You are not crying?

ANTONY (_dries his eyes_).

Yes, I can never think of that without its starting the tears, no matter
how well the source of them may have been stopped up. Oh well, that's
all right! If I should ever get the dropsy, I shall at any rate not have
to draw off these drops too.

[_With a sudden turn._]

What do you think about it?--Supposing on a Sunday afternoon you went
over to smoke a pipe of tobacco with a friend, a friend to whom you owed
everything in the world; and supposing you found him greatly confused
and perturbed, a knife in his hand--the same knife you had used a
thousand times to cut his evening bread--and holding it, covered with
blood, at his neck, and nervously drawing his handkerchief up to his
chin--

LEONARD.

And that is the way old Gebhard went about to the end of his days.

ANTONY.

On account of the scar. And supposing you arrived in time to help save
him, but to do it you had not only to wrench the knife out of his hand
and bandage the wound, but you had also to give over a paltry thousand
thalers that you had saved up; and, furthermore, you had to do it all