew, moreover, that in real affliction people lose their heads, and therefore immediately after breakfast he took up his position in the porter's lodge, and sitting there in perpetual committee with Dr. Poulain, conceived the idea of directing all Schmucke's actions himself. To obtain the important result, the doctor and the lawyer took their measures on this wise:
"I have not the slightest appetite left. Oh! the world, the world!" he groaned, squeezing Schmucke's hand. Schmucke was sitting by his bedside, and doubtless the sick man was talking of the causes of his illness.
Cibot was Schmucke's tailor; his clothes cost him on average a hundred and fifty francs, which further swells the total to the sum of twelve hundred. On twelve hundred francs per annum this profound philosopher lived.
The statesman, driven by family considerations to crush Pons, did not so much as see the physical weakness of his redoubtable enemy. "Vat is it, mine boor friend?" exclaimed Schmucke, seeing how white Pons had grown. "It is a fresh stab in the heart," Pons replied, leaning heavily on Schmucke's arm.
Cibot to her husband, "for here is M. Schmucke's dinner all ready for him." As she spoke she covered the deep earthenware dish with a plate; and, notwithstanding her age, she climbed the stair and reached the door before Schmucke opened it to Pons. "Vat is de matter mit you, mein goot friend?" asked the German, scared by the expression of Pons' face.
Schmucke's economies were controlled by an absent mind, Pons was a spendthrift through passion, and for both the result was the same they had not a penny on Saint Sylvester's day. Perhaps Pons would have given way under his troubles if it had not been for this friendship; but life became bearable when he found some one to whom he could pour out his heart.
He had smiled childlike on all the mischances that befell him, but he could not look and see his sublime Pons maltreated; his Pons, his unknown Aristides, the genius resigned to his lot, the nature that knew no bitterness, the treasury of kindness, the heart of gold!... Alceste's indignation filled Schmucke's soul he was moved to call Pons' amphitryons "fools."
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