WHEREIN HERR NICHOLAS MEISER, ONE OF THE SOLID MEN OF DANTZIC, RECEIVES
AN UNWELCOME VISIT.
The wisdom of mankind declares that ill-gotten gains never do any good.
I maintain that they do the robbers more good than the robbed, and the
good fortune of Herr Nicholas Meiser is an argument in support of my
proposition.
The nephew of the illustrious physiologist, after brewing a great deal
of beer from a very little hops, and prematurely appropriating the
legacy intended for Fougas, had amassed, by various operations, a
fortune of from eight to ten millions. "In what kind of operations?" No
one ever told me, but I know that he called all operations that would
make money, good ones. To lend small sums at a big interest, to
accumulate great stores of grain in order to relieve a scarcity after
producing it himself, to foreclose on unfortunate debtors, to fit out a
vessel or two for trade in black flesh on the African coast--such are
specimens of the speculations which the good man did not despise. He
never boasted of them, for he was modest; but he never blushed for them,
for he had expanded his conscience simultaneously with his capital. As
for the rest, he was a man of honor, in the commercial sense of the
word, and capable of strangling the whole human race rather than of
letting his signature be protested. The banks of Dantzic, Berlin,
Vienna, and Paris, held him in high esteem; his money passed through all
of them.
He was fat, unctuous, and florid, and lived well. His wife's nose was
much too long, and her bones much too prominent, but she loved him with
all her heart, and made him little sweetmeats. A perfect congeniality of
sentiment united this charming couple. They talked with each other with
open hearts, and never thought of keeping back any of their evil
thoughts. Every year, at Saint Martin's day, when rents became due, they
turned out of doors the families of five or six workmen who could not
pay for their terms; but they dined none the worse after it, and their
good-night kiss was none the less sweet.
The husband was sixty-six years old, the wife sixty-four. Their
physiognomies were such as inspire benevolence and command respect. To
complete their outward resemblance to the patriarchs, nothing was needed
but children and grandchildren. Nature had given them one son--an only
one, because they had not solicited Nature for more. They would have
thought it criminal improvidence to divide their fortune among several.
Unhappily, this only child, the heir-presumptive to so many millions,
died at the University of Heidelberg from eating too many sausages. He
set out, when he was twenty, for that Valhalla of German students, where
they eat infinite sausages, and drink inexhaustible beer; where they
sing songs of eight hundred million verses, and gash the tips of each
other's noses with huge swords. Envious Death snatched him from his
parents when they were no longer of an age to improvise a successor. The
unfortunate old millionnaires tenderly collected his effects, to sell
them. During this operation, so trying to their souls (for there was a
great deal of brand-new linen that could not be found), Nicholas Meiser
said to his wife, "My heart bleeds at the idea that our buildings and
dollars, our goods above ground and under, should go to strangers.
Parents ought always to have an extra son, just as they have a
vice-umpire in the Chamber of Commerce."
But Time, who is a great teacher in Germany and several other countries,
led them to see that there is consolation for all things except the loss
of money. Five years afterwards, Frau Meiser said to her husband, with a
tender and philosophic, smile: "Who can fathom the decrees of
Providence? Perhaps your son would have brought us to a crust. Look at
Theobald Scheffler, his old comrade. He wasted twenty thousand francs at
Paris on a woman who kicked up her legs in the middle of a quadrille. We
ourselves spent more than two thousand thalers a year for our wicked
scapegrace. His death is a great saving, and therefore a good thing!"
As long as the three coffins of Fougas were in the house, the good dame
scolded at the visions and restlessness of her husband. "What in the
name of sense are you thinking about? You've been kicking me all night
again. Let's throw this ragamuffin of a Frenchman into the fire; then
he'll no longer disturb the repose of a peaceable family. We can sell
the leaden box; it must weigh at least two hundred pounds. The white
silk will make me a good lining for a dress; and the wool in the
stuffing, will easily make us a mattress." But a tinge of superstition
prevented Meiser from following his wife's advice; he preferred to rid
himself of the Colonel by selling him.
