put me in mind of a dingy old mirror, such as you see in country inns.
The glass receives every luminous image without reflecting the light,
and a traveler bold enough to look for his face in it beholds a man in
an apoplectic fit.

"'Well?' asked the Count, clapping Gobseck on the shoulder.

"The old boy trembled. He put down his playthings on his bureau, took
his seat, and was a money-lender once more--hard, cold, and polished
as a marble column.

"'How much do you want?'

"'One hundred thousand francs for three years,' said the Count.

"'That is possible,' said Gobseck, and then from a mahogany box
(Gobseck's jewel-case) he drew out a faultlessly adjusted pair of
scales!

"He weighed the diamonds, calculating the value of stones and setting
at sight (Heaven knows how!), delight and severity struggling in the
expression of his face the meanwhile. The Countess had plunged in a
kind of stupor; to me, watching her, it seemed that she was fathoming
the depths of the abyss into which she had fallen. There was remorse
still left in that woman's soul. Perhaps a hand held out in human
charity might save her. I would try.

"'Are the diamonds your personal property, madame?' I asked in a
clear voice.