She lighted the wax-candles,and to Lucien's bewildered fancy,the house seemed to be some palace in the Cabinet des Fees.Camusot had chosen the richest stuffs from the Golden Cocoon for the hangings and window-curtains.A carpet fit for a king's palace was spread upon the floor.The carving of the rosewood furniture caught and imprisoned the light that rippled over its surface.Priceless trifles gleamed from the white marble chimney-piece.The rug beside the bed was of swan's skins bordered with sable.A pair of little,black velvet slippers lined with purple silk told of happiness awaiting the poet of The Marguerites.A dainty lamp hung from the ceiling draped with silk.The room was full of flowering plants,delicate white heaths and scentless camellias,in stands marvelously wrought.Everything called up associations of innocence.How was it possible in these rooms to see the life that Coralie led in its true colors?Berenice noticed Lucien's bewildered expression.
"Isn't it nice?"she said coaxingly."You would be more comfortable here,wouldn't you,than in a garret?--You won't let her do anything rash?"she continued,setting a costly stand before him,covered with dishes abstracted from her mistress'dinner-table,lest the cook should suspect that her mistress had a lover in the house.
Lucien made a good dinner.Berenice waiting on him,the dishes were of wrought silver,the painted porcelain plates had cost a louis d'or apiece.The luxury was producing exactly the same effect upon him that the sight of a girl walking the pavement,with her bare flaunting throat and neat ankles,produces upon a schoolboy.
"How lucky Camusot is!"cried he.
"Lucky?"repeated Berenice."He would willingly give all that he is worth to be in your place;he would be glad to barter his gray hair for your golden head."She gave Lucien the richest wine that Bordeaux keeps for the wealthiest English purchaser,and persuaded Lucien to go to bed to take a preliminary nap;and Lucien,in truth,was quite willing to sleep on the couch that he had been admiring.Berenice had read his wish,and felt glad for her mistress.
At half-past ten that night Lucien awoke to look into eyes brimming over with love.There stood Coralie in most luxurious night attire.
Lucien had been sleeping;Lucien was intoxicated with love,and not with wine.Berenice left the room with the inquiry,"What time to-morrow morning?""At eleven o'clock.We will have breakfast in bed.I am not at home to anybody before two o'clock."At two o'clock in the afternoon Coralie and her lover were sitting together.The poet to all appearance had come to pay a call.Lucien had been bathed and combed and dressed.Coralie had sent to Colliau's for a dozen fine shirts,a dozen cravats and a dozen pocket-handkerchiefs for him,as well as twelve pairs of gloves in a cedar-wood box.When a carriage stopped at the door,they both rushed to the window,and watched Camusot alight from a handsome coupe.
"I would not have believed that one could so hate a man and luxury----""I am too poor to allow you to ruin yourself for me,"he replied.And thus Lucien passed under the Caudine Forks.
"Poor pet,"said Coralie,holding him tightly to her,"do you love me so much?--I persuaded this gentleman to call on me this morning,"she continued,indicating Lucien to Camusot,who entered the room."Ithought that we might take a drive in the Champs Elysees to try the carriage.""Go without me,"said Camusot in a melancholy voice;"I shall not dine with you.It is my wife's birthday,I had forgotten that.""Poor Musot,how badly bored you will be!"she said,putting her arms about his neck.
She was wild with joy at the thought that she and Lucien would handsel this gift together;she would drive with him in the new carriage;and in her happiness,she seemed to love Camusot,she lavished caresses upon him.
"If only I could give you a carriage every day!"said the poor fellow.
"Now,sir,it is two o'clock,"she said,turning to Lucien,who stood in distress and confusion,but she comforted him with an adorable gesture.
Down the stairs she went,several steps at a time,drawing Lucien after her;the elderly merchant following in their wake like a seal on land,and quite unable to catch them up.
Lucien enjoyed the most intoxicating of pleasures;happiness had increased Coralie's loveliness to the highest possible degree;she appeared before all eyes an exquisite vision in her dainty toilette.
All Paris in the Champs Elysees beheld the lovers.
In an avenue of the Bois de Boulogne they met a caleche;Mme.d'Espard and Mme.de Bargeton looked in surprise at Lucien,and met a scornful glance from the poet.He saw glimpses of a great future before him,and was about to make his power felt.He could fling them back in a glance some of the revengeful thoughts which had gnawed his heart ever since they planted them there.That moment was one of the sweetest in his life,and perhaps decided his fate.Once again the Furies seized on Lucien at the bidding of Pride.He would reappear in the world of Paris;he would take a signal revenge;all the social pettiness hitherto trodden under foot by the worker,the member of the brotherhood,sprang up again afresh in his soul.
Now he understood all that Lousteau's attack had meant.Lousteau had served his passions;while the brotherhood,that collective mentor,had seemed to mortify them in the interests of tiresome virtues and work which began to look useless and hopeless in Lucien's eyes.Work!
What is it but death to an eager pleasure-loving nature?And how easy it is for the man of letters to slide into a far niente existence of self-indulgence,into the luxurious ways of actresses and women of easy virtues!Lucien felt an overmastering desire to continue the reckless life of the last two days.