The house of this worthy couple was the handsomest and most substantial
on the street of Public Wells, in the aristocratic part of the city.
Strong railings, in iron open work, decorated all the windows
magnificently, and the door was sheathed in iron, like a knight of the
olden time. A system of little mirrors, ingeniously arranged in the
entrance, enabled a visitor to be seen before he had even knocked. A
single servant, a regular horse for work and camel for temperance,
ministered under this roof blessed by the gods.
The old servant slept away from the house, both because he preferred to
and because while he did so he could not be tempted to wring the
venerable necks of his employers. A few books on Commerce and Religion
constituted the library of the two old people. They never cared to have
a garden at the back of their house, because the shrubbery might
conceal thieves. They fastened their door with bolts every evening at
eight o'clock, and never went out without being obliged to, for fear of
meeting dangerous people.
And nevertheless, on the 29th of April, 1859, at eleven o'clock in the
morning, Nicholas Meiser was far away from his beloved home. Gracious!
how very far away for him--this honest burgher of Dantzic! He was
traversing, with heavy tread, the promenade in Berlin, which bears the
name of one of Alphonse Karrs' romances: _Sous les tilleuls._ In German:
_Unter den Linden._
What mighty agency had thrown out of his bon-bon box, this big red
bon-bon on two legs? The same that led Alexander to Babylon, Scipio to
Carthage, Godfrey de Bouillon to Jerusalem, and Napoleon to
Moscow--Ambition! Meiser did not expect to be presented with the keys of
the city on a cushion of red velvet, but he knew a great lord, a clerk
in a government office, and a chambermaid who were working to get a
patent of nobility for him. To call himself Von Meiser instead of plain
Meiser! What a glorious dream!
This good man had in his character that compound of meanness and vanity
which places lacqueys so far apart from the rest of mankind. Full of
respect for power, and admiration for conventional greatness, he never
pronounced the name of king, prince, or even baron, without emphasis and
unction. He mouthed every aristocratic syllable, and the single word
"Monseigneur" seemed to him like a mouthful of well-spiced soup.
Examples of this disposition are not rare in Germany, and are even
occasionally found elsewhere. If they could be transported to a country
where all men are equal, homesickness for boot-licking would kill them.
The claims brought to bear in favor of Nicholas Meiser, were not of the
kind which at once spring the balance, but of the kind which make it
turn little by little. Nephew of an illustrious man of science,
powerfully rich, a man of sound judgment, a subscriber to the _New
Gazette of the Cross_, full of hatred for the opposition, author of a
toast against the influence of demagogues, once a member of the City
Council, once an umpire in the Chamber of Commerce, once a corporal in
the militia, and an open enemy of Poland and all nations but the strong
ones. His most brilliant action dated back ten years. He had denounced,
by an anonymous letter, a member of the French Parliament who had taken
refuge in Dantzic. While Meiser was walking under the lindens, his cause
was progressing swimmingly. He had received that sweet assurance from
the very lips of its promoters. And so he tripped lightly toward the
depot of the North-Eastern Railroad, without any other baggage than a
revolver in his pocket. His black leather trunk had gone before; and was
waiting for him at the station. On the way, he was glancing into the
shop windows, when he stopped short before a stationer's, and rubbed his
eyes--a sovereign remedy, people say, for impaired vision. Between the
portraits of Mme. Sand and M. Mérimée, the two greatest writers of
France, he had noticed, examined, recognized a well-known countenance.
"Surely," said he, "I've seen that man before, but he was paler. Can our
old lodger have come to life? Impossible! I burned up my uncle's
directions, so the world has lost--thanks to me--the secret of
resuscitating people. Nevertheless, the resemblance is striking. Is it a
portrait of Colonel Fougas, taken from life in 1813? No; for photography
was not then invented. But possibly it's a photograph copied from an
engraving? Here are Louis XVI. and Marie Antoinette reproduced in the
same way: that doesn't prove that Robespierre had them resuscitated.
