who had renounced ambition to follow the lead of
a boundless passion?"

"Good!" said the priest, stooping to pick up the mouthpiece of the
hookah which Lucien had dropped on the floor. "I understand the retort.
Cannot love and ambition be reconciled? Child, you have a mother in old
Herrera--a mother who is wholly devoted to you----"

"I know it, old friend," said Lucien, taking his hand and shaking it.

"You wished for the toys of wealth; you have them. You want to shine;
I am guiding you into the paths of power, I kiss very dirty hands to
secure your advancement, and you will get on. A little while yet and you
will lack nothing of what can charm man or woman. Though effeminate in
your caprices, your intellect is manly. I have dreamed all things of
you; I forgive you all. You have only to speak to have your ephemeral
passions gratified. I have aggrandized your life by introducing into it
that which makes it delightful to most people--the stamp of political
influence and dominion. You will be as great as you now are small; but
you must not break the machine by which we coin money. I grant you all
you will excepting such blunders as will destroy your future prospects.
When I can open the drawing-rooms of the Faubourg Saint-Germain to you,
I forbid your wallowing in the gutter. Lucien, I mean to be an iron
stanchion in your interest; I will endure everything from you, for you.
Thus I have transformed your lack of tact in the game of life into the
shrewd stroke of a skilful player----"

Lucien looked up with a start of furious impetuosity.

"I carried off La Torpille!"

"You?" cried Lucien.

In a fit of animal rage the poet jumped up, flung the jeweled mouthpiece
in the priest's face, and pushed him with such violence as to throw down
that strong man.

"I," said the Spaniard, getting up and preserving his terrible gravity.

His black wig had fallen off. A bald skull, as shining as a death's
head, showed the man's real countenance. It was appalling. Lucien sat on
his divan, his hands hanging limp, overpowered, and gazing at the Abbe
with stupefaction.

"I carried her off," the priest repeated.

"What did you do with her? You took her away the day after the opera
ball."

"Yes, the day after I had seen a woman who belonged to you insulted by
wretches whom I would not have condescended to kick downstairs."

"Wretches!" interrupted Lucien, "say rather monsters, compared with
whom those who are guillotined are an