lattered to receive the undivided attention of Mme. de
Beauseant's young, handsome, and well-dressed cousin, who seemed to have
no eyes for any one else.

"If you look at her so persistently, you will make people talk, M. de
Rastignac. You will never succeed if you fling yourself at any one's
head like that."

"My dear cousin," said Eugene, "you have protected me indeed so far,
and now if you would complete your work, I only ask of you a favor which
will cost you but little, and be of very great service to me. I have
lost my heart."

"Already!"

"Yes."

"And to that woman!"

"How could I aspire to find any one else to listen to me?" he asked,
with a keen glance at his cousin. "Her Grace the Duchesse de Carigliano
is a friend of the Duchesse de Berri," he went on, after a pause; "you
are sure to see her, will you be so kind as to present me to her, and to
take me to her ball on Monday? I shall meet Mme. de Nucingen there, and
enter into my first skirmish."

"Willingly," she said. "If you have a liking for her already, your
affairs of the heart are like to prosper. That is de Marsay over there
in the Princesse Galathionne's box. Mme. de Nucingen is racked with
jealousy. There is no better time for approaching a woman, especially
if she happens to be a banker's wife. All those ladies of the
Chaussee-d'Antin love revenge."

"Then, what would you do yourself in such a case?"

"I should suffer in silence."

At this point the Marquis d'Ajuda appeared in Mme. de Beauseant's box.

"I have made a muddle of my affairs to come to you," he said, "and I am
telling you about it, so that it may not be a sacrifice."

Eugene saw the glow of joy on the Vicomtesse's face, and knew that this
was love, and learned the difference between love and the affectations
of Parisian coquetry. He admired his cousin, grew mute, and yielded his
place to M. d'Ajuda with a sigh.

"How noble, how sublime a woman is when she loves like that!" he said to
himself. "And _he_ could forsake her for a doll! Oh! how could any one
forsake her?"

There was a boy's passionate indignation in his heart. He could have
flung himself at Mme. de Beauseant's feet; he longed for the power of
the devil if he could snatch her away and hide her in his heart, as an
eagle snatches up some white yeanling from the plains and bears it to
its eyrie. It was humiliating to him to think that in all this gallery
of fair pictures he had not one picture of his own. "To h