“I would not do such a thing for ten thousand francs!” exclaimed Europe.  “I would have you to know, Monsieur le Baron, that I am an honest girl.”

“Oh yes.  I expect to pay dear for your honesty.  In business dat is vat ve call curiosity.”

“And that is not everything,” Europe went on.  “If you should not take madame’s fancy—­and that is on the cards—­she would be angry, and I am done for!—­and my place is worth a thousand francs a year.”

“De capital to make ein tousant franc is twenty tousand franc; and if I shall gif you dat, you shall not lose noting.”

“Well, to be sure, if that is the tone you take about it, my worthy old fellow,” said Europe, “that is quite another story.—­Where is the money?”

“Here,” replied the Baron, holding up the banknotes, one at a time.

He noted the flash struck by each in turn from Europe’s eyes, betraying the greed he had counted on.

“That pays for my place, but how about my principles, my conscience?” said Europe, cocking her crafty little nose and giving the Baron a serio-comic leer.

“Your conscience shall not be pait for so much as your place; but I shall say fife tousand franc more,” said he adding five thousand-franc notes.

“No, no.  Twenty thousand for my conscience, and five thousand for my place if I lose it——­”

“Yust vat you please,” said he, adding the five notes.  “But to earn dem you shall hite me in your lady’s room by night ven she shall be ’lone.”

“If you swear never to tell who let you in, I agree.  But I warn you of one thing.—­Madame is as strong as a Turk, she is madly in love with Monsieur de Rubempre, and if you paid a million francs in banknotes she would never be unfaithful to him.  It is very silly, but that is her way when she is in love; she is worse than an honest woman, I tell you!  When she goes out for a drive in the woods at night, monsieur very seldom stays at home.  She is gone out this evening, so I can hide you in my room.  If madame comes in alone, I will fetch you; you can wait in the drawing-room.  I will not lock the door into her room, and then—­well, the rest is your concern—­so be ready.”

“I shall pay you the twenty-fife tousand francs in dat drawing-room.  —­You gife—­I gife!”

“Indeed!” said Europe, “you are so confiding as all that?  On my word!”

“Oh, you will hafe your chance to fleece me yet.  We shall be friends.”

“Well, then, be in the Rue Taitbout at midnight; but bring thirty thousand francs about you.  A waiting-woman’s honesty, like a hackney cab, is much dearer after midnight.”

“It shall be more prudent if I gif you a cheque on my bank——­”

“No, no” said Europe.  “Notes, or the bargain is off.”

So at one in the morning the Baron de Nucingen, hidden in the garret where Europe slept, was suffering all the anxieties of a man who hopes to triumph.  His blood seemed to him to be tingling in his toe-nails, and his head ready to burst like an overheated steam engine.