“Yes, she must be a well-bred woman. It looks to me as if there were no mistakes in spelling here.”
The count gathered up the letters hastily and gave them to his wife, who took them to a table as if to see that they were all there.
“Now,” said Vandenesse to Florine, “will you let me have those letters for these?” showing her five bank-bills of ten thousand francs each. “They’ll replace the sums you have paid for him.”
“Ah!” cried Florine, “didn’t I kill myself body and soul in the provinces to get him money,—I, who’d have cut my hand off to serve him? But that’s men! damn your soul for them and they’ll march over you rough-shod! He shall pay me for this!”
Madame de Vandenesse was disappearing with the letters.
“Hi! stop, stop, my fine mask!” cried Florine; “leave me one to confound him with.”
“Not possible,” said Vandenesse.
“Why not?”
“That mask is your ex-rival; but you needn’t fear her now.”
“Well, she might have had the grace to say thank you,” cried Florine.