rs
moneys vich shall be so much better in your pocket? Go into prison. I
shall undertake to buy up dose hundert tousant crowns for ein hundert
tousant francs, an' so you shall hafe two hundert tousant francs for
you----"

"That scheme is perfectly useless," cried Louchard through the door.
"The creditor is not in love with mademoiselle--not he! You understand?
And he means to have more than all, now he knows that you are in love
with her."

"You dam' sneak!" cried Nucingen, opening the door, and dragging
Louchard into the bedroom; "you know not dat vat you talk about. I shall
gife you, you'self, tventy per cent if you make the job."

"Impossible, M. le Baron."

"What, monsieur, you could have the heart to let my mistress go to
prison?" said Europe, intervening. "But take my wages, my savings; take
them, madame; I have forty thousand francs----"

"Ah, my good girl, I did not really know you!" cried Esther, clasping
Europe in her arms.

Europe proceeded to melt into tears.

"I shall pay," said the Baron piteously, as he drew out a pocket-book,
from which he took one of the little printed forms which the Bank of
France issues to bankers, on which they have only to write a sum in
figures and in words to make them available as cheques to bearer.

"It is not worth the trouble, Monsieur le Baron," said Louchard; "I
have instructions not to accept payment in anything but coin of the
realm--gold or silver. As it is you, I will take banknotes."

"Der Teufel!" cried the Baron. "Well, show me your papers."

Contenson handed him three packets covered with blue paper, which the
Baron took, looking at the man, and adding in an undertone:

"It should hafe been a better day's vork for you ven you had gife me
notice."

"Why, how should I know you were here, Monsieur le Baron?" replied
the spy, heedless whether Louchard heard him. "You lost my services
by withdrawing your confidence. You are done," added this philosopher,
shrugging his shoulders.

"Qvite true," said the baron. "Ah, my chilt," he exclaimed, seeing
the bills of exchange, and turning to Esther, "you are de fictim of a
torough scoundrel, ein highway tief!"

"Alas, yes," said poor Esther; "but he loved me truly."

"Ven I should hafe known--I should hafe made you to protest----"

"You are off your head, Monsieur le Baron," said Louchard; "there is a
third endorsement."

"Yes, dere is a tird endorsement--Cerizet! A man of de opposition."

"Will you write