"I will come to-morrow and talk with Eugenie."
"To-morrow?" said the banker. "No; Madame du Tillet dines to-morrow
with a future peer of France, the Baron de Nucingen, who is to leave
me his place in the Chamber of Deputies."
"Then permit her to join me in my box at the Opera," said the
countess, without even glancing at her sister, so much did she fear
that Eugenie's candor would betray them.
"She has her own box, madame," said du Tillet, nettled.
"Very good; then I will go to hers," replied the countess.
"It will be the first time you have done us that honor," said du
Tillet.
The countess felt the sting of that reproach, and began to laugh.
"Well, never mind; you shall not be made to pay anything this time.
Adieu, my darling."
"She is an insolent woman," said du Tillet, picking up the flowers
that had fallen on the carpet. "You ought," he said to his wife, "to
study Madame de Vandenesse. I'd like to see you before the world as
insolent and overbearing as your sister has just been here. You have a
silly, bourgeois air which I detest."
Eugenie raised her eyes to heaven as her only answer.
"Ah ca, madame! what have you both been talking of?" said the banker,
after a pause, pointing to the flowers. "What has happened to make
your sister so anxious all of a sudden to go to your opera-box?"
The poor helot endeavored to escape questioning on the score of
sleepiness, and turned to go into her dressing-room to prepare for the
night; but du Tillet took her by the arm and brought her back under
the full light of the wax-candles which were burning in two
silver-gilt sconces between fragrant nosegays.
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