“My poor Fritz, I have tried you sorely,” said she. “I have teased you shamefully. Your patience has been sublime. You loved me, I see, and I will reward you. I like you now, I do not know how it is, but I should prefer you to a young man. It is the result of experience perhaps.--In the long run we discover at last that pleasure is the coin of the soul; and it is not more flattering to be loved for the sake of pleasure than it is to be loved for the sake of money. “Besides, young men are too selfish; they think more of themselves than of us; while you, now, think only of me. I am all your life to you. And I will take nothing more from you. I want to prove to you how disinterested I am.” “Vy, I hafe gifen you notink,” cried the Baron, enchanted. “I propose to gife you to-morrow tirty tousant francs a year in a Government bond. Dat is mein vedding gift.” Esther kissed the Baron so sweetly that he turned pale without any pills. “Oh!” cried she, “do not suppose that I am sweet to you only for your thirty thousand francs! It is because--now--I love you, my good, fat Frederic.” “Ach, mein Gott! Vy hafe you kept me vaiting? I might hafe been so happy all dese tree monts.” “In three or in five per cents, my pet?” said Esther, passing her fingers through Nucingen’s hair, and arranging it in a fashion of her own. “In trees--I hat a quantity.” So next morning the Baron brought the certificate of shares; he came to breakfast with his dear little girl, and to take her orders for the following evening, the famous Saturday, the great day! “Here, my little vife, my only vife,” said the banker gleefully, his face radiant with happiness. “Here is enough money to pay for your keep for de rest of your days.” Esther took the paper without the slightest excitement, folded it up, and put it in her dressing-table drawer. “So now you are quite happy, you monster of iniquity!” said she, giving Nucingen a little slap on the cheek, “now that I have at last accepted a present from you. I can no longer tell you home-truths, for I share the fruit of what you call your labors. This is not a gift, my poor old boy, it is restitution.--Come, do not put on your Bourse face. You know that I love you.” “My lofely Esther, mein anchel of lofe,” said the banker, “do not speak to me like dat. I tell you, I should not care ven all de vorld took me for a tief, if you should tink me ein honest man.--I lofe you every day more and more.” “That is my intention,” said Esther. “And I will never again say anything to distress you, my pet elephant, for you are grown as artless as a baby. Bless me, you old rascal, you have never known any innocence; the allowance bestowed on you when you came into the world was bound to come to the top some day; but it was buried so deep that it is only now reappearing at the age of sixty-six. Fished up by love’s barbed hook.--This phenomenon is seen in old men.