Chandour camp
proposed to go to the Hotel de Bargeton that evening. (They persistently
declined to call the house by its new name.)

Proofs of the Countess' influence had stirred up ambition in many
quarters; and not only so, it was said that the lady had changed so
much for the better that everybody wished to see and judge for himself.
Petit-Claud learned great news on the way to the house; Cointet told him
that Zephirine had asked leave to present her dear Francoise's
betrothed to the Countess, and that the Countess had granted the
favor. Petit-Claud had seen at once that Lucien's return put Louise de
Negrepelisse in a false position; and now, in a moment, he flattered
himself that he saw a way to take advantage of it.

M. and Mme. de Senonches had undertaken such heavy engagements when they
bought the house, that, in provincial fashion, they thought it imprudent
to make any changes in it. So when Madame du Chatelet was announced,
Zephirine went up to her with--"Look, dear Louise, you are still in your
old home!" indicating, as she spoke, the little chandelier, the paneled
wainscot, and the furniture, which once had dazzled Lucien.

"I wish least of all to remember it, dear," Madame la Prefete answered
graciously, looking round on the assemblage.

Every one admitted that Louise de Negrepelisse was not like the same
woman. If the provincial had undergone a change, the woman herself
had been transformed by those eighteen months in Paris, by the first
happiness of a still recent second marriage, and the kind of dignity
that power confers. The Comtesse du Chatelet bore the same resemblance
to Mme. de Bargeton that a girl of twenty bears to her mother.

She wore a charming cap of lace and flowers, fastened by a
diamond-headed pin; the ringlets that half hid the contours of her face
added to her look of youth, and suited her style of beauty. Her foulard
gown, designed by the celebrated Victorine, with a pointed bodice,
exquisitely fringed, set off her figure to advantage; and a silken
lace scarf, adroitly thrown about a too long neck, partly concealed her
shoulders. She played with the dainty scent-bottle, hung by a chain from
her bracelet; she carried her fan and her handkerchief with ease--pretty
trifles, as dangerous as a sunken reef for the provincial dame. The
refined taste shown in the least details, the carriage and manner
modeled upon Mme. d'Espard, revealed a profound study of the Faubourg
Saint-Germain.

A