And you, with all your airs will put folks on my traces.
What did I require of you?
— To be La Torpille again for six months — for six weeks; and to do it to clutch a million. “Lucien will never forget you.
Men do not forget the being of whom they are reminded day after day by the joy of awaking rich every morning.
Lucien is a better fellow than you are. He began by loving Coralie. She died — good; but he had not enough money to bury her; he did not do as you did just now, he did not faint, though he is a poet; he wrote six rollicking songs, and earned three hundred francs, with which he paid for Coralie’s funeral.
I have those songs; I know them by heart.
Well, then do you too compose your songs: be cheerful, be wild, be irresistible and — insatiable!
You hear me?
— Do not let me have to speak again. “Kiss papa.
Good-bye.”
When, half an hour after, Europe went into her mistress’ room, she found her kneeling in front of a crucifix, in the attitude which the most religious of painters has given to Moses before the burning bush on Horeb, to depict his deep and complete adoration of Jehovah.
After saying her prayers, Esther had renounced her better life, the honor she had created for herself, her glory, her virtue, and her love.
She rose.
“Oh, madame, you will never look like that again!” cried Prudence Servien, struck by her mistress’ sublime beauty.
She hastily turned the long mirror so that the poor girl should see herself.
Her eyes still had a light as of the soul flying heavenward.
The Jewess’ complexion was brilliant.
Sparkling with tears unshed in the fervor of prayer, her eyelashes were like leaves after a summer shower, for the last time they shone with the sunshine of pure love.
Her lips seemed to preserve an expression as of her last appeal to the angels, whose palm of martyrdom she had no doubt borrowed while placing in their hands her past unspotted life.
And she had the majesty which Mary Stuart must have shown at the moment when she bid adieu to her crown, to earth, and to love.
“I wish Lucien could have seen me thus!” she said with a smothered sigh. “Now,” she added, in a strident tone, “now for a fling!”
Europe stood dumb at hearing the words, as though she had heard an angel blaspheme.
“Well, why need you stare at me to see if I have cloves in my mouth instead of teeth?
I am nothing henceforth but a vile, foul creature, a thief — and I expect milord.
So get me a hot bath, and put my dress out.
It is twelve o’clock; the Baron will look in, no doubt, when the Bourse closes; I shall tell him I was waiting for him, and Asie is to prepare us dinner, first-chop, mind you; I mean to turn the man’s brain. — Come, hurry, hurry, my girl; we are going to have some fun — that is to say, we must go to work.”
She sat down at the table and wrote the following note:—
“MY FRIEND— If the cook you have sent me had not already been in my service, I might have thought that your purpose was to let me know how often you had fainted yesterday on receiving my three notes. (What can I say?
I was very nervous that day; I was thinking over the memories of my miserable existence.) But I know how sincere Asie is.
Still, I cannot repent of having caused you so much pain, since it has availed to prove to me how much you love me.
This is how we are made, we luckless and despised creatures; true affection touches us far more deeply than finding ourselves the objects of lavish liberality.
For my part, I have always rather dreaded being a peg on which you would hang your vanities.
It annoyed me to be nothing else to you.
Yes, in spite of all your protestations, I fancied you regarded me merely as a woman paid for.
“Well, you will now find me a good girl, but on condition of your always obeying me a little.
“If this letter can in any way take the place of the doctor’s prescription, prove it by coming to see me after the Bourse closes.
You will find me in full fig, dressed in your gifts, for I am for life your pleasure-machine,
“ESTHER.”
At the Bourse the Baron de Nucingen was so gay, so cheerful, seemed so easy-going, and allowed himself so many jests, that du Tillet and the Kellers, who were on ‘change, could not help asking him the reason of his high spirits.
“I am belofed. Ve shall soon gife dat house-varming,” he told du Tillet.
“And how much does it cost you?” asked Francois Keller rudely — it was said that he had spent twenty-five thousand francs a year on Madame Colleville.
“Dat voman is an anchel! She never has ask’ me for one sou.”
“They never do,” replied du Tillet. “And it is to avoid asking that they have always aunts or mothers.”
Between the Bourse and the Rue Taitbout seven times did the Baron say to his servant:
“You go so slow — vip de horse!”
He ran lightly upstairs, and for the first time he saw his mistress in all the beauty of such women, who have no other occupation than the care of their person and their dress.
Just out of her bath the flower was quite fresh, and perfumed so as to inspire desire in Robert d’Arbrissel.
Esther was in a charming toilette. A dress of black corded silk trimmed with rose-colored gimp opened over a petticoat of gray satin, the costume subsequently worn by Amigo, the handsome singer, in I Puritani.
A Honiton lace kerchief fell or floated over her shoulders.
The sleeves of her gown were strapped round with cording to divide the puffs, which for some little time fashion has substituted for the large sleeves which had grown too monstrous.