“Not at all.  I gif it besides the one tousand-franc note vat you pleed me off.  Dat makes fifteen hundert franc vat I gif you.”

“Very good, you give me the thousand francs I have had and you will add five hundred francs.”

“Yust so,” said Nucingen, nodding.

“But that still leaves only five hundred francs,” said Contenson imperturbably.

“Dat I gif,” added the Baron.

“That I take.  Very good; and what, Monsieur le Baron, do you want for it?”

“I haf been told dat dere vas in Paris one man vat could find the voman vat I lof, and dat you know his address. . . .  A real master to spy.”

“Very true.”

“Vell den, gif me dat address, and I gif you fife hundert franc.”

“Where are they?” said Contenson.

“Here dey are,” said the Baron, drawing a note out of his pocket.

“All right, hand them over,” said Contenson, holding out his hand.

“Noting for noting!  Le us see de man, and you get de money; you might sell to me many address at dat price.”

Contenson began to laugh.

“To be sure, you have a right to think that of me,” said he, with an air of blaming himself.  “The more rascally our business is, the more honesty is necessary.  But look here, Monsieur le Baron, make it six hundred, and I will give you a bit of advice.”

“Gif it, and trust to my generosity.”

“I will risk it,” Contenson said, “but it is playing high.  In such matters, you see, we have to work underground.  You say, ’Quick march!’—­You are rich; you think that money can do everything.  Well, money is something, no doubt.  Still, money can only buy men, as the two or three best heads in our force so often say.  And there are many things you would never think of which money cannot buy.—­You cannot buy good luck.  So good police work is not done in this style.  Will you show yourself in a carriage with me?  We should be seen.  Chance is just as often for us as against us.”

“Really-truly?” said the Baron.

“Why, of course, sir.  A horseshoe picked up in the street led the chief of the police to the discovery of the infernal machine.  Well, if we were to go to-night in a hackney coach to Monsieur de Saint-Germain, he would not like to see you walk in any more than you would like to be seen going there.”

“Dat is true,” said the Baron.

“Ah, he is the greatest of the great! such another as the famous Corentin, Fouche’s right arm, who was, some say, his natural son, born while he was still a priest; but that is nonsense.  Fouche knew how to be a priest as he knew how to be a Minister.  Well, you will not get this man to do anything for you, you see, for less than ten thousand-franc notes—­think of that.—­But he will do the job, and do it well.  Neither seen nor heard, as they say.  I ought to give Monsieur de Saint-Germanin notice, and he will fix a time for your meeting in some place where no one can see or hear, for it is a dangerous game to play policeman for private interests.  Still, what is to be said?  He is a good fellow, the king of good fellows, and a man who has undergone much persecution, and for having saving his country too!—­like me, like all who helped to save it.”