“Bless me, my sweetheart, you must give it to her in a little satin box wrapped round a fan. You must say, ‘Here, madame, is a fan which I hope may be to your taste.’—You are supposed to be a Turcaret, and you will become a Beaujon.”
“Charming, charming!” cried the Baron. “I shall be so clever henceforth.—Yes, I shall repeat your vorts.”
Just as Esther had sat down, tired with the effort of playing her part, Europe came in.
“Madame,” said she, “here is a messenger sent from the Quai Malaquais by Celestin, M. Lucien’s servant——”
“Bring him in—no, I will go into the ante-room.”
“He has a letter for you, madame, from Celestin.”
Esther rushed into the ante-room, looked at the messenger, and saw that he looked like the genuine thing.
“Tell him to come down,” said Esther, in a feeble voice and dropping into a chair after reading the letter. “Lucien means to kill himself,” she added in a whisper to Europe. “No, take the letter up to him.”
Carlos Herrera, still in his disguise as a bagman, came downstairs at once, and keenly scrutinized the messenger on seeing a stranger in the ante-room.
“You said there was no one here,” said he in a whisper to Europe.