Mme. de Bargeton set Lucien down at his inn, and drove home with Chatelet, to the intense vexation of the luckless lover.

“What will they say about me?” he wondered, as he climbed the stairs to his dismal room.

“That poor fellow is uncommonly dull,” said Chatelet, with a smile, when the door was closed.

“That is the way with those who have a world of thoughts in their heart and brain.  Men who have so much in them to give out in great works long dreamed of, profess a certain contempt for conversation, a commerce in which the intellect spends itself in small change,” returned the haughty Negrepelisse.  She still had courage to defend Lucien, but less for Lucien’s sake than for her own.

“I grant it you willingly,” replied the Baron, “but we live with human beings and not with books.  There, dear Nais!  I see how it is, there is nothing between you yet, and I am delighted that it is so.  If you decide to bring an interest of a kind hitherto lacking into your life, let it not be this so-called genius, I implore you.  How if you have made a mistake?  Suppose that in a few days’ time, when you have compared him with men whom you will meet, men of real ability, men who have distinguished themselves in good earnest; suppose that you should discover, dear and fair siren, that it is no lyre-bearer that you have borne into port on your dazzling shoulders, but a little ape, with no manners and no capacity; a presumptuous fool who may be a wit in L’Houmeau, but turns out a very ordinary specimen of a young man in Paris?  And, after all, volumes of verse come out every week here, the worst of them better than all M. Chardon’s poetry put together.  For pity’s sake, wait and compare!  To-morrow, Friday, is Opera night,” he continued as the carriage turned into the Rue Nueve-de-Luxembourg; “Mme. d’Espard has the box of the First Gentlemen of the Chamber, and will take you, no doubt.  I shall go to Mme. de Serizy’s box to behold you in your glory.  They are giving Les Danaides.”

“Good-bye,” said she.

Next morning Mme. de Bargeton tried to arrange a suitable toilette in which to call on her cousin, Mme. d’Espard.  The weather was rather chilly.  Looking through the dowdy wardrobe from Angouleme, she found nothing better than a certain green velvet gown, trimmed fantastically enough.  Lucien, for his part, felt that he must go at once for his celebrated blue best coat; he felt aghast at the thought of his tight jacket, and determined to be well dressed, lest he should meet the Marquise d’Espard or receive a sudden summons to her house.  He must have his luggage at once, so he took a cab, and in two hours’ time spent three or four francs, matter for much subsequent reflection on the scale of the cost of living in Paris.  Having dressed himself in his best, such as it was, he went to the Rue Nueve-de-Luxembourg, and on the doorstep encountered Gentil in company with a gorgeously be-feathered chasseur.