“Go ‘vay,” said Nucingen, dismissing his secretary with a wave of the hand. “Why should this man live in a mansion and I in a lodging?” wondered Contenson to himself. “He has dodged his creditors three times; he has robbed them; I never stole a farthing; I am a cleverer fellow than he is----” “Contenson, mein freund,” said the Baron, “you haf vat you call pleed me of one tousand-franc note.” “My girl owed God and the devil----” “Vat, you haf a girl, a mistress!” cried Nucingen, looking at Contenson with admiration not unmixed with envy. “I am but sixty-six,” replied Contenson, as a man whom vice has kept young as a bad example. “And vat do she do?” “She helps me,” said Contenson. “When a man is a thief, and an honest woman loves him, either she becomes a thief or he becomes an honest man. I have always been a spy.” “And you vant money--alvays?” asked Nucingen. “Always,” said Contenson, with a smile. “It is part of my business to want money, as it is yours to make it; we shall easily come to an understanding. You find me a little, and I will undertake to spend it. You shall be the well, and I the bucket.” “Vould you like to haf one note for fife hundert franc?” “What a question! But what a fool I am!--You do not offer it out of a disinterested desire to repair the slights of Fortune?” “Not at all. I gif it besides the one tousand-franc note vat you pleed me off. Dat makes fifteen hundert franc vat I gif you.” “Very good, you give me the thousand francs I have had and you will add five hundred francs.” “Yust so,” said Nucingen, nodding. “But that still leaves only five hundred francs,” said Contenson imperturbably. “Dat I gif,” added the Baron. “That I take. Very good; and what, Monsieur le Baron, do you want for it?” “I haf been told dat dere vas in Paris one man vat could find the voman vat I lof, and dat you know his address.... A real master to spy.” “Very true.” “Vell den, gif me dat address, and I gif you fife hundert franc.” “Where are they?” said Contenson. “Here dey are,” said the Baron, drawing a note out of his pocket. “All right, hand them over,” said Contenson, holding out his hand. “Noting for noting! Le us see de man, and you get de money; you might sell to me many address at dat price.” Contenson began to laugh. “To be sure, you have a right to think that of me,” said he, with an air of blaming himself. “The more rascally our business is, the more honesty is necessary. But look here, Monsieur le Baron, make it six hundred, and I will give you a bit of advice.” “Gif it, and trust to my generosity.”