“Oh!” said the Comte de Brambourg, “she very well may. She is with my friend the Baron de Nucingen—I will go——”
“Is that the immaculate Joan of Arc who has taken Nucingen by storm, and who has been talked of till we are all sick of her, these three months past?” asked Mariette.
“Good-evening, my dear Baron,” said Philippe Bridau, as he went into Nucingen’s box. “So here you are, married to Mademoiselle Esther.—Mademoiselle, I am an old officer whom you once on a time were to have got out of a scrape—at Issoudun—Philippe Bridau——”
“I know nothing of it,” said Esther, looking round the house through her opera-glasses.
“Dis lady,” said the Baron, “is no longer known as ‘Esther’ so short! She is called Montame de Champy—ein little estate vat I have bought for her——”
“Though you do things in such style,” said the Comte, “these ladies are saying that Madame de Champy gives herself too great airs.—If you do not choose to remember me, will you condescend to recognize Mariette, Tullia, Madame du Val-Noble?” the parvenu went on—a man for whom the Duc de Maufrigneuse had won the Dauphin’s favor.
“If these ladies are kind to me, I am willing to make myself pleasant to them,” replied Madame de Champy drily.
“Kind! Why, they are excellent; they have named you Joan of Arc,” replied Philippe.
“Vell den, if dese ladies vill keep you company,” said Nucingen, “I shall go ‘vay, for I hafe eaten too much. Your carriage shall come for you and your people.—Dat teufel Asie!”
“The first time, and you leave me alone!” said Esther. “Come, come, you must have courage enough to die on deck. I must have my man with me as I go out. If I were insulted, am I to cry out for nothing?”