“Oh yes. I expect to pay dear for your honesty. In business dat is vat ve call curiosity.”
“And that is not everything,” Europe went on. “If you should not take madame’s fancy—and that is on the cards—she would be angry, and I am done for!—and my place is worth a thousand francs a year.”
“De capital to make ein tousant franc is twenty tousand franc; and if I shall gif you dat, you shall not lose noting.”
“Well, to be sure, if that is the tone you take about it, my worthy old fellow,” said Europe, “that is quite another story.—Where is the money?”
“Here,” replied the Baron, holding up the banknotes, one at a time.
He noted the flash struck by each in turn from Europe’s eyes, betraying the greed he had counted on.
“That pays for my place, but how about my principles, my conscience?” said Europe, cocking her crafty little nose and giving the Baron a serio-comic leer.
“Your conscience shall not be pait for so much as your place; but I shall say fife tousand franc more,” said he adding five thousand-franc notes.
“No, no. Twenty thousand for my conscience, and five thousand for my place if I lose it——”
“Yust vat you please,” said he, adding the five notes. “But to earn dem you shall hite me in your lady’s room by night ven she shall be ‘lone.”