"My sister will come too," she said.
"The other, too! When? when? God grant it be before I die!"
"She will come to thank you for a great service I am now here to ask
of you."
"Quick! quick! tell me what it is," cried Schmucke. "What must I do?
go to the devil?"
"Nothing more than write the words 'Accepted for ten thousand francs,'
and sign your name on each of these papers," she said, taking from her
muff four notes prepared for her by Nathan.
"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.
"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."
The good man signed the papers with the innocence of a child who does
what his mother orders without question, so sure is he that all is
right. He was thinking much more of presenting the cat to the countess
than of the papers by which his liberty might be, according to the
laws relating to foreigners, forever sacrificed.
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