Lucien that very evening.

At nine o'clock he had gone out, as he did every evening, in his
brougham to go to the Hotel de Grandlieu. Using his saddle-horse and
cab in the morning only, like all young men, he had hired a brougham
for winter evenings, and had chosen a first-class carriage and splendid
horses from one of the best job-masters. For the last month all had gone
well with him; he had dined with the Grandlieus three times; the Duke
was delightful to him; his shares in the Omnibus Company, sold for three
hundred thousand francs, had paid off a third more of the price of the
land; Clotilde de Grandlieu, who dressed beautifully now, reddened inch
thick when he went into the room, and loudly proclaimed her attachment
to him. Some personages of high estate discussed their marriage as a
probable event. The Duc de Chaulieu, formerly Ambassador to Spain, and
now for a short while Minister for Foreign Affairs, had promised the
Duchesse de Grandlieu that he would ask for the title of Marquis for
Lucien.

So that evening, after dining with Madame de Serizy, Lucien had driven
to the Faubourg Saint-Germain to pay his daily visit.

He arrives, the coachman calls for the gate to be opened, he drives into
the courtyard and stops at the steps. Lucien, on getting out, remarks
four other carriages in waiting. On seeing Monsieur de Rubempre, one of
the footmen placed to open and shut the hall-door comes forward and out
on to the steps, in front of the door, like a soldier on guard.

"His Grace is not at home," says he.

"Madame la Duchesse is receiving company," observes Lucien to the
servant.

"Madame la Duchesse is gone out," replies the man solemnly.

"Mademoiselle Clotilde----"

"I do not think that Mademoiselle Clotilde will see you, monsieur, in
the absence of Madame la Duchesse."

"But there are people here," replies Lucien in dismay.

"I do not know, sir," says the man, trying to seem stupid and to be
respectful.

There is nothing more fatal than etiquette to those who regard it as the
most formidable arm of social law. Lucien easily interpreted the meaning
of this scene, so disastrous to him. The Duke and Duchess would not
admit him. He felt the spinal marrow freezing in the core of his
vertebral column, and a sickly cold sweat bedewed his brow. The
conversation had taken place in the presence of his own body-servant,
who held the door of the brougham, doubting whether to shut it. Lucien
signed to him that h