ve me after this," she added.

The incongruity between the ideas of honor which make women so great,
and the errors in conduct which are forced upon them by the constitution
of society, had thrown Eugene's thoughts into confusion; he uttered
soothing and consoling words, and wondered at the beautiful woman before
him, and at the artless imprudence of her cry of pain.

"You will not remember this against me?" she asked; "promise me that you
will not."

"Ah! madame, I am incapable of doing so," he said. She took his hand and
held it to her heart, a movement full of grace that expressed her deep
gratitude.

"I am free and happy once more, thanks to you," she said. "Oh! I have
felt lately as if I were in the grasp of an iron hand. But after this
I mean to live simply and to spend nothing. You will think me just as
pretty, will you not, my friend? Keep this," she went on, as she took
only six of the banknotes. "In conscience I owe you a thousand crowns,
for I really ought to go halves with you."

Eugene's maiden conscience resisted; but when the Baroness said, "I
am bound to look on you as an accomplice or as an enemy," he took the
money.

"It shall be a last stake in reserve," he said, "in case of misfortune."

"That was what I was dreading to hear," she cried, turning pale. "Oh,
if you would that I should be anything to you, swear to me that you will
never re-enter a gaming-house. Great Heaven! that I should corrupt you!
I should die of sorrow!"

They had reached the Rue Saint-Lazare by this time. The contrast between
the ostentation of wealth in the house, and the wretched condition of
its mistress, dazed the student; and Vautrin's cynical words began to
ring in his ears.

"Seat yourself there," said the Baroness, pointing to a low chair beside
the fire. "I have a difficult letter to write," she added. "Tell me what
to say."

"Say nothing," Eugene answered her. "Put the bills in an envelope,
direct it, and send it by your maid."

"Why, you are a love of a man," she said. "Ah! see what it is to have
been well brought up. That is the Beauseant through and through," she
went on, smiling at him.

"She is charming," thought Eugene, more and more in love. He looked
round him at the room; there was an ostentatious character about the
luxury, a meretricious taste in the splendor.

"Do you like it?" she asked, as she rang for the maid.

"Therese, take this to M. de Marsay, and give it into his hands
yourself. If