Next day, towards noon, Lucien betook himself to Staub, the great tailor of that day.  Partly by dint of entreaties, and partly by virtue of cash, Lucien succeeded in obtaining a promise that his clothes should be ready in time for the great day.  Staub went so far as to give his word that a perfectly elegant coat, a waistcoat, and a pair of trousers should be forthcoming.  Lucien then ordered linen and pocket-handkerchiefs, a little outfit, in short, of a linen-draper, and a celebrated bootmaker measured him for shoes and boots.  He bought a neat walking cane at Verdier’s; he went to Mme. Irlande for gloves and shirt studs; in short, he did his best to reach the climax of dandyism.  When he had satisfied all his fancies, he went to the Rue Neuve-de-Luxembourg, and found that Louise had gone out.

“She was dining with Mme. la Marquise d’Espard,” her maid said, “and would not be back till late.”

Lucien dined for two francs at a restaurant in the Palais Royal, and went to bed early.  The next day was Sunday.  He went to Louise’s lodging at eleven o’clock.  Louise had not yet risen.  At two o’clock he returned once more.

“Madame cannot see anybody yet,” reported Albertine, “but she gave me a line for you.”

“Cannot see anybody yet?” repeated Lucien.  “But I am not anybody——­”

“I do not know,” Albertine answered very impertinently; and Lucien, less surprised by Albertine’s answer than by a note from Mme. de Bargeton, took the billet, and read the following discouraging lines:—­

“Mme. d’Espard is not well; she will not be able to see you on Monday.  I am not feeling very well myself, but I am about to dress and go to keep her company.  I am in despair over this little disappointment; but your talents reassure me, you will make your way without charlatanism.”

“And no signature!” Lucien said to himself.  He found himself in the Tuileries before he knew whither he was walking.

With the gift of second-sight which accompanies genius, he began to suspect that the chilly note was but a warning of the catastrophe to come.  Lost in thought, he walked on and on, gazing at the monuments in the Place Louis Quinze.

It was a sunny day; a stream of fine carriages went past him on the way to the Champs Elysees.  Following the direction of the crowd of strollers, he saw the three or four thousand carriages that turn the Champs Elysees into an improvised Longchamp on Sunday afternoons in summer.  The splendid horses, the toilettes, and liveries bewildered him; he went further and further, until he reached the Arc de Triomphe, then unfinished.  What were his feelings when, as he returned, he saw Mme. de Bargeton and Mme. d’Espard coming towards him in a wonderfully appointed caleche, with a chasseur behind it in waving plumes and that gold-embroidered green uniform which he knew only too well.  There was a block somewhere in the row, and the carriages waited.  Lucien beheld Louise transformed beyond recognition.  All the colors of her toilette had been carefully subordinated to her complexion; her dress was delicious, her hair gracefully and becomingly arranged, her hat, in exquisite taste, was remarkable even beside Mme. d’Espard, that leader of fashion.