“You had better,” said Fraisier. “Your course will save expense to you, for your contention would not be made good. The lease is evidence--” “The lease! the lease!” cried Villemot, “it is a question of good faith--” “That could only be proved in a criminal case, by calling witnesses.--Do you mean to plunge into experts’ fees and verifications, and orders to show cause why judgment should not be given, and law proceedings generally?” “No, no!” cried Schmucke in dismay. “I shall turn out; I am used to it--” In practice Schmucke was a philosopher, an unconscious cynic, so greatly had he simplified his life. Two pairs of shoes, a pair of boots, a couple of suits of clothes, a dozen shirts, a dozen bandana handkerchiefs, four waistcoats, a superb pipe given to him by Pons, with an embroidered tobacco-pouch--these were all his belongings. Overwrought by a fever of indignation, he went into his room and piled his clothes upon a chair. “All dese are mine,” he said, with simplicity worthy of Cincinnatus. “Der biano is also mine.” Fraisier turned to La Sauvage. “Madame, get help,” he said; “take that piano out and put it on the landing.” “You are too rough into the bargain,” said Villemot, addressing Fraisier. “The justice of the peace gives orders here; he is supreme.” “There are valuables in the room,” put in the clerk. “And besides,” added the justice of the peace, “M. Schmucke is going out of his own free will.” “Did any one ever see such a client!” Villemot cried indignantly, turning upon Schmucke. “You are as limp as a rag--” “Vat dos it matter vere von dies?” Schmucke said as he went out. “Dese men haf tiger faces.... I shall send somebody to vetch mein bits of dings.” “Where are you going, sir?” “Vere it shall blease Gott,” returned Pons’ universal legatee with supreme indifference. “Send me word,” said Villemot. Fraisier turned to the head-clerk. “Go after him,” he whispered. Mme. Cantinet was left in charge, with a provision of fifty francs paid out of the money that they found. The justice of the peace looked out; there Schmucke stood in the courtyard looking up at the windows for the last time. “You have found a man of butter,” remarked the justice. “Yes,” said Fraisier, “yes. The thing is as good as done. You need not hesitate to marry your granddaughter to Poulain; he will be head-surgeon at the Quinze-Vingts.” (The Asylum founded by St. Louis for three hundred blind people.) “We shall see.--Good-day, M. Fraisier,” said the justice of the peace with a friendly air. “There is a man with a head on his shoulders,” remarked the justice’s clerk. “The dog will go a long way.”