"What a fool I am!" said Florine; "his razor will do better."
She fetched one of Nathan's razors from his dressing-table, and slit
the leather cover of the portfolio, through which Marie's letters
dropped. Florine snatched one up hap-hazard, and looked it over.
"Yes, she must be a well-bred woman. It looks to me as if there were
no mistakes in spelling here."
The count gathered up the letters hastily and gave them to his wife,
who took them to a table as if to see that they were all there.
"Now," said Vandenesse to Florine, "will you let me have those letters
for these?" showing her five bank-bills of ten thousand francs each.
"They'll replace the sums you have paid for him."
"Ah!" cried Florine, "didn't I kill myself body and soul in the
provinces to get him money,--I, who'd have cut my hand off to serve
him? But that's men! damn your soul for them and they'll march over
you rough-shod! He shall pay me for this!"
Madame de Vandenesse was disappearing with the letters.
"Hi! stop, stop, my fine mask!" cried Florine; "leave me one to
confound him with."
"Not possible," said Vandenesse.
"Why not?"
"That mask is your ex-rival; but you needn't fear her now."
"Well, she might have had the grace to say thank you," cried Florine.
"But you have the fifty thousand francs instead," said Vandenesse,
bowing to her.
It is extremely rare for young men, when driven to suicide, to attempt
it a second time if the first fails.
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