Nucingen did not gamble, Nucingen did not patronize the Arts, Nucingen had no hobby; thus he flung himself into his passion for Esther with a headlong blindness, on which Carlos Herrera had confidently counted.

After his breakfast, the Baron sent for Georges, his body-servant, and desired him to go to the Rue Taitbout and ask Mademoiselle Eugenie, Madame van Bogseck’s maid, to come to his office on a matter of importance.

“You shall look out for her,” he added, “an’ make her valk up to my room, and tell her I shall make her fortune.”

Georges had the greatest difficulty in persuading Europe-Eugenie to come.

“Madame never lets me go out,” said she; “I might lose my place,” and so forth; and Georges sang her praises loudly to the Baron, who gave him ten louis.

“If madame goes out without her this evening,” said Georges to his master, whose eyes glowed like carbuncles, “she will be here by ten o’clock.”

“Goot.  You shall come to dress me at nine o’clock—­and do my hair.  I shall look so goot as possible.  I belief I shall really see dat mistress—­or money is not money any more.”

The Baron spent an hour, from noon till one, in dyeing his hair and whiskers.  At nine in the evening, having taken a bath before dinner, he made a toilet worthy of a bridegroom and scented himself—­a perfect Adonis.  Madame de Nucingen, informed of this metamorphosis, gave herself the treat of inspecting her husband.

“Good heavens!” cried she, “what a ridiculous figure!  Do, at least, put on a black satin stock instead of that white neckcloth which makes your whiskers look so black; besides, it is so ‘Empire,’ quite the old fogy.  You look like some super-annuated parliamentary counsel.  And take off these diamond buttons; they are worth a hundred thousand francs apiece—­that slut will ask you for them, and you will not be able to refuse her; and if a baggage is to have them, I may as well wear them as earrings.”

The unhappy banker, struck by the wisdom of his wife’s reflections, obeyed reluctantly.

“Ridikilous, ridikilous!  I hafe never telt you dat you shall be ridikilous when you dressed yourself so smart to see your little Mensieur de Rastignac!”

“I should hope that you never saw me make myself ridiculous.  Am I the woman to make such blunders in the first syllable of my dress?  Come, turn about.  Button your coat up to the neck, all but the two top buttons, as the Duc de Maufrigneuse does.  In short, try to look young.”

“Monsieur,” said Georges, “here is Mademoiselle Eugenie.”

“Adie, motame,” said the banker, and he escorted his wife as far as her own rooms, to make sure that she should not overhear their conference.

On his return, he took Europe by the hand and led her into his room with a sort of ironical respect.

“Vell, my chilt, you are a happy creature, for you are de maid of dat most beautiful voman in de vorlt.  And your fortune shall be made if you vill talk to her for me and in mine interests.”