before him,
that the young men who chose to be offended or puzzled by his return to
Paris and his unaccountable good fortune were enchanted whenever they
could do him an ill turn. He knew that he had many enemies, and was well
aware of those hostile feelings among his friends. The Abbe, indeed,
took admirable care of his adopted son, putting him on his guard against
the treachery of the world and the fatal imprudence of youth. Lucien
was expected to tell, and did in fact tell the Abbe each evening, every
trivial incident of the day. Thanks to his Mentor's advice, he put the
keenest curiosity--the curiosity of the world--off the scent. Entrenched
in the gravity of an Englishman, and fortified by the redoubts cast up
by diplomatic circumspection, he never gave any one the right or the
opportunity of seeing a corner even of his concerns. His handsome young
face had, by practice, become as expressionless in society as that of a
princess at a ceremonial.

Towards the middle of 1829 his marriage began to be talked of to the
eldest daughter of the Duchesse de Grandlieu, who at that time had no
less than four daughters to provide for. No one doubted that in honor of
such an alliance the King would revive for Lucien the title of Marquis.
This distinction would establish Lucien's fortune as a diplomate, and he
would probably be accredited as Minister to some German Court. For the
last three years Lucien's life had been regular and above reproach;
indeed, de Marsay had made this remarkable speech about him:

"That young fellow must have a very strong hand behind him."

Thus Lucien was almost a person of importance. His passion for Esther
had, in fact, helped him greatly to play his part of a serious man. A
habit of this kind guards an ambitious man from many follies; having
no connection with any woman of fashion, he cannot be caught by the
reactions of mere physical nature on his moral sense.

As to happiness, Lucien's was the realization of a poet's dreams--a
penniless poet's, hungering in a garret. Esther, the ideal courtesan in
love, while she reminded Lucien of Coralie, the actress with whom he
had lived for a year, completely eclipsed her. Every loving and devoted
woman invents seclusion, incognito, the life of a pearl in the depths of
the sea; but to most of them this is no more than one of the delightful
whims which supply a subject for conversation; a proof of love which
they dream of giving, but do not give; whereas E