deposited at interest."

"You are right, mein anchel; you know the vorld," he replied. "You shall
be mein adfiser."

"Well, you see," said Esther, "how I study my man's interest, his
position and honor.--Go at once and bring those fifty thousand francs."

She wanted to get rid of Monsieur de Nucingen so as to get a stockbroker
to sell the bond that very afternoon.

"But vy dis minute?" asked he.

"Bless me, my sweetheart, you must give it to her in a little satin box
wrapped round a fan. You must say, 'Here, madame, is a fan which I hope
may be to your taste.'--You are supposed to be a Turcaret, and you will
become a Beaujon."

"Charming, charming!" cried the Baron. "I shall be so clever
henceforth.--Yes, I shall repeat your vorts."

Just as Esther had sat down, tired with the effort of playing her part,
Europe came in.

"Madame," said she, "here is a messenger sent from the Quai Malaquais by
Celestin, M. Lucien's servant----"

"Bring him in--no, I will go into the ante-room."

"He has a letter for you, madame, from Celestin."

Esther rushed into the ante-room, looked at the messenger, and saw that
he looked like the genuine thing.

"Tell _him_ to come down," said Esther, in a feeble voice and dropping
into a chair after reading the letter. "Lucien means to kill himself,"
she added in a whisper to Europe. "No, take the letter up to him."

Carlos Herrera, still in his disguise as a bagman, came downstairs at
once, and keenly scrutinized the messenger on seeing a stranger in the
ante-room.

"You said there was no one here," said he in a whisper to Europe.

And with an excess of prudence, after looking at the messenger, he went
straight into the drawing-room. _Trompe-la-Mort_ did not know that
for some time past the famous constable of the detective force who had
arrested him at the Maison Vauquer had a rival, who, it was supposed,
would replace him. This rival was the messenger.

"They are right," said the sham messenger to Contenson, who was waiting
for him in the street. "The man you describe is in the house; but he is
not a Spaniard, and I will burn my hand off if there is not a bird for
our net under that priest's gown."

"He is no more a priest than he is a Spaniard," said Contenson.

"I am sure of that," said the detective.

"Oh, if only we were right!" said Contenson.

Lucien had been away for two days, and advantage had been taken of
his absence to lay this snare, but he returned this eve