“Verever I please!” he echoed in rapture.  “You are ein anchel from de sky, and I lofe you more as if I was a little man, vile I hafe gray hairs——­”

“You had better say white, for they are too fine a black to be only gray,” said Asie.

“Get out, foul dealer in human flesh!  You hafe got your moneys; do not slobber no more on dis flower of lofe!” cried the banker, indemnifying himself by this violent abuse for all the insolence he had submitted to.

“You old rip!  I will pay you out for that speech!” said Asie, threatening the banker with a gesture worthy of the Halle, at which the Baron merely shrugged his shoulders.  “Between the lip of the pot and that of the guzzler there is often a viper, and you will find me there!” she went on, furious at Nucingen’s contempt.

Millionaires, whose money is guarded by the Bank of France, whose mansions are guarded by a squad of footmen, whose person in the streets is safe behind the rampart of a coach with swift English horses, fear no ill; so the Baron looked calmly at Asie, as a man who had just given her a hundred thousand francs.

This dignity had its effect.  Asie beat a retreat, growling down the stairs in highly revolutionary language; she spoke of the guillotine!

“What have you said to her?” asked the Madonna a la broderie, “for she is a good soul.”

“She hafe solt you, she hafe robbed you——­”

“When we are beggared,” said she, in a tone to rend the heart of a diplomate, “who has ever any money or consideration for us?”

“Poor leetle ting!” said Nucingen.  “Do not stop here ein moment longer.”

The Baron offered her his arm; he led her away just as she was, and put her into his carriage with more respect perhaps than he would have shown to the handsome Duchesse de Maufrigneuse.

“You shall hafe a fine carriage, de prettiest carriage in Paris,” said Nucingen, as they drove along.  “Everyting dat luxury shall sopply shall be for you.  Not any qveen shall be more rich dan vat you shall be.  You shall be respected like ein Cherman Braut.  I shall hafe you to be free.—­Do not veep!  Listen to me—­I lofe you really, truly, mit de purest lofe.  Efery tear of yours breaks my heart.”

“Can one truly love a woman one has bought?” said the poor girl in the sweetest tones.

“Choseph vas solt by his broders for dat he was so comely.  Dat is so in de Biple.  An’ in de Eastern lants men buy deir wifes.”

On arriving at the Rue Taitbout, Esther could not return to the scene of her happiness without some pain.  She remained sitting on a couch, motionless, drying away her tears one by one, and never hearing a word of the crazy speeches poured out by the banker.  He fell at her feet, and she let him kneel without saying a word to him, allowing him to take her hands as he would, and never thinking of the sex of the creature who was rubbing her feet to warm them; for Nucingen found that they were cold.