pera that
evening?" asked Chatelet, with treacherous good-nature.

"No," said the poor poet.

"Well, it was M. de Rastignac who spoke against you from the beginning.
They asked him about you, and the young dandy simply said that your name
was Chardon, and not de Rubempre; that your mother was a monthly nurse;
that your father, when he was alive, was an apothecary in L'Houmeau,
a suburb of Angouleme; and that your sister, a charming girl, gets up
shirts to admiration, and is just about to be married to a local printer
named Sechard. Such is the world! You no sooner show yourself than it
pulls you to pieces.

"M. de Marsay came to Mme. d'Espard to laugh at you with her; so the two
ladies, thinking that your presence put them in a false position, went
out at once. Do not attempt to go to either house. If Mme. de Bargeton
continued to receive your visits, her cousin would have nothing to do
with her. You have genius; try to avenge yourself. The world looks down
upon you; look down in your turn upon the world. Take refuge in some
garret, write your masterpieces, seize on power of any kind, and you
will see the world at your feet. Then you can give back the bruises
which you have received, and in the very place where they were given.
Mme. de Bargeton will be the more distant now because she has been
friendly. That is the way with women. But the question now for you is
not how to win back Anais' friendship, but how to avoid making an enemy
of her. I will tell you of a way. She has written letters to you; send
all her letters back to her, she will be sensible that you are acting
like a gentleman; and at a later time, if you should need her, she
will not be hostile. For my own part, I have so high an opinion of your
future, that I have taken your part everywhere; and if I can do anything
here for you, you will always find me ready to be of use."

The elderly beau seemed to have grown young again in the atmosphere of
Paris. He bowed with frigid politeness; but Lucien, woe-begone, haggard,
and undone, forgot to return the salutation. He went back to his inn,
and there found the great Staub himself, come in person, not so much
to try his customer's clothes as to make inquiries of the landlady
with regard to that customer's financial status. The report had been
satisfactory. Lucien had traveled post; Mme. de Bargeton brought him
back from Vaudeville last Thursday in her carriage. Staub addressed
Lucien as "Monsieur le Comte," an