Anyhow, I've had an unfortunate encounter."
He took a step toward the door of the shop to reassure himself, but a
peculiar reluctance held him back. People might wonder at him, ask him
questions, try to learn the reason of his trouble. He resumed his walk
at a brisk pace, trying to reassure himself.
"Bah! It's an hallucination--the result of dwelling too much on one
idea. Moreover, the portrait was dressed in the style of 1813; that
settles the question."
He reached the station, had his black leather trunk checked, and flung
himself down at full length in a first-class compartment. First he
smoked his porcelain pipe, but his two neighbors being asleep, he soon
followed their example, and began snoring. Now this big man's snores had
something awe-inspiring about them; you could have fancied yourself
listening to the trumpets of the judgment day. What shade visited him in
this hour of sleep, no other soul has ever known; for he kept his dreams
to himself, as he did everything that was his.
But between two stations, while the train was running at full speed, he
distinctly felt two powerful hands pulling at his feet--a sensation,
alas! too well known, and one which called up the ugliest recollections
of his life. He opened his eyes in terror, and saw the man of the
photograph, in the costume of the photograph. His hair stood on end, his
eyes grew as big as saucers, he uttered a loud cry, and flung himself
headlong between the seats among the legs of his neighbors.
A few vigorous kicks brought him to himself. He got up as well as he
could, and looked about him. No one was there but the two gentlemen
opposite, who were mechanically lanching their last kicks into the empty
space, and rubbing their eyes with their arms. He succeeded in awakening
them, and asked them about the visitation he had had; but the gentlemen
declared they had seen nothing.
Meiser sadly returned to his own thoughts; he noticed that the visions
appeared terribly real. This idea prevented his going to sleep again.
"If this goes on much longer," thought he, "the Colonel's ghost will
break my nose with a blow of his fist, or give me a pair of black eyes!"
A little later, it occurred to him that he had breakfasted very hastily
that morning, and he reflected that the nightmare had perhaps been
brought about by such dieting.
He got off at the next five-minute stopping-place and called for soup.
Some very hot vermicelli was brought him, and he blew into his bowl like
a dolphin into the Bosphorus.
A man passed before him, without jostling him, without saying anything
to him, without even seeing him. And nevertheless, the bowl dropped from
the hands of the rich Nicholas Meiser, the vermicelli poured over his
waistcoat and shirt-bosom, where it formed an elegant fretwork
suggestive of the architecture of the _porte Saint Martin_. Some
yellowish threads, detached from the mass, hung in stalactites from the
buttons of his coat. The vermicelli stopped on the outside, but the soup
penetrated much further. It was rather warm for pleasure; an egg left in
it ten minutes would have been boiled hard. Fatal soup, which not only
distributed itself among the pockets, but into the most secret
sinuosities of the man himself! The starting bell rang, the waiter
collected his two sous, and Meiser got into the cars, preceded by a
plaster of vermicelli, and followed by a little thread of soup which was
running down the calves of his legs.
And all of this, because he had seen, or thought he had seen, the
terrible figure of Colonel Fougas eating sandwiches.
Oh! how long the trip seemed! What a terrible time it appeared to be
before he could be at home, between his wife Catharine and his servant
Berbel, with all the doors safely closed! His two companions laughed
till the buttons flew; people laughed in the compartment to the right of
him, and in the compartment to the left of him. As fast as he picked off
the vermicelli, little spots of soup saucily congealed and seemed
quietly laughing. How hard it comes to a great millionnaire to amuse
people who do not possess a cent! He did not get off again until they
reached Dantzic; he did not even put his nose to the window; he sucked
solitary consolation from his porcelain pipe, on which Leda caressed her
swan and smiled not.
