"In the lungs," he said. "God! how it burns! Rich; we are rich,
Gertrude; a hundred thousand crowns. . . . And I am dying! . . .
What a failure! Curse them all; they never offered to lend a
hand unless it led toward hell! Gertrude . . . I must tell you.
Here; here, put your hand in this pocket; yes. Draw them out. . .
A hundred thousand crowns!"
The woman shuddered. Her hand and what it held were wet with
blood.
"Hide them!" And Johann fainted away for the second time. When
he came to his senses, several minutes had passed. Quickly, with
what remaining strength he had, he unfolded his plan.
And her one idea was to save him. She drenched her handkerchief
with the ammonia, and bade him hold it to his nose, while she
fetched a basin of water and a sponge. Tenderly she drew back
his coat and washed the blood from his throat and lips, and
moistened his hair.
"Listen!" he cried suddenly, rising on his elbow. "It is they!
They have found me! Quick! to the roof!" He struggled to his
feet, with that strength which imparts itself to dying men,
super-human while it lasts. He threw one arm around her neck.
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