In the most exclusive circle of society in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, Victurnien found the Chevalier’s double in the person of the Vidame de Pamiers.  The Vidame was a Chevalier de Valois raised to the tenth power, invested with all the prestige of wealth, enjoying all the advantages of high position.  The dear Vidame was a repositary for everybody’s secrets, and the gazette of the Faubourg besides; nevertheless, he was discreet, and, like other gazettes, only said things that might safely be published.  Again Victurnien listened to the Chevalier’s esoteric doctrines.  The Vidame told young d’Esgrignon, without mincing matters, to make conquests among women of quality, supplementing the advice with anecdotes from his own experience.  The Vicomte de Pamiers, it seemed, had permitted himself much that it would serve no purpose to relate here; so remote was it all from our modern manners, in which soul and passion play so large a part, that nobody would believe it.  But the excellent Vidame did more than this.

“Dine with me at a tavern to-morrow,” said he, by way of conclusion.  “We will digest our dinner at the Opera, and afterwards I will take you to a house where several people have the greatest wish to meet you.”

The Vidame gave a delightful little dinner at the Rocher de Cancale; three guests only were asked to meet Victurnien—­de Marsay, Rastignac, and Blondet.  Emile Blondet, the young Count’s fellow-townsman, was a man of letters on the outskirts of society to which he had been introduced by a charming woman from the same province.  This was one of the Vicomte de Troisville’s daughters, now married to the Comte de Montcornet, one of those of Napoleon’s generals who went over to the Bourbons.  The Vidame held that a dinner-party of more than six persons was beneath contempt.  In that case, according to him, there was an end alike of cookery and conversation, and a man could not sip his wine in a proper frame of mind.

“I have not yet told you, my dear boy, where I mean to take you to-night,” he said, taking Victurnien’s hands and tapping on them.  “You are going to see Mlle. des Touches; all the pretty women with any pretensions to wit will be at her house en petit comite.  Literature, art, poetry, any sort of genius, in short, is held in great esteem there.  It is one of our old-world bureaux d’esprit, with a veneer of monarchical doctrine, the livery of this present age.”

“It is sometimes as tiresome and tedious there as a pair of new boots, but there are women with whom you cannot meet anywhere else,” said de Marsay.

“If all the poets who went there to rub up their muse were like our friend here,” said Rastignac, tapping Blondet familiarly on the shoulder, “we should have some fun.  But a plague of odes, and ballads, and driveling meditations, and novels with wide margins, pervades the sofas and the atmosphere.”

“I don’t dislike them,” said de Marsay, “so long as they corrupt girls’ minds, and don’t spoil women.”