steps. The young man looked
round in annoyance, saw Father Goriot, and greeted him as he went out
with constrained courtesy, such as people usually show to a money-lender
so long as they require his services, or the sort of respect they feel
it necessary to show for some one whose reputation has been blown upon,
so that they blush to acknowledge his acquaintance. Father Goriot gave
him a little friendly nod and a good-natured smile. All this happened
with lightning speed. Eugene was so deeply interested that he forgot
that he was not alone till he suddenly heard the Countess' voice.

"Oh! Maxime, were you going away?" she said reproachfully, with a shade
of pique in her manner. The Countess had not seen the incident nor the
entrance of the tilbury. Rastignac turned abruptly and saw her standing
before him, coquettishly dressed in a loose white cashmere gown with
knots of rose-colored ribbon here and there; her hair was carelessly
coiled about her head, as is the wont of Parisian women in the morning;
there was a soft fragrance about her--doubtless she was fresh from
a bath;--her graceful form seemed more flexible, her beauty more
luxuriant. Her eyes glistened. A young man can see everything at a
glance; he feels the radiant influence of woman as a plant discerns and
absorbs its nutriment from the air; he did not need to touch her hands
to feel their cool freshness. He saw faint rose tints through the
cashmere of the dressing gown; it had fallen slightly open, giving
glimpses of a bare throat, on which the student's eyes rested. The
Countess had no need of the adventitious aid of corsets; her girdle
defined the outlines of her slender waist; her throat was a challenge
to love; her feet, thrust into slippers, were daintily small. As Maxime
took her hand and kissed it, Eugene became aware of Maxime's existence,
and the Countess saw Eugene.

"Oh! is that you M. de Rastignac? I am very glad to see you," she said,
but there was something in her manner that a shrewd observer would have
taken as a hint to depart.

Maxime, as the Countess Anastasie had called the young man with the
haughty insolence of bearing, looked from Eugene to the lady, and from
the lady to Eugene; it was sufficiently evident that he wished to be rid
of the latter. An exact and faithful rendering of the glance might be
given in the words: "Look here, my dear; I hope you intend to send this
little whipper-snapper about his business."

The Countess cons