sther, to whom her first
enchantment was ever new, who lived perpetually in the glow of Lucien's
first incendiary glance, never, in four yours, had an impulse of
curiosity. She gave her whole mind to the task of adhering to the terms
of the programme prescribed by the sinister Spaniard. Nay, more! In the
midst of intoxicating happiness she never took unfair advantage of the
unlimited power that the constantly revived desire of a lover gives to
the woman he loves to ask Lucien a single question regarding Herrera, of
whom indeed she lived in constant awe; she dared not even think of him.
The elaborate benefactions of that extraordinary man, to whom Esther
undoubtedly owed her feminine accomplishment and her well-bred manner,
struck the poor girl as advances on account of hell.

"I shall have to pay for all this some day," she would tell herself with
dismay.

Every fine night she went out in a hired carriage. She was driven with
a rapidity no doubt insisted on by the Abbe, in one or another of
the beautiful woods round Paris, Boulogne, Vincennes, Romainville, or
Ville-d'Avray, often with Lucien, sometimes alone with Europe. There she
could walk about without fear; for when Lucien was not with her, she was
attended by a servant dressed like the smartest of outriders, armed
with a real knife, whose face and brawny build alike proclaimed him a
ruthless athlete. This protector was also provided, in the fashion of
English footmen, with a stick, but such as single-stick players use,
with which they can keep off more than one assailant. In obedience to an
order of the Abbe's, Esther had never spoken a word to this escort.
When madame wished to go home, Europe gave a call; the man in waiting
whistled to the driver, who was always within hearing.

When Lucien was walking with Esther, Europe and this man remained about
a hundred paces behind, like two of the infernal minions that figure in
the _Thousand and One Nights_, which enchanters place at the service of
their devotees.

The men, and yet more the women of Paris, know nothing of the charm of a
walk in the woods on a fine night. The stillness, the moonlight effects,
the solitude, have the soothing effect of a bath. Esther usually went
out at ten, walked about from midnight till one o'clock, and came in at
half-past two. It was never daylight in her rooms till eleven. She then
bathed and went through an elaborate toilet which is unknown to most
women, for it takes up too much