Elena smiled once more, but this time there was something cruel about the curl of her lips.
“I can show you a great many documents as interesting as those. But you are a man, and men are supposed to provide money in their homes so that their wives needn’t suffer.... How am I to pay my debts if you don’t help me?”
He looked at her with something like fear in his eyes.
“I have given you such a lot of money! But everything that falls into your hands vanishes like smoke.”
Elena’s voice was hard as she replied:
“You aren’t going to pretend that a woman of my position, or of my appearance—since people will mention it—should live in a shabby sort of way? When a man’s vanity gets so much satisfaction out of having a wife like me, he ought to bring home money by the million.”
It was the Marquis’s turn to be offended, and Elena, aware of the effect of her words, suddenly changed her manner, smiled, and came close enough to be able to put her hands on Federico’s shoulders.
“Why don’t you write to the old lady, Federico? Perhaps she can send us some money, she can sell an heirloom or something....”
The tone of these words only added to her husband’s irritation.
“The person you mention is my mother, and I wish you would speak of her as such. As to money, she can’t send us any more.”