“Here is our handsome Lucien,” said Finot, drawing des Lupeaulx in the direction of the poet, and shaking hands with feline amiability.  “I cannot think of another example of such rapid success,” continued Finot, looking from des Lupeaulx to Lucien.  “There are two sorts of success in Paris:  there is a fortune in solid cash, which any one can amass, and there is the intangible fortune of connections, position, or a footing in certain circles inaccessible for certain persons, however rich they may be.  Now my friend here——­”

“Our friend,” interposed des Lupeaulx, smiling blandly.

“Our friend,” repeated Finot, patting Lucien’s hand, “has made a brilliant success from this point of view.  Truth to tell, Lucien has more in him, more gift, more wit than the rest of us that envy him, and he is enchantingly handsome besides; his old friends cannot forgive him for his success—­they call it luck.”

“Luck of that sort never comes to fools or incapables,” said des Lupeaulx.  “Can you call Bonaparte’s fortune luck, eh?  There were a score of applicants for the command of the army in Italy, just as there are a hundred young men at this moment who would like to have an entrance to Mlle. des Touches’ house; people are coupling her name with yours already in society, my dear boy,” said des Lupeaulx, clapping Lucien on the shoulder.  “Ah! you are in high favor.  Mme. d’Espard, Mme. de Bargeton, and Mme. de Montcornet are wild about you.  You are going to Mme. Firmiani’s party to-night, are you not, and to the Duchesse de Grandlieu’s rout to-morrow?”

“Yes,” said Lucien.

“Allow me to introduce a young banker to you, a M. du Tillet; you ought to be acquainted, he has contrived to make a great fortune in a short time.”

Lucien and du Tillet bowed, and entered into conversation, and the banker asked Lucien to dinner.  Finot and des Lupeaulx, a well-matched pair, knew each other well enough to keep upon good terms; they turned away to continue their chat on one of the sofas in the greenroom, and left Lucien with du Tillet, Merlin, and Nathan.

“By the way, my friend,” said Finot, “tell me how things stand.  Is there really somebody behind Lucien?  For he is the bete noire of my staff; and before allowing them to plot against him, I thought I should like to know whether, in your opinion, it would be better to baffle them and keep well with him.”

The Master of Requests and Finot looked at each other very closely for a moment or two.

“My dear fellow,” said des Lupeaulx, “how can you imagine that the Marquise d’Espard, or Chatelet, or Mme. de Bargeton—­who has procured the Baron’s nomination to the prefecture and the title of Count, so as to return in triumph to Angouleme—­how can you suppose that any of them will forgive Lucien for his attacks on them?  They dropped him down in the Royalist ranks to crush him out of existence.  At this moment they are