A terrific ringing of the door-bell put an end to these visions.  The first-floor lodgers sent up a servant with a message.  Would Schmucke please stop the racket overhead.  Madame, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle Chapoulot had been wakened, and could not sleep for the noise; they called his attention to the fact that the day was quite long enough for rehearsals of theatrical music, and added that people ought not to “strum” all night in a house in the Marais.—­It was then three o’clock in the morning.  At half-past three, La Cibot appeared, just as Pons had predicted.  He might have actually heard the conference between Fraisier and the portress:  “Did I not guess exactly how it would be?” his eyes seemed to say as he glanced at Schmucke, and, turning a little, he seemed to be fast asleep.

Schmucke’s guileless simplicity was an article of belief with La Cibot (and be it noted that this faith in simplicity is the great source and secret of the success of all infantine strategy); La Cibot, therefore, could not suspect Schmucke of deceit when he came to say to her, with a face half of distress, half of glad relief: 

“I haf had a derrible night! a derrible dime of it!  I vas opliged to play to keep him kviet, and the virst-floor lodgers vas komm up to tell me to be kviet! . . .  It was frightful, for der life of mein friend vas at shtake.  I am so tired mit der blaying all night, dat dis morning I am all knocked up.”

“My poor Cibot is very bad, too; one more day like yesterday, and he will have no strength left. . . .  One can’t help it; it is God’s will.”

“You haf a heart so honest, a soul so peautiful, dot gif der Zipod die, ve shall lif togedder,” said the cunning Schmucke.

The craft of simple, straightforward folk is formidable indeed; they are exactly like children, setting their unsuspected snares with the perfect craft of the savage.

“Oh, well go and sleep, sonny!” returned La Cibot.  “Your eyes look tired, they are as big as my fist.  But there! if anything could comfort me for losing Cibot, it would be the thought of ending my days with a good man like you.  Be easy.  I will give Mme. Chapoulot a dressing down. . . .  To think of a retired haberdasher’s wife giving herself such airs!”

Schmucke went to his room and took up his post in the closet.

La Cibot had left the door ajar on the landing; Fraisier came in and closed it noiselessly as soon as he heard Schmucke shut his bedroom door.  He had brought with him a lighted taper and a bit of very fine wire to open the seal of the will.  La Cibot, meanwhile, looking under the pillow, found the handkerchief with the key of the bureau knotted to one corner; and this so much the more easily because Pons purposely left the end hanging over the bolster, and lay with his face to the wall.

La Cibot went straight to the bureau, opened it cautiously so as to make as little noise as possible, found the spring of the secret drawer, and hurried into the salon with the will in her hand.  Her flight roused Pons’ curiosity to the highest pitch; and as for Schmucke, he trembled as if he were the guilty person.