“‘Well,’ said Gobseck, taking the pained silence for answer, ‘I know your story by heart. The woman is a fiend, but perhaps you love her still; I can well believe it; she made an impression on me. Perhaps, too, you would rather save your fortune, and keep it for one or two of your children? Well, fling yourself into the whirlpool of society, lose that fortune at play, come to Gobseck pretty often. The world will say that I am a Jew, a Tartar, a usurer, a pirate, will say that I have ruined you! I snap my fingers at them! If anybody insults me, I lay my man out; nobody is a surer shot nor handles a rapier better than your servant. And every one knows it. Then, have a friend--if you can find one--and make over your property to him by a fictitious sale. You call that a _fidei commissum_, don’t you?’ he asked, turning to me. “The Count seemed to be entirely absorbed in his own thoughts. “‘You shall have your money to-morrow,’ he said, ‘have the diamonds in readiness,’ and he went. “‘There goes one who looks to me to be as stupid as an honest man,’ Gobseck said coolly when the Count had gone. “‘Say rather stupid as a man of passionate nature.’ “‘The Count owes you your fee for drawing up the agreement!’ Gobseck called after me as I took my leave.” “One morning, a few days after the scene which initiated me into the terrible depths beneath the surface of the life of a woman of fashion, the Count came into my private office. “‘I have come to consult you on a matter of grave moment,’ he said, ‘and I begin by telling you that I have perfect confidence in you, as I hope to prove to you. Your behavior to Mme. de Grandlieu is above all praise,’ the Count went on. (You see, madame, that you have paid me a thousand times over for a very simple matter.) “I bowed respectfully, and replied that I had done nothing but the duty of an honest man. “‘Well,’ the Count went on, ‘I have made a great many inquiries about the singular personage to whom you owe your position. And from all that I can learn, Gobseck is a philosopher of the Cynic school. What do you think of his probity?’ “‘M. le Comte,’ said I, ‘Gobseck is my benefactor--at fifteen per cent,’ I added, laughing. ‘But his avarice does not authorize me to paint him to the life for a stranger’s benefit.’ “‘Speak out, sir. Your frankness cannot injure Gobseck or yourself. I do not expect to find an angel in a pawnbroker.’