I was about to make a dignified reply when he literally threw the next words at me: “Name your price, and I will pay it!” he said.
What could I do, save to raise my shoulders in token that the matter of money was one of supreme indifference to me, and my eyebrows in a manner of doubt that M. Charles Saurez had the means wherewith to repay my valuable services? By way of a rejoinder he took out from the inner pocket of his coat a greasy letter-case, and with his exceedingly grimy fingers extracted therefrom some twenty banknotes, which a hasty glance on my part revealed as representing a couple of hundred francs.
“I will give you this as a retaining fee,” he said, “if you will undertake the work I want you to do; and I will double the amount when you have carried the work out successfully.”
Four hundred francs! It was not lavish, it was perhaps not altogether the price I would have named, but it was very good, these hard times. You understand? We were all very poor in France in that year 1815 of which I speak.
I am always quite straightforward when I am dealing with a client who means business. I pushed aside the litter of papers in front of me, leaned my elbows upon my desk, rested my chin in my hands, and said briefly:
“M. Charles Saurez, I listen!”
He drew his chair a little closer and dropped his voice almost to a whisper.
“You know the Chancellerie of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs?” he asked.
“Perfectly,” I replied.
“You know M. de Marsan’s private office? He is chief secretary to M. de Talleyrand.”