Victurnien received charming letters from his father and aunt, and also from the Chevalier.  That gentleman recalled himself to the Vidame’s memory.  He had been at Spa with M. de Pamiers in 1778, after a certain journey made by a celebrated Hungarian princess.  And Chesnel also wrote.  The fond flattery to which the unhappy boy was only too well accustomed shone out of every page; and Mlle. Armande seemed to share half of Mme. de Maufrigneuse’s happiness.

Thus happy in the approval of his family, the young Count made a spirited beginning in the perilous and costly ways of dandyism.  He had five horses—­he was moderate—­de Marsay had fourteen!  He returned the Vidame’s hospitality, even including Blondet in the invitation, as well as de Marsay and Rastignac.  The dinner cost five hundred francs, and the noble provincial was feted on the same scale.  Victurnien played a good deal, and, for his misfortune, at the fashionable game of whist.

He laid out his days in busy idleness.  Every day between twelve and three o’clock he was with the Duchess; afterwards he went to meet her in the Bois de Boulogne and ride beside her carriage.  Sometimes the charming couple rode together, but this was early in fine summer mornings.  Society, balls, the theatre, and gaiety filled the Count’s evening hours.  Everywhere Victurnien made a brilliant figure, everywhere he flung the pearls of his wit broadcast.  He gave his opinion on men, affairs, and events in profound sayings; he would have put you in mind of a fruit-tree putting forth all its strength in blossom.  He was leading an enervating life wasteful of money, and even yet more wasteful, it may be of a man’s soul; in that life the fairest talents are buried out of sight, the most incorruptible honesty perishes, the best-tempered springs of will are slackened.

The Duchess, so white and fragile and angel-like, felt attracted to the dissipations of bachelor life; she enjoyed first nights, she liked anything amusing, anything improvised.  Bohemian restaurants lay outside her experience; so d’Esgrignon got up a charming little party at the Rocher de Cancale for her benefit, asked all the amiable scamps whom she cultivated and sermonized, and there was a vast amount of merriment, wit, and gaiety, and a corresponding bill to pay.  That supper led to others.  And through it all Victurnien worshiped her as an angel.  Mme. de Maufrigneuse for him was still an angel, untouched by any taint of earth; an angel at the Varietes, where she sat out the half-obscene, vulgar farces, which made her laugh; an angel through the cross-fire of highly-flavored jests and scandalous anecdotes, which enlivened a stolen frolic; a languishing angel in the latticed box at the Vaudeville; an angel while she criticised the postures of opera dancers with the experience of an elderly habitue of le coin de la reine; an angel at the Porte Saint-Martin, at the little boulevard theatres, at the masked balls,