The countess approached the divan in the centre of the room, where Raoul was perorating.  She stood there with her arm in that of Madame Octave de Camp, an excellent woman, who kept the secret of the involuntary trembling by which these violent emotions betrayed themselves.  Though the eyes of a captivated woman are apt to shed wonderful sweetness, Raoul was too occupied at that moment in letting off fireworks, too absorbed in his epigrams going up like rockets (in the midst of which were flaming portraits drawn in lines of fire) to notice the naive admiration of one little Eve concealed in a group of women.  Marie’s curiosity—­like that which would undoubtedly precipitate all Paris into the Jardin des Plantes to see a unicorn, if such an animal could be found in those mountains of the moon, still virgin of the tread of Europeans—­intoxicates a secondary mind as much as it saddens great ones; but Raoul was enchanted by it; although he was then too anxious to secure all women to care very much for one alone.

“Take care, my dear,” said Marie’s kind and gracious companion in her ear, “and go home.”

The countess looked at her husband to ask for his arm with one of those glances which husbands do not always understand.  Felix did so, and took her home.

“My dear friend,” said Madame d’Espard in Raoul’s ear, “you are a lucky fellow.  You have made more than one conquest to-night, and among them that of the charming woman who has just left us so abruptly.”

“Do you know what the Marquise d’Espard meant by that?” said Raoul to Rastignac, when they happened to be comparatively alone between one and two o’clock in the morning.

“I am told that the Comtesse de Vandenesse has taken a violent fancy to you.  You are not to be pitied!” said Rastignac.

“I did not see her,” said Raoul.

“Oh! but you will see her, you scamp!” cried Emile Blondet, who was standing by.  “Lady Dudley is going to ask you to her grand ball, that you may meet the pretty countess.”

Raoul and Blondet went off with Rastignac, who offered them his carriage.  All three laughed at the combination of an eclectic under-secretary of State, a ferocious republican, and a political atheist.

“Suppose we sup at the expense of the present order of things?” said Blondet, who would fain recall suppers to fashion.

Rastignac took them to Very’s, sent away his carriage, and all three sat down to table to analyze society with Rabelaisian laughs.  During the supper, Rastignac and Blondet advised their provisional enemy not to neglect such a capital chance of advancement as the one now offered to him.  The two “roues” gave him, in fine satirical style, the history of Madame Felix de Vandenesse; they drove the scalpel of epigram and the sharp points of much good wit into that innocent girlhood and happy marriage.  Blondet congratulated Raoul on encountering a woman guilty of nothing worse so far than horrible drawings in red chalk, attenuated water-colors, slippers embroidered for a husband, sonatas executed with the best intentions,—­a girl tied to her mother’s apron-strings till she was eighteen, trussed for religious practices, seasoned by Vandenesse, and cooked to a point by marriage.  At the third bottle of champagne, Raoul unbosomed himself as he had never done before in his life.