"Madame cannot see anybody yet,"reported Albertine,"but she gave me a line for you.""Cannot see anybody yet?"repeated Lucien."But I am not anybody----""I do not know,"Albertine answered very impertinently;and Lucien,less surprised by Albertine's answer than by a note from Mme.de Bargeton,took the billet,and read the following discouraging lines:--"Mme.d'Espard is not well;she will not be able to see you on Monday.
I am not feeling very well myself,but I am about to dress and go to keep her company.I am in despair over this little disappointment;but your talents reassure me,you will make your way without charlatanism.""And no signature!"Lucien said to himself.He found himself in the Tuileries before he knew whither he was walking.
With the gift of second-sight which accompanies genius,he began to suspect that the chilly note was but a warning of the catastrophe to come.Lost in thought,he walked on and on,gazing at the monuments in the Place Louis Quinze.
It was a sunny day;a stream of fine carriages went past him on the way to the Champs Elysees.Following the direction of the crowd of strollers,he saw the three or four thousand carriages that turn the Champs Elysees into an improvised Longchamp on Sunday afternoons in summer.The splendid horses,the toilettes,and liveries bewildered him;he went further and further,until he reached the Arc de Triomphe,then unfinished.What were his feelings when,as he returned,he saw Mme.de Bargeton and Mme.d'Espard coming towards him in a wonderfully appointed caleche,with a chasseur behind it in waving plumes and that gold-embroidered green uniform which he knew only too well.There was a block somewhere in the row,and the carriages waited.Lucien beheld Louise transformed beyond recognition.
All the colors of her toilette had been carefully subordinated to her complexion;her dress was delicious,her hair gracefully and becomingly arranged,her hat,in exquisite taste,was remarkable even beside Mme.d'Espard,that leader of fashion.
There is something in the art of wearing a hat that escapes definition.Tilted too far to the back of the head,it imparts a bold expression to the face;bring it too far forward,it gives you a sinister look;tipped to one side,it has a jaunty air;a well-dressed woman wears her hat exactly as she means to wear it,and exactly at the right angle.Mme.de Bargeton had solved this curious problem at sight.A dainty girdle outlined her slender waist.She had adopted her cousin's gestures and tricks of manner;and now,as she sat by Mme.
d'Espard's side,she played with a tiny scent bottle that dangled by a slender gold chain from one of her fingers,displayed a little well-gloved hand without seeming to do so.She had modeled herself on Mme.d'Espard without mimicking her;the Marquise had found a cousin worthy of her,and seemed to be proud of her pupil.
The men and women on the footways all gazed at the splendid carriage,with the bearings of the d'Espards and Blamont-Chauvrys upon the panels.Lucien was amazed at the number of greetings received by the cousins;he did not know that the "all Paris,"which consists in some score of salons,was well aware already of the relationship between the ladies.A little group of young men on horseback accompanied the carriage in the Bois;Lucien could recognize de Marsay and Rastignac among them,and could see from their gestures that the pair of coxcombs were complimenting Mme.de Bargeton upon her transformation.
Mme.d'Espard was radiant with health and grace.So her indisposition was simply a pretext for ridding herself of him,for there had been no mention of another day!
The wrathful poet went towards the caleche;he walked slowly,waited till he came in full sight of the two ladies,and made them a bow.
Mme.de Bargeton would not see him;but the Marquise put up her eyeglass,and deliberately cut him.He had been disowned by the sovereign lords of Angouleme,but to be disowned by society in Paris was another thing;the booby-squires by doing their utmost to mortify Lucien admitted his power and acknowledged him as a man;for Mme.
d'Espard he had positively no existence.This was a sentence,it was a refusal of justice.Poor poet!a deadly cold seized on him when he saw de Marsay eying him through his glass;and when the Parisian lion let that optical instrument fall,it dropped in so singular a fashion that Lucien thought of the knife-blade of the guillotine.
The caleche went by.Rage and a craving for vengeance took possession of his slighted soul.If Mme.de Bargeton had been in his power,he could have cut her throat at that moment;he was a Fouquier-Tinville gloating over the pleasure of sending Mme.d'Espard to the scaffold.
If only he could have put de Marsay to the torture with refinements of savage cruelty!Canalis went by on horseback,bowing to the prettiest women,his dress elegant,as became the most dainty of poets.
"Great heavens!"exclaimed Lucien."Money,money at all costs!money is the one power before which the world bends the knee."("No!"cried conscience,"not money,but glory;and glory means work!Work!that was what David said.")"Great heavens!what am I doing here?But Iwill triumph.I will drive along this avenue in a caleche with a chasseur behind me!I will possess a Marquise d'Espard."And flinging out the wrathful words,he went to Hurbain's to dine for two francs.
Next morning,at nine o'clock,he went to the Rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg to upbraid Louise for her barbarity.But Mme.de Bargeton was not at home to him,and not only so,but the porter would not allow him to go up to her rooms;so he stayed outside in the street,watching the house till noon.At twelve o'clock Chatelet came out,looked at Lucien out of the corner of his eye,and avoided him.
Stung to the quick,Lucien hurried after his rival;and Chatelet,finding himself closely pursued,turned and bowed,evidently intending to shake him off by this courtesy.
