“Oh!—Thank you so much, you will introduce me to Sir Baronet?” said Peyrade with an extravagant English accent.
“Yes,” said she, “you must give me the pleasure of your company at supper. There is no pitch stronger than champagne for sticking men together. It seals every kind of business, above all such as you put your foot in.—Come this evening; you will find some jolly fellows.—As for you, my little Frederic,” she added in the Baron’s ear, “you have your carriage here—just drive to the Rue Saint-Georges and bring Europe to me here; I have a few words to say to her about the supper. I have caught Lucien; he will bring two men who will be fun.—We will draw the Englishman,” she whispered to Madame du Val-Noble.
Peyrade and the Baron left the women together.
“Oh, my dear, if you ever succeed in drawing that great brute, you will be clever indeed,” said Suzanne.
“If it proves impossible, you must lend him to me for a week,” replied Esther, laughing.
“You would but keep him half a day,” replied Madame du Val-Noble. “The bread I eat is too hard; it breaks my teeth. Never again, to my dying day, will I try to make an Englishman happy. They are all cold and selfish—pigs on their hind legs.”
“What, no consideration?” said Esther with a smile.
“On the contrary, my dear, the monster has never shown the least familiarity.”
“Under no circumstances whatever?” asked Esther.
“The wretch always addresses me as Madame, and preserves the most perfect coolness imaginable at moments when every man is more or less amenable. To him love-making!—on my word, it is nothing more nor less than shaving himself. He wipes the razor, puts it back in its case, and looks in the glass as if he were saying, ‘I have not cut myself!’