Wearisome, wearisome journey! But he did reach home nevertheless. It was
eight o'clock in the evening; the old domestic was waiting with ropes to
sling his master's trunk on his back. No more alarming figures, no more
mocking laughs! The history of the soup was fallen into the great
forgotten, like one of M. Heller's speeches. In the baggage room, Meiser
had already seized the handle of a black leather trunk, when, at the
other end, he saw the spectre of Fougas, which was pulling in the
opposite direction, and seemed inclined to dispute possession. He
bristled up, pulled stronger, and even plunged his left hand into the
pocket where the revolver was lying. But the luminous glance of the
Colonel fascinated him, his legs trembled, he fell, and fancied that he
saw Fougas and the black trunk rolling over each other. When he came to,
his old servant was chafing his hands, the trunk already had the slings
around it, and the Colonel had disappeared. The domestic swore that he
had not seen anybody, and that he had himself received the trunk from
the baggage agent's own hand.
Twenty minutes later, the millionnaire was in his own house, joyfully
rubbing his face against the sharp angles of his wife. He did not dare
to tell her about his visions, for Frau Meiser was a skeptic, in her own
way. It was she who spoke to him about Fougas.
"A whole history has happened to me," said she. "Would you believe that
the police have written to us from Berlin, to find out whether our uncle
left us a mummy, and when, and how long we kept him, and what we have
done with him? I answered, telling the truth, and adding that Colonel
Fougas was in such a bad condition, and so damaged by mites, that we
sold him for rags. What object can the police have in troubling
themselves about our affairs?"
Meiser heaved a heavy sigh.
"Let's talk about money!" said the lady. "The president of the bank has
been to see me. The million you asked him for, for to-morrow, is ready;
it will be delivered upon your signature. It seems that they've had a
deal of trouble to get the amount in specie. If you had but wanted
drafts on Vienna or Paris, you would have put them at their ease. But
at last they've done what you wanted. There's no other news, except that
Schmidt, the merchant, has killed himself. He had to pay a note for ten
thousand thalers, and didn't have half the amount on hand. He came to
ask me for the money; I offered him ten thousand thalers, at twenty-five
per cent., payable in ninety days, with a first mortgage on all his real
estate. The fool preferred to hang himself in his shop. Everyone to his
taste!"
"Did he hang himself very high?"
"I don't know anything about that. Why?"
"Because one might get a piece of rope cheap, and we're greatly in want
of some, my poor Catharine! That Colonel Fougas has given me a shiver."
"Some more of your notions! Come to supper, my love."
"Come on!"
The angular Baucis conducted her Philemon into a large and beautiful
dining-room, where Berbel served a repast worthy of the gods. Soup with
little balls of aniseeded bread, fish-balls with black sauce,
mutton-balls stuffed, game balls, sour-krout cooked in lard and
garnished with fried potatoes, roast hare with currant jelly, deviled
crabs, salmon from the Vistula, jellies, and fruit tarts. Six bottles of
Rhine-wine selected from the best vintages were awaiting, in their
silver caps, the master's kiss. But the lord of all these good things
was neither hungry nor thirsty. He ate by nibbles and drank by sips, all
the time expecting a grand consummation, which he did not have to
expect along. A formidable rap of the knocker soon resounded through the
house.
Nicholas Meiser trembled. His wife tried to reassure him. "It's
nothing," said she. "The president of the bank told me that he was
coming to see you. He offers to pay us the exchange, if we'll take paper
instead of specie."
"It _is_ about money, sure as Fate!" cried the good man. "Hell itself is
coming to see us!"
At the same instant, the servant rushed into the room, crying, "Oh, Sir!
Oh, Madame! It's the Frenchman of the three coffins! Jesus! Mary, Mother
of God!"
Fougas saluted them, and said, "Don't disturb yourselves, good people, I
beg of you. We've a little matter to discuss together, and I'm ready to
explain it to you in two words. You're in a hurry, so am I; you've not
had supper, neither have I!"
