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Updated: May 1, 2025
"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.
It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength gif you haf a dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some prick-a-prack und end our tays kvietly in a corner somveres, mit kind Montame Zipod." "She has perverted you," moaned Pons. Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make signals unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. "She is murdering me," he added. "What is that?
"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 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.
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.
"Lord love you," said she, "for three francs and wine extra I can give you both such a dinner every day that you will be ready to lick the plates as clean as if they were washed." "It is a fact," Schmucke remarked, "dat die dinners dat Montame Zipod cooks for me are better as de messes dey eat at der royal dable!"
Struck with one of those happy inspirations which only enlighten a friend's heart, he marched up to the portress and drew her out to the stairhead. "Montame Zipod," he said, "der goot Pons is fond of goot dings; shoost go rount to der Catran Pleu und order a dainty liddle tinner, mit anjovies und maggaroni. Ein tinner for Lugullus, in vact." "What is that?" inquired La Cibot.
It is absurd to vork and train your sdrength gif you haf a dreasure. Get better; ve vill sell some prick-a-prack und end our tays kvietly in a corner somveres, mit kind Montame Zipod." "She has perverted you," moaned Pons. Mme. Cibot had taken up her station behind the bed to make signals unobserved. Pons thought that she had left the room. "She is murdering me," he added. "What is that?
Poulain is the image of Providence on earth I will have no more to do with you. You must do as I tell you " "Yes, Montame Zipod, he vill do vat you dell him," put in Schmucke; "he vants to lif for his boor friend Schmucke's sake, I'll pe pound."
"Spare me!" cried the ex-oysterseller, leering at Schmucke. "Bons," the good German said when he returned "Montame Zipod is an anchel; 'tis an anchel dat brattles, but an anchel all der same." "Do you think so? I have grown suspicious in the past month," said the invalid, shaking his head. "After all I have been through, one comes to believe in nothing but God and my friend "
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