"
"You are not a physician, I suppose?" said the Jewish doctor, with a
singular grimace which made his face appear more wicked than it really
was.
"If the Baron de Nucingen sent word that he was ill and wanted you to
visit him, would you reply, 'Let him come here to me'?"
"I should go to him," said the Jew, coldly, spitting into a Dutch pot
made of mahogany and full of sand.
"You would go," said Godefroid, gently, "because the Baron de Nucingen
has two millions a year, and--"
"The rest has nothing to do with the matter; I should go."
"Well, monsieur, you must go to the lady on the boulevard du
Mont-Parnasse for the same reason. Without possessing the fortune of the
Baron du Nucingen, I am here to tell you that you may yourself put a
price upon this lady's cure, or upon your attendance if you fail; I am
ready to pay it in advance. But perhaps, monsieur, as you are a Polish
refugee and, I believe, a communist, the lady's parentage may induce
you to make a sacrifice to Poland. She is the granddaughter of Colonel
Tarlowski, the friend of Poniatowski."
"Monsieur, you came here to ask me to cure that lady, and not to give
me advice. In Poland I am a Pole; in Paris I am Parisian. Every man
does good in his own way; the greed with which I am credited is not
without its motive. The wealth I am amassing has its destination; it
is a sacred one.
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