his mother's name, I dare say;
but just remember, dear, that the King alone can confer, by a special
ordinance, the title of de Rubempre on the son of a daughter of the
house. If she made a _mesalliance_, the favor would be enormous, only
to be granted to vast wealth, or conspicuous services, or very powerful
influence. The young man looks like a shopman in his Sunday suit;
evidently he is neither wealthy nor noble; he has a fine head, but he
seems to me to be very silly; he has no idea what to do, and has nothing
to say for himself; in fact, he has no breeding. How came you to take
him up?"

Mme. de Bargeton renounced Lucien as Lucien himself had renounced her; a
ghastly fear lest her cousin should learn the manner of her journey shot
through her mind.

"Dear cousin, I am in despair that I have compromised you."

"People do not compromise me," Mme. d'Espard said, smiling; "I am only
thinking of you."

"But you have asked him to dine with you on Monday."

"I shall be ill," the Marquise said quickly; "you can tell him so, and I
shall leave orders that he is not to be admitted under either name."

During the interval Lucien noticed that every one was walking up and
down the lobby. He would do the same. In the first place, not one of
Mme. d'Espard's visitors recognized him nor paid any attention to him,
their conduct seemed nothing less than extraordinary to the provincial
poet; and, secondly, Chatelet, on whom he tried to hang, watched him
out of the corner of his eye and fought shy of him. Lucien walked to and
fro, watching the eddying crowd of men, till he felt convinced that his
costume was absurd, and he went back to his box, ensconced himself in
a corner, and stayed there till the end. At times he thought of nothing
but the magnificent spectacle of the ballet in the great Inferno
scene in the fifth act; sometimes the sight of the house absorbed him,
sometimes his own thoughts; he had seen society in Paris, and the sight
had stirred him to the depths.

"So this is my kingdom," he said to himself; "this is the world that I
must conquer."

As he walked home through the streets he thought over all that had
been said by Mme. d'Espard's courtiers; memory reproducing with strange
faithfulness their demeanor, their gestures, their manner of coming and
going.

Next day, towards noon, Lucien betook himself to Staub, the great tailor
of that day. Partly by dint of entreaties, and partly by virtue of cash,
Lucien su