In a moment old illusions regained their power over Lucien and Louise; they talked like friends, as before; but when the lady, with a hesitating sigh, put the question, “Are you happy?” Lucien was not ready with a prompt, decided answer; he was intoxicated with gratified vanity; Coralie, who (let us admit it) had made life easy for him, had turned his head.  A melancholy “No” would have made his fortune, but he must needs begin to explain his position with regard to Coralie.  He said that he was loved for his own sake; he said a good many foolish things that a man will say when he is smitten with a tender passion, and thought the while that he was doing a clever thing.

Mme. de Bargeton bit her lips.  There was no more to be said.  Mme. d’Espard brought Mme. de Montcornet to her cousin, and Lucien became the hero of the evening, so to speak.  He was flattered, petted, and made much of by the three women; he was entangled with art which no words can describe.  His social success in this fine and brilliant circle was at least as great as his triumphs in journalism.  Beautiful Mlle. des Touches, so well known as “Camille Maupin,” asked him to one of her Wednesday dinners; his beauty, now so justly famous, seemed to have made an impression upon her.  Lucien exerted himself to show that his wit equaled his good looks, and Mlle. des Touches expressed her admiration with a playful outspokenness and a pretty fervor of friendship which deceives those who do not know life in Paris to its depths, nor suspect how continual enjoyment whets the appetite for novelty.

“If she should like me as much as I like her, we might abridge the romance,” said Lucien, addressing de Marsay and Rastignac.

“You both of you write romances too well to care to live them,” returned Rastignac.  “Can men and women who write ever fall in love with each other?  A time is sure to come when they begin to make little cutting remarks.”

“It would not be a bad dream for you,” laughed de Marsay.  “The charming young lady is thirty years old, it is true, but she has an income of eighty thousand livres.  She is adorably capricious, and her style of beauty wears well.  Coralie is a silly little fool, my dear boy, well enough for a start, for a young spark must have a mistress; but unless you make some great conquest in the great world, an actress will do you harm in the long run.  Now, my boy, go and cut out Conti.  Here he is, just about to sing with Camille Maupin.  Poetry has taken precedence of music ever since time began.”

But when Lucien heard Mlle. des Touches’ voice blending with Conti’s, his hopes fled.

“Conti sings too well,” he told des Lupeaulx; and he went back to Mme. de Bargeton, who carried him off to Mme. d’Espard in another room.

“Well, will you not interest yourself in him?” asked Mme. de Bargeton.

The Marquise spoke with an air half kindly, half insolent.  “Let M. Chardon first put himself in such a position that he will not compromise those who take an interest in him,” she said.  “If he wishes to drop his patronymic and to bear his mother’s name, he should at any rate be on the right side, should he not?”