I should find it very unpleasant to be called Madame Chardon.  You can see that.  And now that you understand the difficulties of Paris life, you will know how many roundabout ways you must take to reach your end; very well, then, you must admit that Louise was aspiring to an all but impossible piece of Court favor; she was quite unknown, she is not rich, and therefore she could not afford to neglect any means of success.

“You are clever,” the Marquise d’Espard continued; “but we women, when we love, are cleverer than the cleverest man.  My cousin tried to make that absurd Chatelet useful—­Oh!” she broke off, “I owe not a little amusement to you; your articles on Chatelet made me laugh heartily.”

Lucien knew not what to think of all this.  Of the treachery and bad faith of journalism he had had some experience; but in spite of his perspicacity, he scarcely expected to find bad faith or treachery in society.  There were some sharp lessons in store for him.

“But, madame,” he objected, for her words aroused a lively curiosity, “is not the Heron under your protection?”

“One is obliged to be civil to one’s worst enemies in society,” protested she; “one may be bored, but one must look as if the talk was amusing, and not seldom one seems to sacrifice friends the better to serve them.  Are you still a novice?  You mean to write, and yet you know nothing of current deceit?  My cousin apparently sacrificed you to 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.