When the Baron had given a long and copious explanation, in his hideous Polish-Jew dialect, of his meeting with Esther and the cry of the man behind the carriage, and his vain efforts, he ended by relating what had occurred at his house the night before, Lucien’s involuntary smile, and the opinion expressed by Bianchon and some other young dandies that there must be some acquaintance between him and the unknown fair.

“Listen to me, Monsieur le Baron; you must, in the first instance, place ten thousand francs in my hands, on account for expenses; for, to you, this is a matter of life or death; and as your life is a business-manufactory, nothing must be left undone to find this woman for you.  Oh, you are caught!——­”

“Ja, I am caught!”

“If more money is wanted, Baron, I will let you know; put your trust in me,” said Peyrade.  “I am not a spy, as you perhaps imagine.  In 1807 I was Commissioner-General of Police at Antwerp; and now that Louis XVIII. is dead, I may tell you in confidence that for seven years I was the chief of his counter-police.  So there is no beating me down.  You must understand, Monsieur le Baron, that it is impossible to make any estimate of the cost of each man’s conscience before going into the details of such an affair.  Be quite easy; I shall succeed.  Do not fancy that you can satisfy me with a sum of money; I want something for my reward——­”

“So long as dat is not a kingtom!” said the Baron.

“It is less than nothing to you.”

“Den I am your man.”

“You know the Kellers?”

“Oh! ver’ well.”

“Francois Keller is the Comte de Gondreville’s son-in-law, and the Comte de Gondreville and his son-in-law dined with you yesterday.”

“Who der teufel tolt you dat?” cried the Baron.  “Dat vill be Georche; he is always a gossip.”  Peyrade smiled, and the banker at once formed strange suspicions of his man-servant.

“The Comte de Gondreville is quite in a position to obtain me a place I covet at the Prefecture of Police; within forty-eight hours the prefet will have notice that such a place is to be created,” said Peyrade in continuation.  “Ask for it for me; get the Comte de Gondreville to interest himself in the matter with some degree of warmth—­and you will thus repay me for the service I am about to do you.  I ask your word only; for, if you fail me, sooner or later you will curse the day you were born—­you have Peyrade’s word for that.”

“I gif you mein vort of honor to do vat is possible.”

“If I do no more for you than is possible, it will not be enough.”

“Vell, vell, I vill act qvite frankly.”

“Frankly—­that is all I ask,” said Peyrade, “and frankness is the only thing at all new that you and I can offer to each other.”

“Frankly,” echoed the Baron.  “Vere shall I put you down.”

“At the corner of the Pont Louis XVI.”

“To the Pont de la Chambre,” said the Baron to the footman at the carriage door.