“Very well, fair lady,” said Gaudissart.  “Be so good as to have the documents drawn up, and at four o’clock I will bring this German to you.  Please remember me to your charming daughter the Vicomtesse, and ask her to tell my illustrious friend the great statesman, her good and excellent father-in-law, how deeply I am devoted to him and his, and ask him to continue his valued favors.  I owe my life to his uncle the judge, and my success in life to him; and I should wish to be bound to both you and your daughter by the high esteem which links us with persons of rank and influence.  I wish to leave the theatre and become a serious person.”

“As you are already, monsieur!” said the Presidente.

“Adorable!” returned Gaudissart, kissing the lady’s shriveled fingers.

At four o’clock that afternoon several people were gathered together at Berthier’s office; Fraisier, arch-concocter of the whole scheme, Tabareau, appearing on behalf of Schmucke, and Schmucke himself.  Gaudissart had come with him.  Fraisier had been careful to spread out the money on Berthier’s desk, and so dazzled was Schmucke by the sight of the six thousand-franc bank-notes for which he had asked, and six hundred francs for the first quarter’s allowance, that he paid no heed whatsoever to the reading of the document.  Poor man, he was scarcely in full possession of his faculties, shaken as they had already been by so many shocks.  Gaudissart had snatched him up on his return from the cemetery, where he had been talking with Pons, promising to join him soon—­very soon.  So Schmucke did not listen to the preamble in which it was set forth that Maitre Tabareau, bailiff, was acting as his proxy, and that the Presidente, in the interests of her daughter, was taking legal proceedings against him.  Altogether, in that preamble the German played a sorry part, but he put his name to the document, and thereby admitted the truth of Fraisier’s abominable allegations; and so joyous was he over receiving the money for the Topinards, so glad to bestow wealth according to his little ideas upon the one creature who loved Pons, that he heard not a word of lawsuit nor compromise.

But in the middle of the reading a clerk came into the private office to speak to his employer.  “There is a man here, sir, who wishes to speak to M. Schmucke,” said he.

The notary looked at Fraisier, and, taking his cue from him, shrugged his shoulders.

“Never disturb us when we are signing documents.  Just ask his name—­is it a man or a gentleman?  Is he a creditor?”

The clerk went and returned.  “He insists that he must speak to M. Schmucke.”

“His name?”

“His name is Topinard, he says.”

“I will go out to him.  Sign without disturbing yourself,” said Gaudissart, addressing Schmucke.  “Make an end of it; I will find out what he wants with us.”

Gaudissart understood Fraisier; both scented danger.