“I do not understand you, sir,” said the baroness, trying to disguise the agitation of her voice and the flush of her face.
“You understand me perfectly, on the contrary,” said Danglars: “but, if you will persist, I will tell you that I have just lost 700,000 francs upon the Spanish loan.”
“And pray,” asked the baroness, “am I responsible for this loss?”
“Why not?”
“Is it my fault you have lost 700,000 francs?”
“Certainly it is not mine.”
“Once for all, sir,” replied the baroness sharply, “I tell you I will not hear cash named; it is a style of language I never heard in the house of my parents or in that of my first husband.”
“Oh, I can well believe that, for neither of them was worth a penny.”
“The better reason for my not being conversant with the slang of the bank, which is here dinning in my ears from morning to night; that noise of jingling crowns, which are constantly being counted and recounted, is odious to me. I only know one thing I dislike more, which is the sound of your voice.”
“Really?” said Danglars. “Well, this surprises me, for I thought you took the liveliest interest in all my affairs!”
“I? What could put such an idea into your head?”
“Yourself.”
“Ah?—what next?”
“Most assuredly.”