The Baron was standing up, and held the door-knob in his hand.
“Here, Nucingen,” said Esther, with an imperious gesture.
The Baron bent over her with dog-like devotion.
“Do you want to see me very sweet, and giving you sugar-and-water, and petting you in my house, this very evening, old monster?”
“You shall break my heart!”
“Break your heart—you mean bore you,” she went on. “Well, bring me Lucien that I may invite him to our Belshazzar’s feast, and you may be sure he will not fail to come. If you succeed in that little transaction, I will tell you that I love you, my fat Frederic, in such plain terms that you cannot but believe me.”
“You are an enchantress,” said the Baron, kissing Esther’s glove. “I should be villing to listen to abuse for ein hour if alvays der vas a kiss at de ent of it.”
“But if I am not obeyed, I——” and she threatened the Baron with her finger as we threaten children.
The Baron raised his head like a bird caught in a springe and imploring the trapper’s pity.
“Dear Heaven! What ails Lucien?” said she to herself when she was alone, making no attempt to check her falling tears; “I never saw him so sad.”