y the rivals in mutual survey; he had a
question which he kept for desperate emergencies, laid up in his mind,
as it were, against a rainy day. Now was the proper time to bring it
out.

"Well, monsieur," he said, looking at Chatelet with an important air,
"is there anything fresh? anything that people are talking about?"

"Why, the latest thing is M. Chardon," Chatelet said maliciously. "Ask
him. Have you brought some charming poet for us?" inquired the vivacious
Baron, adjusting the side curl that had gone astray on his temple.

"I should have asked you whether I had succeeded," Lucien answered; "you
have been before me in the field of verse."

"Pshaw!" said the other, "a few vaudevilles, well enough in their way,
written to oblige, a song now and again to suit some occasion, lines
for music, no good without the music, and my long Epistle to a Sister
of Bonaparte (ungrateful that he was), will not hand down my name to
posterity."

At this moment Mme. de Bargeton appeared in all the glory of an
elaborate toilette. She wore a Jewess' turban, enriched with an Eastern
clasp. The cameos on her neck gleamed through the gauze scarf gracefully
wound about her shoulders; the sleeves of her printed muslin dress were
short so as to display a series of bracelets on her shapely white arms.
Lucien was charmed with this theatrical style of dress. M. du Chatelet
gallantly plied the queen with fulsome compliments, that made her smile
with pleasure; she was so glad to be praised in Lucien's hearing.
But she scarcely gave her dear poet a glance, and met Chatelet with a
mortifying civility that kept him at a distance.

By this time the guests began to arrive. First and foremost appeared
the Bishop and his Vicar-General, dignified and reverend figures both,
though no two men could well be more unlike, his lordship being tall and
attenuated, and his acolyte short and fat. Both churchmen's eyes were
bright; but while the Bishop was pallid, his Vicar-General's countenance
glowed with high health. Both were impassive, and gesticulated but
little; both appeared to be prudent men, and their silence and reserve
were supposed to hide great intellectual powers.

Close upon the two ecclesiastics followed Mme. de Chandour and her
husband, a couple so extraordinary that those who are unfamiliar with
provincial life might be tempted to think that such persons are purely
imaginary. Amelie de Chandour posed as the rival queen of Angouleme;
her hu