Frau Meiser, more rigid and more emaciated than a thirteenth-century
statue, opened wide her toothless mouth. Terror paralyzed her. The man,
better prepared for the visit of the phantom, cocked his revolver under
the table and took aim at the Colonel, crying "_Vade retro, Satanas!_"
The exorcism and the pistol missed fire together.
Meiser was not at all discouraged: he snapped the six barrels one after
the other at the demon, who stood watching him do it. Not one went off.
"What devilish game is that you're playing?" said the Colonel, seating
himself astride a chair. "People are not in the habit of receiving an
honest man's visit with that ceremony!"
Meiser flung down his revolver, and grovelled like a beast at Fougas'
feet. His wife, who was not one whit more tranquil, followed him. They
joined hands, and the fat man exclaimed:
"Spirit! I confess my misdeeds, and I am ready to make reparation for
them. I have sinned against you; I have violated my uncle's commands.
What do you wish? What do you command? A tomb? A magnificent monument?
Prayers? Endless prayers?"
"Idiot!" said Fougas, spurning him with his foot; "I am no spirit, and I
want nothing but the money you've robbed me of!"
Meiser kept rolling on the floor; but his scrawny wife was already on
her feet, her fists on her hips, and facing Fougas.
"Money!" cried she, "But we don't owe you any! Have you any documents?
Just show us our signature! Where would one be, Just God! if we had to
give money to all the adventurers who present themselves? And in the
first place, by what right did you thrust yourself into our dwelling, if
you're not a spirit? Ah! you're a man just the same as other people! Ha!
ha! So you're not a ghost! Very well, sir; there are judges in Berlin;
there are some in the country, too, and we'll soon see whether you're
going to finger our money! Get up there, you great booby; it's only a
man! And do you, Mister Ghost, get out of here! Off with you!"
The Colonel did not budge more than a rock.
"The devil's in women's tongues! Sit down, old lady, and take your hands
away from my eyes--they bother me. And as for you, swell-head, get on to
your chair, and listen to me. There will be time enough to go to law if
we can't come to an understanding. But stamped paper stinks in my
nostrils; and therefore I'd rather settle peaceably."
Herr and Frau Meiser repressed their first emotion. They distrusted
magistrates, as do all people without clean consciences. If the Colonel
was a poor devil who could be put off with a few thalers, it would be
better to avoid legal proceedings.
Fougas stated the case to them with entire military bluntness. He proved
the existence of his right, said that he had had his identity
substantiated at Fontainebleau, Paris, and Berlin; cited from memory two
or three passages of the will, and finished by declaring that the
Prussian Government, in conjunction with that of France, would support
his just claims if necessary.
"You understand clearly," said he, taking Meiser by the button of his
coat, "that I am no fox, depending on cunning. If you had a wrist
vigorous enough to swing a good sabre, we'd take the field against each
other, and I'd play you for the amount, first two cuts out of three, as
surely as that's soup before you!"
"Fortunately, monsieur," said Meiser, "my age shields me from all
brutality. You would not wish to trample under foot the corpse of an old
man!"
"Venerable scoundrel! But you would have killed me like a dog, if your
pistol had not missed fire!"
"It was not loaded, Monsieur Colonel! It was not----anywhere near
loaded! But I am an accommodating man, and we can come to terms very
easily. I don't owe you anything, and, moreover, there's prescription;
but after all----how much do you want?"
"He has had his say: now it's my turn!"
The old rascal's mate softened the tone of her voice. Imagine to
yourself a saw licking a tree before biting in.
"Listen, Claus, my dear--listen to what Monsieur Colonel Fougas has to
say. You'll see that he is reasonable! It's not in him to think of
ruining poor people like us. Oh, Heavens! he is not capable of it. He
has such a noble heart! Such a disinterested man! An officer worthy of
the great Napoleon (God receive his soul!)."
