eaks of her
as Madame Sechard de Marsac."

"Whatever difficulties there may be, he is a very good-looking fellow,"
said Bianchon, rising to greet Lucien.

"How 'do, my dear fellow?" said Rastignac, shaking hands warmly with
Lucien.

De Marsay bowed coldly after Lucien had first bowed to him.

Before dinner Desplein and Bianchon, who studied the Baron while amusing
him, convinced themselves that this malady was entirely nervous; but
neither could guess the cause, so impossible did it seem that the great
politician of the money market could be in love. When Bianchon, seeing
nothing but love to account for the banker's condition, hinted as much
to Delphine de Nucingen, she smiled as a woman who has long known all
her husband's weaknesses. After dinner, however, when they all adjourned
to the garden, the more intimate of the party gathered round the banker,
eager to clear up this extraordinary case when they heard Bianchon
pronounce that Nucingen must be in love.

"Do you know, Baron," said de Marsay, "that you have grown very thin?
You are suspected of violating the laws of financial Nature."

"Ach, nefer!" said the Baron.

"Yes, yes," replied de Marsay. "They dare to say that you are in love."

"Dat is true," replied Nucingen piteously; "I am in lof for somebody I
do not know."

"You, in love, you? You are a coxcomb!" said the Chevalier d'Espard.

"In lof, at my aje! I know dat is too ridiculous. But vat can I help it!
Dat is so."

"A woman of the world?" asked Lucien.

"Nay," said de Marsay. "The Baron would not grow so thin but for a
hopeless love, and he has money enough to buy all the women who will or
can sell themselves!"

"I do not know who she it," said the Baron. "And as Motame de Nucingen
is inside de trawing-room, I may say so, dat till now I have nefer known
what it is to lof. Lof! I tink it is to grow tin."

"And where did you meet this innocent daisy?" asked Rastignac.

"In a carriage, at mitnight, in de forest of Fincennes."

"Describe her," said de Marsay.

"A vhite gaze hat, a rose gown, a vhite scharf, a vhite feil--a face
just out of de Biple. Eyes like Feuer, an Eastern color----"

"You were dreaming," said Lucien, with a smile.

"Dat is true; I vas shleeping like a pig--a pig mit his shkin full," he
added, "for I vas on my vay home from tinner at mine friend's----"

"Was she alone?" said du Tillet, interrupting him.

"Ja," said the Baron dolefully; "but she had ein heiduque b