t those minutes seemed an eternity.

Thoughts rose within him that set his soul on fire, as the spectacle
on the stage had heated his senses. He looked at the women with their
wanton eyes, all the brighter for the red paint on their cheeks, at
the gleaming bare necks, the luxuriant forms outlined by the lascivious
folds of the basquina, the very short skirts, that displayed as much
as possible of limbs encased in scarlet stockings with green clocks to
them--a disquieting vision for the pit.

A double process of corruption was working within him in parallel lines,
like two channels that will spread sooner or later in flood time and
make one. That corruption was eating into Lucien's soul, as he leaned
back in his corner, staring vacantly at the curtain, one arm resting on
the crimson velvet cushion, and his hand drooping over the edge. He felt
the fascination of the life that was offered to him, of the gleams of
light among its clouds; and this so much the more keenly because it
shone out like a blaze of fireworks against the blank darkness of his
own obscure, monotonous days of toil.

Suddenly his listless eyes became aware of a burning glance that reached
him through a rent in the curtain, and roused him from his lethargy.
Those were Coralie's eyes that glowed upon him. He lowered his head and
looked across at Camusot, who just then entered the opposite box.

That amateur was a worthy silk-mercer of the Rue des Bourdonnais, stout
and substantial, a judge in the commercial court, a father of four
children, and the husband of a second wife. At the age of fifty-six,
with a cap of gray hair on his head, he had the smug appearance of a man
who has his eighty thousand francs of income; and having been forced to
put up with a good deal that he did not like in the way of business, has
fully made up his mind to enjoy the rest of his life, and not to quit
this earth until he has had his share of cakes and ale. A brow the color
of fresh butter and florid cheeks like a monk's jowl seemed scarcely big
enough to contain his exuberant jubilation. Camusot had left his wife at
home, and they were applauding Coralie to the skies. All the rich man's
citizen vanity was summed up and gratified in Coralie; in Coralie's
lodging he gave himself the airs of a great lord of a bygone day; now,
at this moment, he felt that half of her success was his; the knowledge
that he had paid for it confirmed him in this idea. Camusot's conduct
was sancti