“Vy, I hafe gifen you notink,” cried the Baron, enchanted. “I propose to gife you to-morrow tirty tousant francs a year in a Government bond. Dat is mein vedding gift.”
Esther kissed the Baron so sweetly that he turned pale without any pills.
“Oh!” cried she, “do not suppose that I am sweet to you only for your thirty thousand francs! It is because—now—I love you, my good, fat Frederic.”
“Ach, mein Gott! Vy hafe you kept me vaiting? I might hafe been so happy all dese tree monts.”
“In three or in five per cents, my pet?” said Esther, passing her fingers through Nucingen’s hair, and arranging it in a fashion of her own.
“In trees—I hat a quantity.”
So next morning the Baron brought the certificate of shares; he came to breakfast with his dear little girl, and to take her orders for the following evening, the famous Saturday, the great day!
“Here, my little vife, my only vife,” said the banker gleefully, his face radiant with happiness. “Here is enough money to pay for your keep for de rest of your days.”
Esther took the paper without the slightest excitement, folded it up, and put it in her dressing-table drawer.
“So now you are quite happy, you monster of iniquity!” said she, giving Nucingen a little slap on the cheek, “now that I have at last accepted a present from you. I can no longer tell you home-truths, for I share the fruit of what you call your labors. This is not a gift, my poor old boy, it is restitution.—Come, do not put on your Bourse face. You know that I love you.”