Mme. de Senonches had told her intimate friends that her ward would meet her betrothed that evening, and that Mme. du Châtelet would appear at the Hôtel de Senonches for the first time; and having particularly requested them to keep these matters secret, she expected to find her rooms crowded. The Comte and Comtesse du Châtelet had left cards everywhere officially, but they meant the honor of a personal visit to play a part in their policy. So aristocratic Angoulême was in such a prodigious ferment of curiosity, that certain of the Chandour camp proposed to go to the Hôtel de Bargeton that evening. (They persistently declined to call the house by its new name.)
Proofs of the Countess’ influence had stirred up ambition in many quarters; and not only so, it was said that the lady had changed so much for the better that everybody wished to see and judge for himself. Petit-Claud learned great news on the way to the house; Cointet told him that Zéphirine had asked leave to present her dear Françoise’s betrothed to the Countess, and that the Countess had granted the favor. Petit-Claud had seen at once that Lucien’s return put Louise de Nègrepelisse in a false position; and now, in a moment, he flattered himself that he saw a way to take advantage of it.
M. and Mme. de Senonches had undertaken such heavy engagements when they bought the house, that, in provincial fashion, they thought it imprudent to make any changes in it. So when Madame du Châtelet was announced, Zéphirine went up to her with—“Look, dear Louise, you are still in your old home!” indicating, as she spoke, the little chandelier, the paneled wainscot, and the furniture, which once had dazzled Lucien.
“I wish least of all to remember it, dear,” Madame la Préfète answered graciously, looking round on the assemblage.
Everyone admitted that Louise de Nègrepelisse was not like the same woman. If the provincial had undergone a change, the woman herself had been transformed by those eighteen months in Paris, by the first happiness of a still recent second marriage, and the kind of dignity that power confers. The Comtesse du Châtelet bore the same resemblance to Mme. de Bargeton that a girl of twenty bears to her mother.
She wore a charming cap of lace and flowers, fastened by a diamond-headed pin; the ringlets that half hid the contours of her face added to her look of youth, and suited her style of beauty. Her foulard gown, designed by the celebrated Victorine, with a pointed bodice, exquisitely fringed, set off her figure to advantage; and a silken lace scarf, adroitly thrown about a too long neck, partly concealed her shoulders. She played with the dainty scent-bottle, hung by a chain from her bracelet; she carried her fan and her handkerchief with ease—pretty trifles, as dangerous as a sunken reef for the provincial dame. The refined taste shown in the least details, the carriage and manner modeled upon Mme. d’Espard, revealed a profound study of the Faubourg Saint-Germain.
As for the elderly beau of the Empire, he seemed since his marriage to have followed the example of the species of melon that turns from green to yellow in a night. All the youth that Sixte had lost seemed to appear in his wife’s radiant countenance; provincial pleasantries passed from ear to ear, circulating the more readily because the women were furious at the new superiority of the sometime queen of Angoulême; and the persistent intruder paid the penalty of his wife’s offence.
The rooms were almost as full as on that memorable evening of Lucien’s readings from Chénier. Some faces were missing: M. de Chandour and Amélie, M. de Pimental and the Rastignacs—and M. de Bargeton was no longer there; but the Bishop came, as before, with his vicars-general in his train. Petit-Claud was much impressed by the sight of the great world of Angoulême. Four months ago he had no hope of entering the circle, today he felt his detestation of “the classes” sensibly diminished. He thought the Comtesse du Châtelet a most fascinating woman. “It is she who can procure me the appointment of deputy public prosecutor,” he said to himself.
Louise chatted for an equal length of time with each of the women; her tone varied with the importance of the person addressed and the position taken up by the latter with regard to her journey to Paris with Lucien. The evening was half over when she withdrew to the boudoir with the Bishop. Zéphirine came over to Petit-Claud, and laid her hand on his arm. His heart beat fast as his hostess brought him to the room where Lucien’s troubles first began, and were now about to come to a crisis.
“This is M. Petit-Claud, dear; I recommend him to you the more warmly because anything that you may do for him will doubtless benefit my ward.”
“You are an attorney, are you not, monsieur?” said the august Nègrepelisse, scanning Petit-Claud.
“Alas! yes, Madame la Comtesse.” (The son of the tailor in L’Houmeau had never once had occasion to use those three words in his life before, and his mouth was full of them.) “But it rests with you, Madame la Comtesse, whether or no I shall act for the Crown. M. Milaud is going to Nevers, it is said—”
“But a man is usually second deputy and then first deputy, is he not?” broke in the Countess. “I should like to see you in the first deputy’s place at once. But I should like first to have some assurance of your devotion to the cause of our legitimate sovereigns, to religion, and more especially to M. de Villèle, if I am to interest myself on your behalf to obtain the favor.”
Petit-Claud came nearer. “Madame,” he said in her ear, “I am the man to yield the King absolute obedience.”
“That is just what we want today,” said the Countess, drawing back a little to make him understand that she had no wish
