A carriage stopped under the peristyle as he spoke.  A chasseur, in a livery which Lucien did not recognize, let down the step, and two women in evening dress came out of the brougham.  Lucien had no mind to lay himself open to an insolent order to get out of the way from the official.  He stepped aside to let the two ladies pass.

“Why, that lady is the Marquise d’Espard, whom you say you know, sir,” said the man ironically.

Lucien was so much the more confounded because Mme. de Bargeton did not seem to recognize him in his new plumage; but when he stepped up to her, she smiled at him and said: 

“This has fallen out wonderfully—­come!”

The functionaries at the box office grew serious again as Lucien followed Mme. de Bargeton.  On their way up the great staircase the lady introduced M. de Rubempre to her cousin.  The box belonging to the First Gentleman of the Bedchamber is situated in one of the angles at the back of the house, so that its occupants see and are seen all over the theatre.  Lucien took his seat on a chair behind Mme. de Bargeton, thankful to be in the shadow.

“M. de Rubempre,” said the Marquise with flattering graciousness, “this is your first visit to the Opera, is it not?  You must have a view of the house; take this seat, sit in front of the box; we give you permission.”

Lucien obeyed as the first act came to an end.

“You have made good use of your time,” Louise said in his ear, in her first surprise at the change in his appearance.

Louise was still the same.  The near presence of the Marquise d’Espard, a Parisian Mme. de Bargeton, was so damaging to her; the brilliancy of the Parisienne brought out all the defects in her country cousin so clearly by contrast; that Lucien, looking out over the fashionable audience in the superb building, and then at the great lady, was twice enlightened, and saw poor Anais de Negrepelisse as she really was, as Parisians saw her—­a tall, lean, withered woman, with a pimpled face and faded complexion; angular, stiff, affected in her manner; pompous and provincial in her speech; and, and above all these things, dowdily dressed.  As a matter of fact, the creases in an old dress from Paris still bear witness to good taste, you can tell what the gown was meant for; but an old dress made in the country is inexplicable, it is a thing to provoke laughter.  There was neither charm nor freshness about the dress or its wearer; the velvet, like the complexion had seen wear.  Lucien felt ashamed to have fallen in love with this cuttle-fish bone, and vowed that he would profit by Louise’s next fit of virtue to leave her for good.  Having an excellent view of the house, he could see the opera-glasses pointed at the aristocratic box par excellence.  The best-dressed women must certainly be scrutinizing Mme. de Bargeton, for they smiled and talked among themselves.