Josepha, bored to death by
it all, tried to change the subject.
"You are talking of what you know nothing about. Is there a man among
you who ever loved a woman--a woman beneath him--enough to squander
his fortune and his children's, to sacrifice his future and blight his
past, to risk going to the hulks for robbing the Government, to kill
an uncle and a brother, to let his eye be so effectually blinded that
he did not even perceive that it was done to hinder his seeing the
abyss into which, as a crowning jest, he was being driven? Du Tillet
has a cash-box under his left breast; Leon de Lora has his wit; Bixiou
would laugh at himself for a fool if he loved any one but himself;
Massol has a minister's portfolio in the place of a heart; Lousteau
can have nothing but viscera, since he could endure to be thrown over
by Madame de Baudraye; Monsieur le Duc is too rich to prove his love
by his ruin; Vauvinet is not in it--I do not regard a bill-broker as
one of the human race; and you have never loved, nor I, nor Jenny
Cadine, nor Malaga. For my part, I never but once even saw the
phenomenon I have described. It was," and she turned to Jenny Cadine,
"that poor Baron Hulot, whom I am going to advertise for like a lost
dog, for I want to find him."
"Oh, ho!" said Carabine to herself, and looking keenly at Josepha,
"then Madame Nourrisson has two pictures by Raphael, since Josepha is
playing my hand!"
"Poor fellow," said Vauvinet, "he was a great man! Magnificent! And
what a figure, what a style, the air of Francis I.
Pages:
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527