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"But the chewels will be welcome, my fat burglar friend." "You shall know him. Goot night, motame. You are a tidbit for ein king; but I am only a poor banker more dan sixty year olt, and you hafe made me feel vat power the voman I lofe hafe ofer me since your difine beauty hafe not make me forget her." "Vell, dat is ver' pretty vat you say," replied the Englishwoman.
I haf receifed die aggonts. You vill haf one hundert tousant francs, Matame de Nucingen, so you can buy chewels and oder tings to make you bretty, as if you could be brettier!" "Good God! the Ragons sold their shares!" exclaimed Birotteau. "Who are those persons?" asked the elegant de Marsay, smiling. "Egzactly," said Monsieur de Nucingen, turning back when he was almost at the door.
"Rather, my son," said the lady, who spoke French well, "But vat vas you?" she went on, mimicking Nucingen's accent. "Ein man vat is ver' much took in," replied he lamentably. "Is a man took in ven he finds a pretty voman?" asked she, with a laugh. "Permit me to sent you to-morrow some chewels as a soufenir of de Baron von Nucingen." "Don't know him!" said she, laughing like a crazy creature.
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