r friend, I felt quite sure that all Paris could not be laughing
at any one whom I took up. I do not care to stay here when wags come in
in high glee because there is an apothecary's son in my box. If you will
follow my advice, we will leave it, and at once."

Mme. d'Espard's expression was insolent enough; Lucien was at a loss to
account for her change of countenance. He thought that his waistcoat was
in bad taste, which was true; and that his coat looked like a caricature
of the fashion, which was likewise true. He discerned, in bitterness
of soul, that he must put himself in the hands of an expert tailor,
and vowed that he would go the very next morning to the most celebrated
artist in Paris. On Monday he would hold his own with the men in the
Marquise's house.

Yet, lost in thought though he was, he saw the third act to an end, and,
with his eyes fixed on the gorgeous scene upon the stage, dreamed out
his dream of Mme. d'Espard. He was in despair over her sudden coldness;
it gave a strange check to the ardent reasoning through which he
advanced upon this new love, undismayed by the immense difficulties in
the way, difficulties which he saw and resolved to conquer. He roused
himself from these deep musings to look once more at his new idol,
turned his head, and saw that he was alone; he had heard a faint
rustling sound, the door closed--Madame d'Espard had taken her cousin
with her. Lucien was surprised to the last degree by the sudden
desertion; he did not think long about it, however, simply because it
was inexplicable.

When the carriage was rolling along the Rue de Richelieu on the way to
the Faubourg Saint-Honore, the Marquise spoke to her cousin in a tone of
suppressed irritation.

"My dear child, what are you thinking about? Pray wait till an
apothecary's son has made a name for himself before you trouble yourself
about him. The Duchesse de Chaulieu does not acknowledge Canalis even
now, and he is famous and a man of good family. This young fellow is
neither your son nor your lover, I suppose?" added the haughty dame,
with a keen, inquisitive glance at her cousin.

"How fortunate for me that I kept the little scapegrace at a distance!"
thought Madame de Bargeton.

"Very well," continued the Marquise, taking the expression in her
cousin's eyes for an answer, "drop him, I beg of you. Taking an
illustrious name in that way!--Why, it is a piece of impudence that will
meet with its desserts in society. It is