Thieves!
thieves! assassins! murder! Justice, just heavens! I am
undone; I am murdered; they have cut my throat; they have stolen my
money! Who can it be? What has become of him? Where is he? Where is
he hiding himself? What shall I do to find him? Where shall I run? Where
shall I not run? Is he not here? Who is this? Stop! (_To himself, taking
hold of his own arm_) Give me back my money, wretch.... Ah...! it is
myself.... My mind is wandering, and I know not where I am, who I am,
and what I am doing. Alas! my poor money! my poor money! my dearest
friend, they have bereaved me of thee; and since thou art gone, I have
lost my support, my consolation, and my joy. All is ended for me, and
I have nothing more to do in the world! Without thee it is impossible
for me to live. It is all over with me; I can bear it no longer. I am
dying; I am dead; I am buried. Is there nobody who will call me from
the dead, by restoring my dear money to me, or by telling me who has
taken it? Ah! what is it you say? It is no one. Whoever has committed
the deed must have watched carefully for his opportunity, and must have
chosen the very moment when I was talking with my miscreant of a son.
I must go. I will demand justice, and have the whole of my house put
to the torture--my maids and my valets, my son, my daughter, and myself
too. What a crowd of people are assembled here! Everyone seems to be
my thief. I see no one who does not rouse suspicion in me. Ha! what
are they speaking of there? Of him who stole my money? What noise is
that up yonder? Is it my thief who is there? For pity's sake, if you
know anything of my thief, I beseech you to tell me. Is he hiding there
among you? They all look at me and laugh. We shall see that they all
have a share in the robbery. Quick! magistrates, police, provosts, judges,
racks, gibbets, and executioners. I will hang everybody, and if I do
not find my money, I will hang myself afterwards.