Eugene’s maiden conscience resisted; but when the Baroness said, “I am bound to look on you as an accomplice or as an enemy,” he took the money.
“It shall be a last stake in reserve,” he said, “in case of misfortune.”
“That was what I was dreading to hear,” she cried, turning pale. “Oh, if you would that I should be anything to you, swear to me that you will never re-enter a gaming-house. Great Heaven! that I should corrupt you! I should die of sorrow!”
They had reached the Rue Saint-Lazare by this time. The contrast between the ostentation of wealth in the house, and the wretched condition of its mistress, dazed the student; and Vautrin’s cynical words began to ring in his ears.
“Seat yourself there,” said the Baroness, pointing to a low chair beside the fire. “I have a difficult letter to write,” she added. “Tell me what to say.”
“Say nothing,” Eugene answered her. “Put the bills in an envelope, direct it, and send it by your maid.”
“Why, you are a love of a man,” she said. “Ah! see what it is to have been well brought up. That is the Beauseant through and through,” she went on, smiling at him.
“She is charming,” thought Eugene, more and more in love. He looked round him at the room; there was an ostentatious character about the luxury, a meretricious taste in the splendor.
“Do you like it?” she asked, as she rang for the maid.
“Therese, take this to M. de Marsay, and give it into his hands yourself. If he is not at home, bring the letter back to me.”