of the complete triumph
he was to enjoy a month hence; for he had not a doubt of being accepted
as Clotilde's lover, and married before Lent in 1830.

On the morrow, when Lucien was smoking his cigarettes after breakfast,
sitting with Carlos, who had become much depressed, M. de Saint-Esteve
was announced--what a touch of irony--who begged to see either the Abbe
Carlos Herrera or Monsieur Lucien de Rubempre.

"Was he told downstairs that I had left Paris?" cried the Abbe.

"Yes, sir," replied the groom.

"Well, then, you must see the man," said he to Lucien. "But do not say
a single compromising word, do not let a sign of surprise escape you. It
is the enemy."

"You will overhear me," said Lucien.

Carlos hid in the adjoining room, and through the crack of the door
he saw Corentin, whom he recognized only by his voice, such powers of
transformation did the great man possess. This time Corentin looked like
an old paymaster-general.

"I have not had the honor of being known to you, monsieur," Corentin
began, "but----"

"Excuse my interrupting you, monsieur, but----"

"But the matter in point is your marriage to Mademoiselle Clotilde de
Grandlieu--which will never take place," Corentin added eagerly.

Lucien sat down and made no reply.

"You are in the power of a man who is able and willing and ready to
prove to the Duc de Grandlieu that the lands of Rubempre are to be paid
for with the money that a fool has given to your mistress, Mademoiselle
Esther," Corentin went on. "It will be quite easy to find the minutes of
the legal opinions in virtue of which Mademoiselle Esther was summoned;
there are ways too of making d'Estourny speak. The very clever
manoeuvres employed against the Baron de Nucingen will be brought to
light.

"As yet all can be arranged. Pay down a hundred thousand francs, and you
will have peace.--All this is no concern of mine. I am only the agent of
those who levy this blackmail; nothing more."

Corentin might have talked for an hour; Lucien smoked his cigarette with
an air of perfect indifference.

"Monsieur," replied he, "I do not want to know who you are, for men
who undertake such jobs as these have no name--at any rate, in my
vocabulary. I have allowed you to talk at your leisure; I am at
home.--You seem to me not bereft of common sense; listen to my dilemma."

There was a pause, during which Lucien met Corentin's cat-like eye fixed
on him with a perfectly icy stare.

"Either you