"That's enough, old lady!" said Fougas, with a curt gesture which cut
the speech off in the middle. "I had an estimate made at Berlin of what
is due me--principal and interest."
"Interest!" cried Meiser. "But in what country, in what latitude, do
people pay interest on money? Perhaps it may sometimes happen in
business, but between friends--never, no never, my good Monsieur
Colonel! What would my good uncle, who is now gazing upon us from
heaven, say, if he knew that you were claiming interest on his bequest?"
"Now shut up, Nickle!" interrupted his wife. "Monsieur Colonel is just
about telling you, himself, that he did not intend to be understood as
speaking of the interest."
"Why in the name of great guns don't you both shut up, you confounded
magpies? Here I am dying of hunger, and I didn't bring my nightcap to go
to bed here, either!---- Now here's the upshot of the matter: You owe me
a great deal; but it's not an even sum--there are fractions in it, and I
go in for clean transactions. Moreover, my tastes are modest. I've
enough for my wife and myself; nothing more is needed than to provide
for my son!"
"Very well," cried Meiser; "I'll charge myself with the education of the
little fellow!"
"Now, during the dozen days since I again became a citizen of the world,
there is one word that I've heard spoken everywhere. At Paris, as well
as at Berlin, people no longer speak of anything but millions; there is
no longer any talk of anything else, and everybody's mouth is full of
millions. From hearing so much said about it, I've acquired a curiosity
to know what it is. Go, fetch me out a million, and I'll give you
quittance!"
If you want to reach an approximate idea of the piercing cries which
answered him, go to the _Jardin des Plantes_ at the breakfast hour of
the birds of prey, and try to pull the meat out of their beaks. Fougas
stopped his ears and remained inexorable. Prayers, arguments,
misrepresentations, flatteries, cringings, glanced off from him like
rain from a zinc roof. But at ten o'clock at night, when he had
concluded that all concurrence was impossible, he took his hat:
"Good evening!" said he. "It's no longer a million that I must have, but
two millions, and all over. We'll go to law. I'm going to supper."
He was on the staircase, when Frau Meiser said to her husband:
"Call him back, and give him his million!"
"Are you a fool?"
"Don't be afraid."
"I can never do it!"
"Father in heaven! what blockheads men are! Monsieur! Monsieur Fougas!
Monsieur Colonel Fougas! Come up again, I pray you! We consent to all
that you require!"
"Damnation!" said he, on reëntering; "you ought to have made up your
minds sooner. But after all, let's see the money!"
Frau Meiser explained to him with her tenderest voice, that poor
capitalists like themselves, were not in the habit of keeping millions
under their own lock and key.
"But you shall lose nothing by waiting, my sweet sir! To-morrow you
shall handle the amount in nice white silver; my husband will sign you a
check on the Royal Bank of Dantzic."
"But----," said the unfortunate Meiser. He signed, nevertheless, for he
had boundless confidence in the practical ingenuity of Catharine. The
old lady begged Fougas to sit down at the end of the table, and dictated
to him a receipt for two millions, in payment of all demands. You may
depend that she did not forgot a word of the legal formulas, and that
she arranged the affair in due form according to the Prussian code. The
receipt, written throughout in the Colonel's hand, filled three large
pages.
He signed the instrument with a flourish, and received in exchange the
signature of Nicholas, which he knew well.
"Well," said he to the old gentleman, "you're certainly not such an Arab
as they said you were at Berlin. Shake hands, old scamp! I don't usually
shake hands with any but honest people; but on an occasion like this,
one can do a little something extra."
"Do it double, Monsieur Fougas," said Frau Meiser, humbly. "Will you not
join us in this modest supper?"
"Gad! old lady, it's not a thing to be refused. My supper must be cold
at the inn of the 'Clock'; and your viands, smoking on their chafing
dishes, have already caused me more than one fit of distraction.
Besides, here are some yellow glass flutes, on which Fougas will not be
at all reluctant to play an air."
