cceeded in obtaining a promise that his clothes should be ready
in time for the great day. Staub went so far as to give his word that
a perfectly elegant coat, a waistcoat, and a pair of trousers should
be forthcoming. Lucien then ordered linen and pocket-handkerchiefs, a
little outfit, in short, of a linen-draper, and a celebrated bootmaker
measured him for shoes and boots. He bought a neat walking cane at
Verdier's; he went to Mme. Irlande for gloves and shirt studs; in short,
he did his best to reach the climax of dandyism. When he had satisfied
all his fancies, he went to the Rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg, and found that
Louise had gone out.

"She was dining with Mme. la Marquise d'Espard," her maid said, "and
would not be back till late."

Lucien dined for two francs at a restaurant in the Palais Royal, and
went to bed early. The next day was Sunday. He went to Louise's lodging
at eleven o'clock. Louise had not yet risen. At two o'clock he returned
once more.

"Madame cannot see anybody yet," reported Albertine, "but she gave me a
line for you."

"Cannot see anybody yet?" repeated Lucien. "But I am not anybody----"

"I do not know," Albertine answered very impertinently; and Lucien, less
surprised by Albertine's answer than by a note from Mme. de Bargeton,
took the billet, and read the following discouraging lines:--

"Mme. d'Espard is not well; she will not be able to see you on Monday. I
am not feeling very well myself, but I am about to dress and go to keep
her company. I am in despair over this little disappointment; but your
talents reassure me, you will make your way without charlatanism."

"And no signature!" Lucien said to himself. He found himself in the
Tuileries before he knew whither he was walking.

With the gift of second-sight which accompanies genius, he began to
suspect that the chilly note was but a warning of the catastrophe to
come. Lost in thought, he walked on and on, gazing at the monuments in
the Place Louis Quinze.

It was a sunny day; a stream of fine carriages went past him on the
way to the Champs Elysees. Following the direction of the crowd of
strollers, he saw the three or four thousand carriages that turn the
Champs Elysees into an improvised Longchamp on Sunday afternoons in
summer. The splendid horses, the toilettes, and liveries bewildered him;
he went further and further, until he reached the Arc de Triomphe, then
unfinished. What were his feelings when, as he returned, h