“A woman of the world?” asked Lucien. “Nay,” said de Marsay. “The Baron would not grow so thin but for a hopeless love, and he has money enough to buy all the women who will or can sell themselves!” “I do not know who she it,” said the Baron. “And as Motame de Nucingen is inside de trawing-room, I may say so, dat till now I have nefer known what it is to lof. Lof! I tink it is to grow tin.” “And where did you meet this innocent daisy?” asked Rastignac. “In a carriage, at mitnight, in de forest of Fincennes.” “Describe her,” said de Marsay. “A vhite gaze hat, a rose gown, a vhite scharf, a vhite feil--a face just out of de Biple. Eyes like Feuer, an Eastern color----” “You were dreaming,” said Lucien, with a smile. “Dat is true; I vas shleeping like a pig--a pig mit his shkin full,” he added, “for I vas on my vay home from tinner at mine friend’s----” “Was she alone?” said du Tillet, interrupting him. “Ja,” said the Baron dolefully; “but she had ein heiduque behind dat carriage and a maid-shervant----” “Lucien looks as if he knew her,” exclaimed Rastignac, seeing Esther’s lover smile. “Who doesn’t know the woman who would go out at midnight to meet Nucingen?” said Lucien, turning on his heel. “Well, she is not a woman who is seen in society, or the Baron would have recognized the man,” said the Chevalier d’Espard. “I have nefer seen him,” replied the Baron. “And for forty days now I have had her seeked for by de Police, and dey do not find her.” “It is better that she should cost you a few hundred francs than cost you your life,” said Desplein; “and, at your age, a passion without hope is dangerous, you might die of it.” “Ja, ja,” replied the Baron, addressing Desplein. “And vat I eat does me no goot, de air I breade feels to choke me. I go to de forest of Fincennes to see de place vat I see her--and dat is all my life. I could not tink of de last loan--I trust to my partners vat haf pity on me. I could pay one million franc to see dat voman--and I should gain by dat, for I do nothing on de Bourse.--Ask du Tillet.” “Very true,” replied du Tillet; “he hates business; he is quite unlike himself; it is a sign of death.” “A sign of lof,” replied Nucingen; “and for me, dat is all de same ting.” The simple candor of the old man, no longer the stock-jobber, who, for the first time in his life, saw that something was more sacred and more precious than gold, really moved these world-hardened men; some exchanged smiles; other looked at Nucingen with an expression that plainly said, “Such a man to have come to this!”--And then they all returned to the drawing-room, talking over the event. For it was indeed an event calculated to produce the greatest sensation. Madame de Nucingen went into fits of laughter when Lucien betrayed her husband’s secret; but the Baron, when he heard his wife’s sarcasms, took her by the arm and led her into the recess of a window.