time had elapsed, the sudden decision might have been changed with equal suddenness, for Napoleon, aside from his inconstancy, had cause to shrink from his intended action. It meant the violation of a sacred pledge to Spain, the death of Talleyrand's pet colonial policy, the certain disgust, sooner or later, of the French people, and a hot quarrel with Lucien and Joseph Bonaparte, his brothers. In the negotiations that followed Livingston ventured to offer twenty million francs, and Marbois finally suggested sixty millions, with payment of the American claim to the amount of twenty millions more. Thus ended the historic midnight conference during which the bargain was practically made. "It is so very important," wrote Livingston, "that you should be apprised that a negotiation is actually opened, even before Mr. Monroe is presented, in order to calm the tumult which the news of war will renew, that I have lost no time in communicating it. We shall do all we can to cheapen the purchase, but my present sentiment is that we shall buy." Considering the extent of the purchase and the danger of delay, Livingston would have been justified in closing the bargain then and there. Had he known the action of Lucien Bonaparte, who had secured the cession from Spain, and of Joseph's insincerity, upon whom he even depended to help along the negotiation, he might well have taken counsel of his fears; but the great real estate dealer enjoyed driving a good bargain, and so he argued and held aloof, professing that the United States "had no disposition to extend across the river;" that they "would be perfectly satisfied with New Orleans and the Floridas;" that they "could not give any great sum for the purchase;" that "it was vain to ask anything so greatly beyond our means;" that "true policy would dictate to the First Consul not to press such a demand," since "he must know the payment of such a sum would render the present government unpopular." He minimized the importance of the deal, describing West Florida as "barren sands and sunken marshes," and New Orleans as "a small town built of wood, of about seven thousand souls," a territory "only valuable to the United States because it contained the mouths of some of their rivers," going so far as to venture a prophecy that "an emigrant would not cross the Mississippi in a hundred years;" yet, throughout weeks of dickering, he never surrendered his purpose to buy whether the price be cheapened or not.