ance shot from the holes in
her mask and sank into Lucien's eyes; the thrill of her frame seemed to
answer to every movement of her companion. Whence comes this flame that
radiates from a woman in love and distinguishes her above all others?
Whence that sylph-like lightness which seems to negative the laws
of gravitation? Is the soul become ambient? Has happiness a physical
effluence?

The ingenuousness of a girl, the graces of a child were discernible
under the domino. Though they walked apart, these two beings suggested
the figures of Flora and Zephyr as we see them grouped by the cleverest
sculptors; but they were beyond sculpture, the greatest of the arts;
Lucien and his pretty domino were more like the angels busied with
flowers or birds, which Gian Bellini has placed beneath the effigies of
the Virgin Mother. Lucien and this girl belonged to the realm of fancy,
which is as far above art as cause is above effect.

When the domino, forgetful of everything, was within a yard of the
group, Bixiou exclaimed:

"Esther!"

The unhappy girl turned her head quickly at hearing herself called,
recognized the mischievous speaker, and bowed her head like a dying
creature that has drawn its last breath.

A sharp laugh followed, and the group of men melted among the crowd
like a knot of frightened field-rats whisking into their holes by the
roadside. Rastignac alone went no further than was necessary, just to
avoid making any show of shunning Lucien's flashing eye. He could thus
note two phases of distress equally deep though unconfessed; first,
the hapless Torpille, stricken as by a lightning stroke, and then the
inscrutable mask, the only one of the group who had remained. Esther
murmured a word in Lucien's ear just as her knees gave way, and Lucien,
supporting her, led her away.

Rastignac watched the pretty pair, lost in meditation.

"How did she get her name of La Torpille?" asked a gloomy voice that
struck to his vitals, for it was no longer disguised.

"_He_ again--he has made his escape!" muttered Rastignac to himself.

"Be silent or I murder you," replied the mask, changing his voice. "I am
satisfied with you, you have kept your word, and there is more than
one arm ready to serve you. Henceforth be as silent as the grave; but,
before that, answer my question."

"Well, the girl is such a witch that she could have magnetized
the Emperor Napoleon; she could magnetize a man more difficult to
influence--you yours