the
Heron, but how could she dispense with his influence for you? Our friend
stands well with the present ministry; and we have made him see that
your attacks will do him service--up to a certain point, for we want
you to make it up again some of these days. Chatelet has received
compensations for his troubles; for, as des Lupeaulx said, 'While the
newspapers are making Chatelet ridiculous, they will leave the Ministry
in peace.'"

There was a pause; the Marquise left Lucien to his own reflections.

"M. Blondet led me to hope that I should have the pleasure of seeing
you in my house," said the Comtesse de Montcornet. "You will meet a few
artists and men of letters, and some one else who has the keenest desire
to become acquainted with you--Mlle. des Touches, the owner of talents
rare among our sex. You will go to her house, no doubt. Mlle. de Touches
(or Camille Maupin, if you prefer it) is prodigiously rich, and presides
over one of the most remarkable salons in Paris. She has heard that you
are as handsome as you are clever, and is dying to meet you."

Lucien could only pour out incoherent thanks and glance enviously at
Emile Blondet. There was as great a difference between a great lady like
Mme. de Montcornet and Coralie as between Coralie and a girl out of the
streets. The Countess was young and witty and beautiful, with the
very white fairness of women of the north. Her mother was the Princess
Scherbellof, and the Minister before dinner had paid her the most
respectful attention.

By this time the Marquise had made an end of trifling disdainfully with
the wing of a chicken.

"My poor Louise felt so much affection for you," she said. "She took me
into her confidence; I knew her dreams of a great career for you. She
would have borne a great deal, but what scorn you showed her when you
sent back her letters! Cruelty we can forgive; those who hurt us must
have still some faith in us; but indifference! Indifference is like
polar snows, it extinguishes all life. So, you must see that you have
lost a precious affection through your own fault. Why break with
her? Even if she had scorned you, you had your way to make, had you
not?--your name to win back? Louise thought of all that."

"Then why was she silent?"

"_Eh! mon Dieu!_" cried the Marquise, "it was I myself who advised her
not to take you into her confidence. Between ourselves, you know, you
seemed so little used to the ways of the world, that I took alarm.