“The hussy is right!” said she. “Why do you try to buy love? Is it to be bought in the market!—Let me see your letter to her.”
The Baron gave her sundry rough drafts he had made; Madame de Nucingen read them, and smiled. Then came Esther’s third letter.
“She is a wonderful girl!” cried the Baroness, when she had read it.
“Vat shall I do, montame?” asked the Baron of his wife.
“Wait.”
“Wait? But nature is pitiless!” he cried.
“Look here, my dear, you have been admirably kind to me,” said Delphine; “I will give you some good advice.”
“You are a ver’ goot voman,” said he. “Ven you hafe any debts I shall pay.”
“Your state on receiving these letters touches a woman far more than the spending of millions, or than all the letters you could write, however fine they may be. Try to let her know it, indirectly; perhaps she will be yours! And—have no scruples, she will not die of that,” added she, looking keenly at her husband.
But Madame de Nucingen knew nothing whatever of the nature of such women.