The respectable Catharine had an extra plate laid, and ordered Berbel to
go to bed. The Colonel folded up Father Meiser's million, rolled it
carefully among a pile of bank-bills, and put the whole into the little
pocket-book which his dear Clementine had sent him.
The clock struck eleven.
At half-past eleven Fougas began to see everything in a rosy cloud. He
praised the Rhine wine highly, and thanked the Meisers for their
hospitality. At midnight, he assured them of his highest esteem. At
quarter past twelve, he embraced them. At half-past twelve, he delivered
a eulogy on the illustrious John Meiser, his friend and benefactor. When
he learned that John Meiser had died in that house, he poured forth a
torrent of tears. At quarter to one, he assumed a confidential tone, and
spoke of his son, whom he was going to make happy, and of the betrothed
who was waiting for him. About one o'clock, he tasted a celebrated port
wine which Frau Meiser had herself gone to bring from the cellar. About
half-past one, his tongue thickened and his eyes grew dim; he struggled
some time against drunkenness and sleepiness, announced that he was
going to describe the Russian campaign, muttered the name of the
Emperor, and slid under the table.
"You may believe me, if you will," said Frau Meiser to her husband,
"this is not a man who has come into our house; it's the devil!"
"The devil!"
"If not, would I have advised you to give him a million? I heard a voice
saying to me, 'If you do not obey the messenger of the Infernal powers,
you will both die this very night.' It was on account of that, that I
called him up stairs. Ah! if we had been doing business with a man, I
would have told you to contest it in law to our last cent."
"As you please! So you're still making sport of my visions?"
"Forgive me, Claus dear; I was a fool!"
"And I've concluded I was, too."
"Poor innocent! Perhaps you too thought this was Colonel Fougas?"
"Certainly!"
"As if it were possible to resuscitate a man! It is a demon, I tell you,
who assumed the shape of the Colonel, to rob us of our money!"
"What can demons do with money?"
"Build cathedrals, to be sure!"
"But how is the devil to be recognized when he is disguised?"
"First by his cloven-foot--but this one has boots on; next by his
clipped ear."
"Bah! And why?"
"Because the devil's ears are pointed, and, in order to make them round,
he has to cut them."
Meiser stuck his head under the table and uttered a cry of horror.
"It's certainly the devil!" said he. "But how did he happen to let
himself go to sleep?"
"Perhaps you did not know that when I came back from the cellar, I
dropped into my chamber? I put a drop of holy water into the Port; charm
against charm, and he is fallen."
"That's splendid! But what shall we do with him, now that we have him in
our power?"
"What is done with demons in Scripture? The Saviour throws them into the
sea."
"The sea is a long way from here."
"But, you big baby, the public wells are just by!"
"And what will be said to-morrow, when the body is found?"
"Nothing at all will be found; and even the check that we signed, will
be turned into tinder."
Ten minutes later, Herr and Frau Meiser were lugging something toward
the public wells, and soon dame Catharine murmured, _sotto voce_, the
following incantation:
"Demon, child of hell, be thou accursed!
"Demon, child of hell, be thou dashed headlong down!
"Demon, child of hell, return to hell!"
A dull sound--the sound of a body falling into water, terminated the
ceremony, and the two spouses returned to their domicil, with the
satisfaction that always follows the performance of a duty.
Nicholas said to himself:
"I didn't think she was so credulous!"
"I didn't think he was so simple!" thought the worthy Kettle, wedded
wife of Claus.
They slept the sleep of innocence. Oh, how much less soft their pillows
would have seemed, if Fougas had gone home with his million!
At ten o'clock the next morning, while they were taking their coffee and
buttered rolls, the president of the bank called in, and said to them:
"I am greatly obliged to you for having accepted a draft on Paris
instead of a million in specie, and without premium, too. That young
Frenchman you sent to us is a little brusque, but very lively, and a
good fellow."