As the door opened she
beheld a spectacle which caused her to scream.
"Hush! Gertrude, I am dying. . . . Brandy! I must talk to you!
Silence!" Johann tottered to a lounge and dropped on his side.
The woman, still trembling with fright and terror, poured into
her palm some of the pungent liquid with which she had been
bathing her temples, and held it under his nose. It revived him.
And in a few broken sentences he made known to her what had
happened.
"Gertrude, I am lost!" He breathed with difficulty. "I have
lived like a rascal, and I die like one. But I have always loved
you; I have always been true to you; I have never beaten nor
robbed you." His eyes closed.
"O God," she cried, "what shall I do? Johann, you must not die!
We will leave the country together. Johann, you do not speak!
Johann!" She kissed him, pressed him in her arms, regardless of
the stains which these frantic fondlings gathered from his
breast. "Johann!"
"Rich," he said dreamily; "rich . . . and to die like a dog!"
She left him and rushed to the sideboard, poured out a tumbler
of brandy, and returned to his side. She raised his head, but he
swallowed with effort.
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