e saw Mme. de
Bargeton and Mme. d'Espard coming towards him in a wonderfully
appointed caleche, with a chasseur behind it in waving plumes and that
gold-embroidered green uniform which he knew only too well. There was
a block somewhere in the row, and the carriages waited. Lucien beheld
Louise transformed beyond recognition. All the colors of her toilette
had been carefully subordinated to her complexion; her dress was
delicious, her hair gracefully and becomingly arranged, her hat, in
exquisite taste, was remarkable even beside Mme. d'Espard, that leader
of fashion.

There is something in the art of wearing a hat that escapes definition.
Tilted too far to the back of the head, it imparts a bold expression to
the face; bring it too far forward, it gives you a sinister look; tipped
to one side, it has a jaunty air; a well-dressed woman wears her hat
exactly as she means to wear it, and exactly at the right angle. Mme.
de Bargeton had solved this curious problem at sight. A dainty girdle
outlined her slender waist. She had adopted her cousin's gestures and
tricks of manner; and now, as she sat by Mme. d'Espard's side, she
played with a tiny scent bottle that dangled by a slender gold chain
from one of her fingers, displayed a little well-gloved hand without
seeming to do so. She had modeled herself on Mme. d'Espard without
mimicking her; the Marquise had found a cousin worthy of her, and seemed
to be proud of her pupil.

The men and women on the footways all gazed at the splendid carriage,
with the bearings of the d'Espards and Blamont-Chauvrys upon the panels.
Lucien was amazed at the number of greetings received by the cousins;
he did not know that the "all Paris," which consists in some score of
salons, was well aware already of the relationship between the ladies.
A little group of young men on horseback accompanied the carriage in
the Bois; Lucien could recognize de Marsay and Rastignac among them,
and could see from their gestures that the pair of coxcombs were
complimenting Mme. de Bargeton upon her transformation. Mme. d'Espard
was radiant with health and grace. So her indisposition was simply a
pretext for ridding herself of him, for there had been no mention of
another day!

The wrathful poet went towards the caleche; he walked slowly, waited
till he came in full sight of the two ladies, and made them a bow. Mme.
de Bargeton would not see him; but the Marquise put up her eyeglass,
and deliberately cut him. H