“But, my good man, how come you to be out in the street without a roof over your head or a penny in your pocket, when you are the sole heir?  That does not necessarily follow, as the saying is.”

“They haf put me out at der door.  I am a voreigner, I know nodings of die laws.”

“Poor man!” thought Gaudissart, foreseeing the probable end of the unequal contest.—­“Listen,” he began, “do you know what you ought to do in this business?”

“I haf ein mann of pizness!”

“Very good, come to terms at once with the next-of-kin; make them pay you a lump sum of money down and an annuity, and you can live in peace—­”

“I ask noding more.”

“Very well.  Let me arrange it for you,” said Gaudissart.  Fraisier had told him the whole story only yesterday, and he thought that he saw his way to making interest out of the case with the young Vicomtesse Popinot and her mother.  He would finish a dirty piece of work, and some day he would be a privy councillor, at least; or so he told himself.

“I gif you full powers.”

“Well.  Let me see.  Now, to begin with,” said Gaudissart, Napoleon of the boulevard theatres, “to begin with, here are a hundred crowns—­” (he took fifteen louis from his purse and handed them to Schmucke).

“That is yours, on account of six months’ salary.  If you leave the theatre, you can repay me the money.  Now for your budget.  What are your yearly expenses?  How much do you want to be comfortable?  Come, now, scheme out a life for a Sardanapalus—­”

“I only need two suits of clothes, von for der vinter, von for der sommer.”

“Three hundred francs,” said Gaudissart.

“Shoes.  Vour bairs.”

“Sixty francs.”

“Shtockings—­”

“A dozen pairs—­thirty-six francs.”

“Half a tozzen shirts.”

“Six calico shirts, twenty-four francs; as many linen shirts, forty-eight francs; let us say seventy-two.  That makes four hundred and sixty-eight francs altogether.—­Say five hundred, including cravats and pocket-handkerchiefs; a hundred francs for the laundress —­six hundred.  And now, how much for your board—­three francs a day?”

“No, it ees too much.”

“After all, you want hats; that brings it to fifteen hundred.  Five hundred more for rent; that makes two thousand.  If I can get two thousand francs per annum for you, are you willing? . . .  Good securities.”

“Und mein tobacco.”

“Two thousand four hundred, then. . . .  Oh!  Papa Schmucke, do you call that tobacco?  Very well, the tobacco shall be given in.—­So that is two thousand four hundred francs per annum.”

“Dat ees not all!  I should like som monny.”

“Pin-money!—­Just so.  Oh, these Germans!  And calls himself an innocent, the old Robert Macaire!” thought Gaudissart.  Aloud he said, “How much do you want?  But this must be the last.”

“It ees to bay a zacred debt.”